Roy Bean's Gold

by W R. Garwood

  “Another present from the Men of the Night?” I shouted at Josh while we lashed our horses up the street and pounded out the sandy roadway toward the woods two miles away.

  “How the devil should I know?” Josh snarled back at me, and from the expression on his face, it looked as though he was telling the truth.

  Galloping up a gravelly ridge and through a great patch of yucca fringing the road, we flushed out a flock of brown quail that exploded right into our faces. Fighting to keep my mount on the road, I heard Josh give a choked sort of shout and saw the body of a man dangling from the bough of a huge old cypress at the wood’s edge.

  We both slowly rode up to the suspended corpse, staring into its face. In spite of the shade there was no doubt but that Josh had lost himself a deputy. Sánchez hung there, glaring at us with bulging eyes.

  “Murieta!” Josh looked over his shoulder, but we three were alone except for the wind keening through the cypress grove.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two days after Sánchez’s unlamented end, the Castañeda girls arrived, traveling in from the rancho in Rosita’s surrey, along with Señora Castañeda and Dulcima.

  I happened to be in the plaza, lounging in the shade of the pepper trees, gossiping with some of the locals, the talk revolving about the lynchings and the murder of the alcalde’s deputy. Abraham, Josh’s servant, was also there, having stopped on his way to the town’s butcher shop. Though he had no more to say than usual, I felt he was almost as uneasy about the subject as I was, and I think both of us welcomed the appearance of the Almada conveyance.

  As it rolled past, Lucia Castañeda called: “Here we are at last, and now you’ve no reason for neglecting us, Señor Bean! And we insist on beginning our daily rides again.”

  “You are especially invited to our home tonight,” her sister echoed. “Just come by at eight and we’ll have a surprise ready for you. the three of us . . . Just see if we don’t!”

  Dulcima, who sat by the señora, smiled at me and waved gaily. She’d changed considerably from the quiet young lady who’d gotten off the Los Angeles coach so recently. I supposed her sudden blossoming was helped by close herding with that bouncing Castañeda pair. There were few folks who got near those young pepper pots who didn’t feel the better because of it, if only for the time being.

  I went back to the alcalde’s right after that, feeling pretty lively myself, but had no sooner crossed the threshold than I was in a roaring Donnybrook with Josh. I could tell at a glance he’d been tackling the jug, for his hair was wild-looking, and his eyes were a watery pink.

  “Dammit, Roy! What’s this about you financing half of the Mexican community with our gold?”

  Someone had spilled the beans, all right, and here was my brother landing on me with both feet. But I had some questions of my own that he was going to answer before I obliged him. “Wasn’t your gold by a damn’ sight! And seeing you’re so almighty eager to jaw, what’s the truth about your infernal night riders?”

  Josh glared at me, then tossed off a glass of whiskey, neat, and shook his head like a mossy-horned old steer. “None of your business, you whelp!” Suddenly he reared up from the table, scattering papers and tipping his beloved ledgers onto the floor with a bang. “What in Hades is this all about, yourself? Where’d you come by enough golden eagles to bail out all those worthless Mexican trash?”

  “What d’you care? You got your infernal collections in. and that’s what counts, according to you. And where’d you hear, anyway?”

  “Sánchez!” Josh reached for the bottle and I thought he was going to heave it at me but it was too full to waste and he fell back into his chair and took a long, gurgling snort from it.

  “Sánchez? Well, at least they stretched one neck that needed it.” I pulled up a chair, kicked a ledger out of the way, and slapped my sombrero onto the table hard enough to send the rest of the alcalde’s official papers sailing. “And you had to wait until you had a snootful before you tackled me about that tax money? Now . . . back to neck-stretching. You’d best fess up right now, for I’m just about riled enough to whip it out of you.” My Bean temper was up good and plenty.

  Josh gave a howl like a sore-pawed wolf and flung that bottle right at my head. I ducked and glass splintered against the adobe wall as I lunged across and got in one good punch. Josh flew out of his chair to come up off the floor swinging for all he was worth—but he was on the wrong side of the furniture.

  Before I could get around the table and oblige him, Abraham came rushing in from the back of the house, followed by the Almada hack driver. “¡Señores! ¡Señores! For the love of the saints don’t kill each other. Don’t do this thing!”

  Josh, who’d gone and yanked a hide-out gun from his waistband, glared around the room, then shook the hair from his eyes. “Hell! Roy and I were just having a brotherly difference of opinion. Like they say, a little storm always clears the air.” He stuffed the Derringer back, wiped the blood from his chin, and folded up back onto the floor—out cold!

  “A little too much firewater before lunch,” I told Abraham. “Get him off to bed, if you’d be so kind.”

  While the little Indian and Rosita’s old serving man lugged Josh down the hall, I picked up the papers and ledgers, then sat back down, thinking.

  That night at the Castañedas was one of the most enjoyable for good-natured fun I’d ever seen—at least the first part of it.

  I left Josh still sleeping it off and walked over to the Casa Castañeda on Calhoun, wondering just how Abraham happened to be so friendly with old José, the Almada serving man.

  When I arrived at the gate of the Castañedas, the girls were on the look-out for me in the starlight. They let me in, and with Estrellita on one arm and Lucia on the other, they led me through the hallway of the big old house and out onto the patio. The whole outdoors seemed to be lighted with colored Chinese lanterns, as usual. Both Señor and Señora Castañeda were seated in easy chairs before a low wooden platform placed between a small pair of orange trees. A beautiful patchwork quilt, stretched on a wire, hung over the little platform doing the duty of a curtain. Dulcima wasn’t in sight, and both sisters vanished immediately behind the billowing patchwork curtain.

  I greeted the parents and took a seat near them only to find that I wasn’t the only guest. A couple of young second lieutenants from the fort, plus Diamond Dick Powers, lounged on chairs near the impromptu stage. Powers was particularly nobby in a cream-colored suit, checked vest, and highly polished boots. All nodded pleasantly at me and Powers unbent enough to ask after my brother.

  “Understand his official duties are keeping him pretty busy, eh? Haven’t seen him around much lately.”

  Powers had a smile I didn’t care for, but I was a guest and so made some piddly small talk about the weather and let it go at that.

  Suddenly a banjo rippled away from behind the colorful curtain and three fresh young voices were raised in a caroling ditty:

  Ruberii, de cinnamon seed, seed de Billy hop jis’ in time,

  tuba dis, Juba dat, round de kettle of ’possum fat,

  A-hoop-ahoy, a-hoop-ahoy, double step for juberii,

  Sandy crab, de macreli, ham, and a half a pint of

  Juba . . .

  The patchwork curtain jerked back and there were the Castañeda sisters, and another girl with a banjo, who had to be Dulcima. All of them black-faced and patting Juba in their raggedy dresses like a regular trio of minstrels.

  In the midst of our applause, Dulcima, her blonde tresses hidden under a frizzled black fright wig topped off with red ribbons, stepped to the front of the rough little platform and bowed just as brash and perky as the sassiest colored gal on the whole plantation.

  “Lady and Genman. De Sam Diego Grand Confabulation and Plum Gum Sassisity presents an ebening of de best of ballads of de day and de day after dat!” She gave a ringing ripple to her strings and both Castañedas sprang forward and broke out:

  Uncle Gabriel play de fiddle,


  Zip Coon he made de riddle,

  Bone Squash in de middle. . . .

  And we’s gals we’s play de bones,

  While de banjo and triangle

  Wid de cymbals jingle-jangle,

  And de big drum neat we handle. . . .

  And on and on, all three black-faced imps cavorted and warbled while Dulcima beat on the strings of her instrument with all the force of a young virtuoso.

  To say the very least, I was surprised at the talent of the tintype girl, and I could see that the audience was as flabbergasted as I was. The sisters were very good with all of their fresh, youthful energy, but Dulcima was clearly the professional of the trio.

  The only person remaining calm and unmoved by the surprising show was Powers. He sat with folded hands and a standard pokerface, as if he’d just caught an ace for his hole card. And gradually I got the idea that he was aware of Dulcima’s talents.

  The little performance rolled right along as the sisters produced some bones and, stepping to the side, accompanied Dulcima as she strummed her banjo and sang one number after another:

  Before we left we danced two reels

  De holler ob his foot was back ob his heels!

  I played de banjo till dey all begun to sweat,

  Knocked on de jawbone and bust de clarinet!

  Now, as I listened and stared, I forgot all about everything and everyone else—including Rosita. Because here in this unusual little person there was a quality oddly balanced. She was both sturdy and yet delicate, full of a surprising rowdy air, yet somehow aloof-like, and her clear voice was filled with a vibrant sort of fire that even Rosita herself might have envied a bit.

  I can play de banjo, yes, indeed I can!

  I can play a tune even on de frying pan

  I holler like a steamboat, ’fore she gwine ter stop

  And I can sweep a chimbly and sing right out de top!

  When she’d finished the last song, spinning the instrument around in her hands like the flashiest of minstrels, we were all on our feet applauding—even the old folks and Dick Powers.

  Lucia rushed out to me. “What did I tell you? Isn’t she just perfectly wonderful?” Then she turned and all three of the little pickaninnies darted away into the house.

  They were back, all changed and furbelowed in their fanciest dresses, with their hair set to rights and the burned cork washed away, by the time the Castañeda servants had finished serving refreshments.

  Taking up a couple of glasses of wine, I got to Dulcima before Dick Powers. “Let’s take a bit of a stroll, if you’d be of a mind.” I led her off through the orange grove under the glowing moon while the two young officers tried an encircling movement on the Castañeda girls, leaving Diamond Dick to sit chatting with the señor and señora and glare at me.

  “Now where in the name of tunket did you ever learn all that jiggery black-face nonsense?” I laughed as we seated ourselves in a rustic bower out of sight of the patio.

  “Did you like . . . me?” She smiled slyly up at me.

  “Tell the whole wide world, I’d say so! But I’ll bet my poke you never learned such monkeyshines at your finishing school. Does your aunt know of your musical talents? Seems she’d be almighty proud of you.”

  At the mention of Rosita her expression changed ever so slightly, as if a shadow had passed the shining face of the moon. Her blue eyes darkened and she looked away from me. “No, Rosita doesn’t know. many things.” She gave a short, odd little laugh—musical and yet somehow tinged with harshness. “No, Señor Bean, Rosita is only aware of what interests her at the moment.”

  “Seems to me that your aunt. . . .” I stopped short at her frown. “Your adopted aunt, then. It seems she’s got your interests at heart. Why she. . . .” And I pulled up short again, about to remark on Rosita’s request that I keep an eye on her “niece” and Mr. Diamond Dick Powers off the premises as much as I could.

  She sipped at her wine without a word, then looked up at me. “And it seems to me, Señor Bean, that you know even less about Señorita Almada than you know of me. I can answer your questions right enough, but you’ll have to speak to Rosita herself of her particular interests.” And here her voice took on that same hard tone for an instant.

  While I was chewing that over, I saw that damned gambler had gotten himself loose from the older Castañedas and was sauntering toward our bower, his thumbs in his checked vest, for all the world like an overgrown white tomcat out prowling.

  I saw that I had to make some sort of move before Powers got to us. When he was out of sight behind some of the trees for a moment, I took the empty glass from Dulcima, sat mine down, and grabbed her up to me, giving her one of my best Bean hugs—the sort that had never failed to jolt the señoritas right off their feet.

  For an instant I thought she was going to slap me right in the eye. Her face flushed, her eyes narrowed, then they blazed with a strange light and she returned my kiss with a fervent zest, sending a like fire burning right through me.

  I’d been on my best behavior ever since coming out to Josh’s bailiwick, but now I knew I’d been without the wonderful touch of a woman too long. I’d felt the same near Rosita—but Rosita wasn’t near now, and this was somehow different.

  Before I could go any further, that pestiferous gambling man was looming over us, and we broke apart, both breathing rather hard and fast.

  “Why, Mister Powers. . . .” Dulcima smiled, all cool and collected. “I thought you were having a nice little visit with the Castañedas.” She sat up, patting at her hair and fussing a bit with the front of her gown as if everything was completely regular, when he could see something rather unusual had been going on in the grape arbor.

  “I came to see. Mister Bean here.” Powers was a bare-faced liar, and he saw I knew it. Anyone with half a glass eye could tell Diamond Dick was wishing I was in Hades or Hong Kong—anywhere but sitting side-by-side with Dulcima.

  “That so?” I got up and shoved back my coat, letting him view the pistol in my sash. “Well, then, let’s us take the air and not bother the young lady, eh?”

  Powers gave Dulcima a quick, sharp glance, then shrugged. “Good enough.” By now he’d flipped his own coat open and I saw he was packing a pair of six-shooters in holsters.

  Dulcima, looking from one of us to the other, with her own pokerface, rose and placed a hand on my arm, smiling slightly. “Señor Bean, now isn’t the proper time to finish our interesting chat. Perhaps we can continue it a later time.”

  “I expect the girls will be planning another horseback jaunt shortly. Why not plan to come along and we can talk. without so much interruption?” I bowed and kissed her fingertips to show the gambler that he wasn’t the only one around San Diego with style.

  But Powers stood off, ignoring me, as he lit up a stogie and scowled at the moon as it drifted on behind a pack of stormy-looking clouds.

  Before I could say another word to Dulcima or Powers, Lucia, wrapped in a shawl and carrying another, came toward us. “There you all are! Sister’s gone and taken herself a chill in this night air and Mother’s ordered her off to bed this instant. It’s a wonder that the three of us don’t come down with something. this pretty imp here drove us so hard, preparing for our little musicale.” She placed the shawl over Dulcima’s shoulders, then looked back over her own shoulder. “And here come both of those pesky young officers. Now that Estrellita has bowed out of the scene, I imagine that it’s up to Dulcima and myself to entertain them. at least Papa says we should. They haven’t been to the casa before and Papa wants to remain friends with the Army,” Lucia chattered on. “There’ll be enough unrest hereabouts when the elections commence next month, so he says.”

  “That’s all right. Mister Powers and I were just about to take our leave,” I said, repeating my caballeroso performance again with Lucia’s own pretty fingertips, while Diamond Dick, without a word, shook hands with Dulcima.

  “You don’t mind, Roy?” Lucia wrinkled her pretty nose at me
anxiously. “It was really great fun, wasn’t it, and, besides, we are going for our ride tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the usual time.” And I walked off, with Powers stalking along at my side.

  When we met the two young shavetails as they ambled toward the grape arbor, Powers muttered: “Too damned many folks around who don’t know their place.”

  I’d have answered him but we had to take our leave of Señor and Señora Castañeda, both of us asking after Estrellita, and laying it on with the old folks about the fine time we’d had at the musicale.

  Once outside the gate, I turned on Powers before he could open his mouth. “I heard your remark about folks not knowing their place and I just about locate you right in the middle of such a tribe. In other words, I’m warning you to keep your ugly face away from the Casa Castañeda and Miss Dulcima in damn’ particular!”

  Powers made a motion toward one of his holsters, but I stood my ground. I was close enough to crack him on his pointed jaw before he could draw a weapon. As the alcalde’s brother it didn’t behoove me to get into any sort of a brawl with his business rival, but, the next minute, damned if the hothead didn’t try to pull a gun on me anyway!

  And half a minute later I was helping him back to his feet and dusting off his pretty white suit. I kept his six-shooter in my left fist, while I set about getting him steady on his pins.

  I must have hit him mighty hard because he stood weaving in the moonlight like a pole-axed steer and blinking his eyes.

  “What’d you sandbag me with?” he muttered, rubbing his jaw and waggling it from side to side. “You hadn’t ought to have done that. All I was going to do was make you eat a little crow. I’m no dad-burned killer, you know.”

  He stuck out his hand for his weapon, but I shook my head. “No dice, Mister Powers. I tend to believe you might have just gotten enough grit to pull that trigger on me.”

  “Grit?” Powers backed off and flipped open his coat. “By hell, I’ll show you who’s got grit. I never was afeard of the devil himself from the time I could walk.” He shook a fist at me. “Put that pistol of mine in your fancy go-to-meeting sash and we’ll just see who’s got the sand!”