by B. M. Bower
“You are very soft-hearted, all of a sudden, señorita,” he said, with a fairly well-defined sneer, when he could bear no more. “You won’t enjoy the bull-fighting, then, tomorrow—for all you have been looking forward to it so anxiously, and have robbed yourself of ribbons to decorate the darts. It’s not half so brutal to kill a bull that tries to kill you, as it is to fill it with flag-trimmed arrows for fun, and only put it out of its misery when you’re tired of seeing it suffer! This bull came near killing you! That’s why I’m going to kill it.”
“You are not! Santa Maria, what a savage beast you are! Let him go instantly! Let him go, I say!”
If she had been on the ground, she would have stamped her foot. As it was, she shook an adorably tiny fist at Jack, and blinked her long lashes upon the tears of real, sincere anger that stood in her black eyes, and gritted her teeth at him; for the señorita had a temper quite as hot as Jack’s, when it was roused, and all her life she had been given her own way in everything.
“Let him go this moment, or I shall never speak to you again!” she threatened rashly.
For answer, Jack walked deliberately past her to where Surry stood with his feet braced still against the pull of the riata and his neck arched knowingly, while he rolled the little wheel in the bit with his tongue. Jack made himself a cigarette, lay down in the shade of his horse, and smoked just as calmly as though his heart was not thumping so that he could hear it quite plainly. She had gone the wrong way about making him yield; threats had always acted like a goad upon Jack’s anger, just as they do upon most of us.
Teresita looked at him in silence for a minute. And Jack, his head upon his arm in a position that would give him a fair view of her from the brim of his sombrero while he seemed to be taking no notice of her, wondered how soon she would change her mood to coaxing, and so melt that lump of obstinacy in his throat that would not let him so much as answer her vixenish upbraidings. A very little coaxing would have freed the bull then, and he would have kissed the red mouth that had reviled him, and would have called her “dulce corazon,” as she loved to have him do. Such a very little coaxing would have been enough!
“Dios! How I hate a gringo!” she cried passionately, just when Jack believed she was going to cry “Señor Jack?” in that pretty, cooing tone she had that could make the words as tender as a kiss. “José is right. Gringos are savages and worse than savages. Stay and torture your bull, then! I hate you! Never have I known hate, till now! I shall be glad when José drags you from your horse tomorrow. I shall laugh and clap my hands, and cry, ‘Bravo, bravo, querido mio!’ [my beloved] when you are flung into the dirt where you belong. And when he kills you, I shall kiss him for his reward, before all the people, and I shall laugh when they fling you to the coyotes!” Yes, she said that; for she had a temper—had the Señorita Teresita—and she had a tongue that could speak words that burned like vitriol.
She said more than has been quoted; epithets she hurled upon the recumbent form that seemed a man asleep save for the little drift of smoke from his cigarette; epithets which she had heard the vaqueros use at the corrals upon certain occasions when they did not know that she was near; epithets of which she did not know the meaning at all.
“Bravo!” applauded some one, and she turned to see that Manuel and Carlos, José’s head vaquero, had ridden up to the group very quietly, and had been listening for no one knew how long.
The señorita was so angry that she was not in the least abashed by the eavesdropping. She smiled wickedly, drew off a glove and tossed it to Manuel, who caught it dexterously without waiting to see why she wanted him to have it.
“Take that to José, for a token,” she cried recklessly. “Tell him I have put a wish upon it; and if he wears it next his heart in the duelo tomorrow he will win without fail. Tell José I shall ask the Blessed Virgin tonight to let no accident befall him, and that I shall save the first two dances for him and none other!”
She was not a finished actress, because of her youth. She betrayed by a glance his way that she spoke for Jack’s benefit. And Jack, in the hardening of his stubborn anger, blew a mouthful of smoke upward into a ring which the breeze broke almost immediately, and laughed aloud.
Teresita heard, bit her lips cruelly at failing to bring that stubborn gringo to his feet—and to hers!—and wheeled Tejon close to Manuel and Carlos. She rode away between the two towards home, and she did not once look behind her until she had gone so far she feared she could not see what her blue-eyed one was doing. Then she turned, and her teeth went together with a click. For Jack was lying just as she had left him, with his head upon his arm as if he might be asleep.
CHAPTER XXI
FIESTA DAY
Dade, rolling over in bed and at the same moment opening his eyes reluctantly upon the new day, that he hated, beheld Jack half-dressed and shaving his left jaw, and looking as if he were committing murder upon an enemy. Dade watched him idly; he could afford the luxury of idleness that morning; for rodeo was over, and he was lying between linen sheets on a real bed, under a roof other than the branches of a tree; and if his mind had rested as easily as his body, he would have been almost happy.
But this was the day of the fiesta; and with the remembrance of that vital fact came a realization that on this day the Picardo ranch would be the Mecca toward which all California was making pilgrimage; and, he feared, the battle-ground of the warring interests and prejudices of the pilgrims themselves.
Dade listened to the voices shouting orders and greetings without as the vaqueros hurried here and there in excited preparations for the event. He judged that not another man in the valley was in bed at that moment, unless sickness held him there; and for that very reason he pulled a blanket snugger about his ears and tried to make himself believe that he was enjoying to the full his laziness. He had earned it; and last night had been the first one of deep, unbroken sleep that he had had since that moonlit night when Manuel and Valencia rode in haste to meet this surly-browed fellow before him.
Jack did not wipe off the scowl with the lather, and Dade began to observe him more critically; which he had not before had an opportunity to do, for the reason that Jack had not returned to the ranch the night before until Dade was in bed and asleep.
“Say, you don’t want to let the fellows outside see you looking like that,” he remarked, when Jack had yanked a horn comb through his red-brown mop of hair as if he were hoeing corn.
“Why?” Jack turned on him truculently.
“Well, you look a whole lot like a man that expects a licking. And I don’t see any excuse for that; you’re sure to win, old man. I’d bet my last shirt on that.” Which was Dade’s method of wiping off the scowl.
“Say, Dade,” Jack began irrelevantly, “I’m going to use Surry. You don’t mind, do you? He’s the best horse I ever threw a rope off from, without any exceptions. I’ve been training him up a little, and I tell you what, Surry’s going to have a lot to do with that duel.”
Dade sat up in bed as if he had been pulled up. “Jack, are you going to make it a sure-enough duel?” he asked anxiously.
“Why?” Jack’s eyes hardened perceptibly. “That’s what José wants.”
“Do you want it?” Dade scowled absent-mindedly at the wall, felt the prick of an unpleasant thought, and glanced sharply at Jack.
“Say, I feel sorry for José,” he began straightforwardly. “As a man, I’d like him fine, if he’d let me. And, Jack, you’ve got everything coming your way, and—well, seems like you might go easy on this fight, no matter what José wants. He’s crazy jealous, of course—but you want to recollect that he has plenty of cause. You’ve stepped in between him and a girl he’s known all his life. They were practically engaged, before—”
“I don’t know as José’s love affairs interest me,” put in Jack harshly. “Do you care if I use Surry? I kinda took it for granted it would be all right, so I went ahead and trained him so I can bank on him in a pinch.”
“Of course yo
u can use him.” That Dade’s hesitation did not cover more than a few seconds was proof of his absolute loyalty to Jack. Not another man living could have used Surry in a struggle such as that would be; a struggle where the danger was not all for the rider, but must be shared equally by the horse. Indeed, Dade himself would not have ridden him in such a contest, because his anxiety lest Surry should be hurt would have crippled his own dexterity. But Jack wanted to ride Surry, and Dade’s lips smiled consent to the sacrifice.
“All right, then. That horse is sure a wonder, Dade. Sensible? You never saw anything like it! I never saw a horse so sensitive to—well, I suppose it’s muscular reactions that I’m unconscious of. I’ve tried him out without a bridle on him; and, Dade, I can sit perfectly still in the saddle, and he’ll turn wherever I make up my mind to go! Fact. You try it yourself, next time you ride him. So I’ve cultivated that faculty of his, this last month.
“And besides, I’ve got him trained to dodge a rope every time. Had Diego go out with me and try to lasso me, you know. I had one devil of a time with the Injun, too, to make him disrespectful enough to throw a rope at me. But Surry took to it like a she-bear to honey, and he’s got so he can gauge distances to a hair, now, and dodge it every pass. I’m going to ride him today with a hackamore; and you watch him perform, old man! I can turn him on a tin plate, just with pressing my knees. That horse will—”
“Say, you’re stealing my thunder,” drawled Dade, grinning. “That’s my privilege, to sing Surry’s praises. Haven’t I told you, right along, that he’s a wonder?”
“Well, you told the truth for once in your life, anyway. Get up, you lazy devil, and come out and take a look at him. I’m going to have Diego give him a bath, soon as the sun gets hot enough. I’ve got a color scheme that will make these natives bug their eyes out! And Surry’s got to be considerably whiter than snow—”
“Huh!” Dade was watching him closely while he listened. For all Jack’s exuberance of speech, there was the hard look in his eyes still; and there was a line between his eyebrows which Dade had never noticed there before, except as a temporary symptom of anger. He had, Dade remembered, failed to make any statement of his intentions toward José; which was not like Jack, who was prone to speak impulsively and bluntly his mind. Also, it occurred to Dade that he had not once mentioned Teresita, although, before the rodeo his talk had been colored with references to the girl.
“Oh, how’s the señorita, by the way?” Dade asked deliberately.
“All right,” returned Jack promptly, with a rising inflection, “Are you going to get up, or shall I haul you out by the heels?”
Dade, observing an evasion of that subject also, did some hard thinking while he obediently pulled on his clothes. But he said not a word more about the duel, or José’s love-tragedy, or Teresita.
Since the first flush of dawn the dismal squeal of wooden-wheeled ox-carts had hushed the bird songs all up and down El Camino Real, and the popping of the drivers’ lashes, which punctuated their objurgations to the shambling oxen, told eloquently of haste. Within canopies formed of gay, patchwork quilts and gayer serapes, heavy-jowled, swarthy señoras lurched resignedly with the jolting of the carts, and between whiles counseled restive señoritas upon the subject of deportment or gossiped idly of those whom they expected to meet at the fiesta.
The Picardo hacienda was fairly wiped clean of its, comfortable home-atmosphere, so immaculate was it and so plainly held ready for ceremonious festivities. The señora herself went about with a linen dust-cloth in her hand, and scolded because the smoke from the fires which the peons had tended all night in the barbecue pits was borne straight toward the house by the tricksy west wind, and left cinders and grime upon windows closed against it. The patio was swept clean of dust and footprints, and the peons scarce dared to cross it in their scurrying errands hither and thither.
In the orchard many caballeros fresh from the rodeo were camped, their waiting-time spent chiefly in talking of the thing they meant to do or hoped to see, while they polished spur-shanks and bridle trimmings.
Horses were being groomed painstakingly at the corrals, and there was always a group around the bear-pen where the two cubs whimpered, and the gaunt mother rolled wicked, little, bloodshot eyes at those who watched and dropped pebbles upon her outraged nose and like cowards remained always beyond her reach.
In the small corral near by, the bulls bellowed hoarsely at the scent of their grizzly neighbor and tossed dirt menacingly over their backs; while above them the rude tiers of seats waited emptily for the yelling humans who would crowd them later. Beyond, under a great, wide-spreading live oak near the roasting pits, three fat young steers swung by their heels from a horizontal limb, ready for the huge gridirons that stood leaning against the trunk behind them. Indeed, the heads of those same steers were even then roasting in their hide in the smaller pit of their own, where the ashes were still warm, though the fire had been drawn over-night.
The sun was not more than two hours high when Don Andres himself appeared in his gala dress upon the veranda, to greet in flowery Spanish the first arrivals among his guests. The señora, he explained courteously, was still occupied, and the señorita, he averred fondly, was sleeping still, because there would be no further opportunity to sleep for many hours; but his house and all that he had was half theirs, and they would honor him most by entering into their possessions.
Whereupon the señoras and the señoritas settled themselves in comfortable chairs and waited, and inspected the house of this lord of the valley, whose luxury was something to envy. Some of those señoras walked upon bare, earthen floors when they were at home, and their black eyes rested hungrily upon the polished, dark wood beneath their feet, and upon the rugs that had come from Spain along with the paintings upon the walls. They looked, and craned, and murmured comments until the señora appeared, a little breathless and warm from her last conference with Margarita in the kitchen, and turned their tongues upon the festival.
Dade was just finishing the rite of shaving, and thinking the while that he would give all that he possessed, including Surry, if he could whisk Jack and himself to the cool, pine slope in the Sierras where was their mine. Every day of waiting and gossiping over the duel had but fostered the feeling of antagonism among the men of the valley, and whatever might be the outcome of that encounter, Dade could see no hope of avoiding an open clash between the partisans of the two combatants. Valencia and Pancho and two or three others of the Picardo vaqueros, who hated Manuel—and therefore had no love for José—would be more than likely to side with him and Jack, though he honestly wished that they would not; for the more friends they had when the test was made, the greater would be the disturbance, especially since there would be wine for all; and wine never yet served to cool a temper or lull excitement.
Without in the least realizing it, Dade’s face while he shaved wore a scowl quite as pronounced as the one that had called his attention to Jack’s mood. And, more significant, he had no sooner finished than he looked into his little box of pistol caps to see how many he had left, and inspected the pistol as well; for the law of self-preservation strikes deeper than most emotions, and his life had mostly been lived where men must frequently fight for the right to live; and in such surroundings the fighting instinct wakes at the first hint of antagonism.
“My riata’s gone!” announced Jack breathlessly, bursting into the room at that moment as if he expected to find the thief there. “I left it on my saddle last night, and now—”
“And that was a fool thing to do, I must say!” commented Dade, startled into harshness. He slid the pistol into its holster and buckled the belt around his muscular body with fingers that moved briskly. “Well, my riata’s no slouch—you can use it. You’ve used it before.”
“I don’t want yours. I’ve got used to my own. I know to an inch just where it will land—oh, damn the luck—It was some of those fellows camped by the orchard, and when I find out which—”
“
Keep your head on, anyway,” advised Dade more equably. “Your nerves must be pretty well frazzled. If you let a little thing like this upset you, how do you expect—”
“It ain’t a little thing!” gritted Jack, loading his pistols hurriedly. “That six-strand riata has got a different feel, a different weight—oh, you know it’s going to make all the difference in the world when I get out there with José. Whoever took it knew what it meant, all right! Some one—”
“Where’s Surry?” A sudden fear sent Dade hurrying to the door. “By the Lord Harry, if they’ve hurt Surry—” He jerked the door open and went out, Jack hard upon his heels.
“I didn’t think of that,” Jack confessed on the way to the stable, and got a look of intense disgust from Dade, which he mitigated somewhat by his next remark. “Diego was to sleep in the stall last night.”
“Oh.” Dade slackened his pace a bit. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I think,” retorted Jack, grinning a little, “somebody else’s nerves are kinda frazzled, too. I don’t want you to begin worrying over my affairs, Dade. I’m not,” he asserted with unconvincing emphasis. “But all the same, I’d like to get my fingers on the fellow that took my riata!”
Since he formulated that wish after he reached the doorway of the roomy box-stall where Surry was housed, he faced a badly scared peon as the door swung open.
“Señor—I—pardon, Señor! But I feared that harm might come to the riata in the night. There are many guests, Señor, who speak ill of gringos, and I heard a whisper—”
Jack, gripping Diego by the shoulders, halted his nervous explanations. “What about the riata?” he cried. “Do you know where it is?”
“Sí, Señor. Me, I took it from the señor’s saddle, for I feared harm would be done if it were left there to tempt those who would laugh to see the señor dragged to the death today. Señor, that is José’s purpose; from a San Vincente vaquero I heard—and he had it from the lips of Manuel. José will lasso the señor, and the horse will run away with José, and the señor will be killed. Ah, Señor!—José’s skill is great; and Manuel swears that now he will truly fight like a demon, because the prayers of the señorita go with José. Her glove she sent him for a token—Manuel swears that it is so, and a message that he is to kill thee, Señor!”
