by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER VI
THE VALLEY
In the valley of Santa Clara, which lies cradled easily betweenmountains and smiles up at the sun nearly the whole year through,Spring has a winter home, wherein she dwells contentedly while thenorthern land is locked in the chill embrace of the Snow King. InFebruary, unless the north wind sweeps down jealously and stays herhand, she flings a golden brocade of poppies over the green hillsidesand the lower slopes which the forest has left her. Time was when shespread a deep-piled carpet of mustard over the floor of the valleyas well, and watched smiling while it grew thicker and higher and thelemon-yellow blossoms vied with the orange of the poppies, until thetwo set all the valley aglow.
Now it was March, and the hillsides were ablaze with the poppies,and the valley floor was soft green and yellow to the knees; withthe great live oaks standing grouped in stately calm, like a herdof gigantic, green elephants scattered over their feeding-ground andfinding the peace of repletion with the coming of the sun.
The cabin of Manuel squatted upon a little rise of ground at the headof the valley. When Jack stood in the doorway and looked down upon thegreen sweep of grazing ground with the hills behind, and farther awayanother range facing him, he owned to himself that it was good to bethere. The squalidness of the town he had left so tumultuously struckupon his memory nauseatingly.
Spring was here in the valley, even though the mountains shone whitebeyond. A wind had come out of the south and driven the fog back tothe bay, and the sun shone warmly down upon the land. Two robinssang exultantly in the higher branches of the oak, where they hadbreakfasted satisfyingly upon the first of the little, green wormsthat gave early promise of being a pest until such time as theystiffened and clung inertly, waiting for the dainty, gray wings togrow and set them aflutter over the tree upon which they had fed.One of them dropped upon Jack's arm while he stood there and crawledaimlessly from the barren buckskin to his wrist. He flung it offmechanically. Spring was here of a truth; in the town he had notnoticed her coming.
"You're right, Dade," he declared suddenly, over his shoulder. "Thisbeats getting up at noon and going through the motions of living fortwelve or fourteen hours in town. I believe I'll have Manuel get mea riding outfit, if he will. Maybe I'll take you up on that rodeoproposition. Reckon your old don will give me a job?"
"Won't cost a peso to find out," said Dade, coming out and standingbeside him in the sun. "I've been talking to Manuel, and he thinkswe'd better pull out right away. Valencia's got an extra saddle here,and Manuel says he'll catch a horse for you."
"I believe I'll send a letter to Bill," proposed Jack. "He'll giveManuel enough dust to buy what I need; and I ought to let him know howwe made out, anyway."
A blank leaf from the little memorandum book he always carried, and abullet for pencil--perforce, the note was brief; but it told what hewanted: gold to buy a riding outfit, his pistols which Perkins hadtaken from him, and news of Bill's well-being. When the paper wouldhold no more and hold it legibly, he folded it carefully so that itwould not smudge, and gave it to his host.
"What if the Committee catches you with that buckskin, Manuel?" heasked abruptly. The risk Manuel would run had not before occurred tohim. "Dade he's liable to get into trouble, if they catch him withthat horse; let's turn the darned thing loose."
"Me, I shall not ride where the gringos will see me," broke in Manuelbriskly. "The senors need not be alarmed. I shall keep away from ElCamino Real. At the Mission I will buy what the senor desires, and Iwill bring it to him at the hacienda."
"Get the best they've got," Jack adjured him. "An outfit better thanDade's, if you can find one. Bill Wilson has got about twelve hundreddollars of mine; get the best if it cleans the sack." He grinned atDade. "If you're going to bully me into turning vaquero again, I'mgoing to have the fun of riding in style, anyway. You've set the pace,you know. I never saw you so gaudy. Er--what did you say her name is?"
"I didn't say."
"Must be serious. Too bad." Jack shook his head dolefully. "Say,Manuel, do you know a good riata, when you see one lying aroundloose?"
"Si, Senor. Me, I have braided the riatas and bridles since I wasso high." From the height of his measuring hand from the beaten claybeneath the oak, he proclaimed himself an infant prodigy; but Jack didnot happen to be looking at him and so remained unamazed.
"Well, you ought to know something about them. Get the best riata youcan find. I leave it to your judgment."
"Si, Senor. To-morrow I will bring them to you." He hesitated, hiseyes dwelling curiously upon the coppery hair of this stranger, whosepresence he was not quite sure that he did not resent vaguely. Dade hehad come to accept as a man whose innate kindliness, which was as mucha part of him as the blood in his veins, wiped out any stain of alienbirth; but this blue-eyed one--"The senor himself is perhaps a judgeof riatas?" he insinuated, politely veiling the quick jealousy of hisnature.
"We-el-l--you bring me one ready to fall all to pieces, and I reckon Icould tell it was poor, after it had stranded."
Dade laughed. "Judge of riatas? You wait till you see him with one inhis hand!"
Manuel's teeth shone briefly, but the smile did not come from hisheart. "Me, I shall surely bring the senor a riata worthy even of hisskill," he declared sententiously, as he walked away with his bridleslung over his arm and his back very straight.
"That sounded sarcastic," commented Jack, looking after him. "What'sthe matter? Is the old fellow jealous?" Dade flicked his cigaretteagainst the trunk of the oak to remove the white crown of ashes, andshook his head. "What of?" he asked bluntly. "Half your trouble, Jack,comes from looking for it. Manuel's a fine old fellow. I stayed a fewdays with him here when I first left town, and rode around with him.He's straight as the road to heaven, and I never heard him brag aboutanything, except the goodness of his 'patron,' and the things some ofhis friends can do. I'll have to ask you to saddle up for me, Jack;this arm of mine's pretty stiff and sore this morning. Watch howSurry's trained! You wouldn't believe some of the things he'll do."
He turned towards the horse, feeding knee-deep in grass and youngmustard in the opening farther down the slope, and whistled a long,high note. The white head went up with a fling of the heavy mane, toperk ears forward at the sound. Then he turned and came towards themat a long, swinging walk that was a joy to behold.
"Do you know, I hate the way nature's trimmed down the life of a horseto a few measly years," said Dade. "A good horse you can love like ahuman--and fifteen years is about as long as he can expect to live andamount to anything. Surry's four now, by his teeth. In fifteen yearsI'll still be at my best; I'll want that horse like the very devil;and he'll be dead of old age, if he lasts that long. And a turtle,"he added resentfully after a pause, "lives hundreds of years, justbecause the darned things aren't any good on earth!"
"Trade him for a camel," drawled Jack unsympathetically. "They're moredurable."
"Watch him come, now!" Dade gave three short, shrill whistles, andwith a toss of head by way of answer, Surry came tearing up the slope,straight for his master. The shadow of the oak was all about him whenhe planted his front feet stiffly and stopped; flared his nostrils ina snort and, because Dade waved his hand to the right, wheeled thatway, circled the oak at a pace which set his body aslant and stoppedagain quite as suddenly as before. Dade held out his hand, and Surrycame up and rubbed the palm playfully with his soft muzzle.
"For a camel, did you say?" Dade grinned triumphantly at the otherover the sleek back of his pet.
"What'll you take for him?"
Dade pulled the heavy forelock straight with fingers that caressedwith every touch. "Jose Pacheco asked me that, and I came pretty nearhitting him. I don't reckon I'll ever be drunk enough to name a price.But I might--"
Jack glanced at him, and saw that his lips were half parted in a smileborn of some fancy of his own, and that his eyes were seeing dreams.Jack stared for a full minute before Dade's thoughts jerked back tohis surroundings. Dade was not a dreamer; or
if he were, Jack hadnever had occasion to suspect him of it, and he wondered a little whatit was that had sent Dade into dreams at that hour of the morning.But Manuel was returning, riding one pony and leading another; so Jackthrew away his cigarette stub and picked up the saddle blanket.
Manuel came up and saddled his mount silently, his deft fingersworking mechanically while his black eyes stole sidelong looks atJack saddling Surry, as if he would measure the man anew. While he wasanathematizing the buckskin in language for which he would need to doa penance later on, if he confessed the blasphemy to the padre, Jackthrew Valencia's saddle upon the little sorrel pony Manuel had led upfor him to ride.
"Truly one would not like to die for having stolen such a beast,"stated Manuel earnestly, knotting a macarte around the neck of thebuckskin. "He is only fit to carry men to hangings. Come, accursedone! The Vigilantes are weeping for one so like themselves. Adios,Senors!"
He rode away, still heaping opprobrium upon the reluctant buckskin,and speedily he disappeared behind a clump of willows clothed in thepale green of new leaves.
Dade dropped the bullock hide which served for a door, to signify thatthe master of the house was absent. Though the old don's cattle mightbe butchered under his very nose, Manuel's few belongings would not bemolested, though only the dingy brown hide of a bull long since gonethe way of all flesh barred the way; a week, one month or six the hutwould stand inviolate from despoliation; for such was the unwrittenlaw of a land where life was held cheaper than the things necessary topreserve life.
On such a morning, when the air was like summer and all the birds wererehearsing most industriously their parts in the opening chorus withwhich Spring meant to celebrate her return to the northern land, aride down the valley was pure joy to any man whose soul was tuned inharmony with the great outdoors; and trouble lagged and could not keeppace with the riders.
Half-way down, they met Valencia, a slim young Spaniard with one ofthose amazing smiles that was like a flash of sunlight, what with hisperfect teeth, his eyes that could almost laugh out loud, and a sunnysoul behind them. Valencia, having an appetite for acquiring wisdom ofvarious kinds and qualities, knew some English and was not averse tomaking strangers aware of the accomplishment.
Therefore, when the two greeted him in Spanish, he calmly replied:"Hello, pardner," and pulled up for a smoke.
"How you feel for my dam-close call to-morrow?" he wanted to know ofJack, when he learned his name.
"Pretty well. How did you know--?" began Jack, but the other cut himshort.
"Jose, she heard on town. The patron, she's worry leetle. She's 'fraidfor Senor Hunter be keel. Me, I ride to find for-sure." Valenciadropped his match, and leaned negligently from the saddle and pickedit out of the grass, his eyes stealing a look at the stranger as hecame up.
"Good work," commented Jack under his breath to Dade. But Valencia'sears were keen for praise; he heard, and from that moment he wasJack's friend.
"I borrowed your saddle, Valencia," Jack announced, meaning to promisea speedy return of it.
"Not my saddle; yours and mine, amigo," amended Valencia quite simplyand sincerely. "Mine, she's yours also. You keep him." While hesmoked the little, corn-husk cigarette, he eyed with admiration thecopper-red hair upon which Manuel had looked with disfavor.
Before they rode on and left him, his friendliness had stampedan agreeable impression upon Jack's consciousness. He looked backapprovingly at the sombreroed head bobbing along behind a clump ofyoung manzanita just making ready to bloom daintily.
"I like that vaquero," he stated emphatically. "He's worth two ofManuel, to my notion."
"Valencia? He's not half the man old Manuel is. He gambles worse thanan Injun, and never has anything more than his riding outfit and theclothes on his back, they tell me. And he fights like a catamount whenthe notion strikes him; and it doesn't seem to make much differencewhether he's got an excuse or not. He's a good deal like you, in thatrespect," he added, with that perfect frankness which true friendshipaffects as a special privilege earned by its loyalty.
"Manuel's got tricky eyes," countered Jack. "He's the kind of Spaniardthat will 'Si, Senor,' while he's hitching his knife loose to get youin the back. I know the breed; I lived amongst 'em before I ever sawyou. Valencia's the kind I'd tie to."
"And I was working with 'em when you were saying 'pitty horsey!' Myfirst job was with a Spanish outfit. A Mexican majordomo licked meinto shape when I was sweet sixteen. And," he clinched the argumentmercilessly, "I was sixteen and drawing a man's pay on rodeo when youwore your pants buttoned on to your waist!"
"And you don't know anything yet!" Jack came back at him. Whereat theylaughed and called a truce, which was the way of them.
