by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT IS LOVE WORTH?
Valencia swung down from his belathered horse as lightly as though hehad not spent seven hours in the saddle and during those seven hours hadcovered more miles than he would have years to live. His smile was wideand went as deep as his emotions had thus far plumbed his nature, andhis voice had the exultant note of a child who has wonderful news totell. He gave Dade a letter, and his very gesture was triumphant; andthe eyes were eager that watched his majordomo read. He bubbled withwords that he would like to say, but he waited.
"So you didn't get there in time, after all," Dade observed, looking upfrom Jack's characteristic signature, in which the tail of the "k"curled around the whole like a mouse lying asleep. "Manuel came backthis morning, and the whole camp is talking nothing but duelo. I thoughtyou said--"
"Senor, the saints would not permit that I should arrive first,"Valencia explained virtuously. "A stick tripped Noches and he fell, andbroke his neck in the fall. The senor knows well the saints had a handin that, for hundreds of horses fall every day thus without hurt. Neverbefore in my life have I seen a horse die thus, Senor! I was compelledto walk and carry the saddle, yet such haste I made that Manuel met meby the stone wall as he was leaving. And at least twelve miles Iwalked--"
"Oh, all right," Dade waved away further apology. "I reckon you did yourbest; it can't be helped now. They're going to fight with riatas, Manuelsays. Is that right?"
"But not the duelo, Senor--no, but in the contest. For sport, that allmay witness, and choose who is champion, after the bull-fighting, andthe--"
"What are you talking about, man?" Dade's hand fell heavily upon theshoulder of Valencia, swaying his whole body with the impact. "Are youloco, to talk of bull-fightings?"
"It is the fiesta, Senor! The patron himself has proclaimed the grandfiesta, such as they have in Monterey, only this will be greater; andthen those two will fight their duelo with riatas, yes; but not to thedeath, Senor. The patron himself has declared it. For the medalla oroand also for a prize will they fight; and the prize--what think you,Senor?"
Valencia, a-quiver with eagerness, laid a slim hand upon the braidedfront of Dade's close-fitting buckskin jacket.
"The prize will be Solano! That beautiful caballo--beautiful even as thySurry--which the patron has not permitted rawhide to touch, except forthe branding. Like the sunshine he is, with his hair of gold; and thetail that waves to his heels is like the ripples on the bay at sunrise.Who wins the duelo shall have Solano for his own, and shall ride himbefore all the people; for such is the patron's word. From his own lipsI heard it! Me, I think that will be the greatest sport of all, for heis wild as the deer on the mountain slopes--that yellow caballo, andstrong as the bull which the patron will choose to fight the grizzly hewill bring from the mountains.
"Listen, Senor! The mother of Solano was a she-devil under the saddle,and killed two men by throwing herself upon them; and the sire wasSatanas, of whom stories are told around the camp-fires as far south asSan Luis Obispo.
"Ah, he is wise, the patron! 'Then let them also prove their courage inother ways. Let the victor pray to the saints and ride Solano, who isfive years old and has never felt the riata since he left his mother'sside--who was a devil.' Me, I heard the soul of the patron speak thus,while the lips of the patron said to me:
"'Go back to the rodeo, Valencia, and proclaim to all that I will givethe grand fiesta with sports to please all. Tell them that already twohave agreed to contest with riatas for a prize--' Look you, Senor, howwily is the patron!--'And for the prize I name the gelding, Solano, whohas never known weight of saddle. Tell them, Valencia, that the victorshall ride his prize for all the crowd to see. And if he is thrown, thenSolano will be forfeit to the other, who must ride him also. There willbe other sports and other prizes, Valencia, and others may contest inriding, in the lassoing and tying of wild steers, in running. But saythat Don Jose Pacheco and the Senor Jack Allen will contest with riatasfor the possession of Solano.' Ah, Senor--"
"Ah, Valencia, why not scatter some of your enthusiasm over the othercamp-fires?" Dade broke in quizzically. "Go and proclaim it, then. Tellthe San Vincente men, and the Las Uvas, and all the other vaqueros."
Valencia, grinned and departed, leaving behind him in the loose sandtracks more than three feet apart to show how eager was his obedience;and Dade sat down upon a dead log that had been dragged to the Picardocamp-fire, to consider how this new phase of the affair would affect thetemper of the people who owned such warm hearts and such hot heads.
A fiesta, with the duelo fought openly under the guise of a contest forthe medal and a prize which was well worth any man's bestefforts--surely, Don Andres was wily, as Valencia said. But with all thepeople of the valley there to see, their partisanship inflamed by thewine of festivity and the excitement of the sports themselves--whatthen?
Dade thoughtfully rolled a corn-husk cigarette, and tried to peer intothe future. As it looked to him, he and Jack were rather between thedevil and the deep sea. If Jack were beaten, they would be scorned andcrowed over and humiliated beyond endurance. Neither was made of thestuff to stand much of that, and they would probably wind up with bothhands and their hats full of trouble. And to himself he admitted thatthere was a fair chance of that very result. He had not been blind, andJose had not shrunk into the background when there was riata-work andriding to be done on the rodeo ground. Dade had watched him as jealouslyas it was in his nature to do, and the eyes of jealousy are keen indeed;and he had seen Jose make many throws, and never a miss. Which, if youknow anything of rope-work, was a remarkable record for any man. Sothere was a good chance of Jose winning that fight. In his heart Dadeknew it, even if his lips never would admit it.
Well, supposing Jose was beaten; suppose Jack won! What then? Dade blewa mouthful of smoke towards the camp-fire, deserted except for himself,while his vaqueros disported themselves with their neighbors, and shookhis head. He had a little imagination; perhaps he had more than most menof his type. He could see a glorious row, if Jose were beaten. It would,on the whole, be more disastrous than if he won.
"And she's just fickle-minded enough to turn up her nose at Jack if hegot beat," Dade grumbled, thinking of a certain senorita. "And if hedon't, the whole bunch will pile onto us. Looks to me like a worsecombination than that Vigilance row, for Jack. If he wins, he getsknifed; if he don't, he gets hell. And me the only one to back him up!I'll wish I was about forty men seven foot high and armed with--"
"Pardon, Senor. The senor has of course heard the news?" Jose came outof the shadows and stood with the firelight dancing on his face andpicking out the glittery places on his jacket, where was the braid. "Ihave a letter from Don Andres. Would the senor care to read it? No? Thesenor is welcome to read. I have no wish to keep anything hidden whichconcerns this matter. I have brought the letter, and I want to saythat the wishes of my friend, Don Andres, shall be granted. Except," headded, coming closer, "that I shall fight to the death. I wish the SenorAllen to understand this, though it must he held a secret between usthree. An accident it must appear to those who watch, because the duelowill be proclaimed a sport; but to the death I will fight, and I trustthat the Senor Allen will fight as I fight. Does the senor understand?"
"Yes, but I can't promise anything for Jack." Dade studied Jose quietlythrough the smoke of his cigarette. "Jack will fight to please himself,and nobody can tell how that will be, except that it won't be tricky. Hemay want to kill you, and he may not. I don't know. If he does, he'lltry his damnedest, you can bank on that."
"But you, Senor--do you not see that to fight for a prize merely is tobelittle--" Jose waved a hand eloquently.
"I see you're taking life pretty serious," Dade retorted, moving fartheralong the log. "Sit down, Jose, and be sociable. Nothing like seeing thepoint of a joke, if there is one. Do you reckon anything's worth all theheart-burnings you're indulging in? Some things are tough; I've wadedkinda deep, myself, so I know. But there's nothing you can't get ov
er,with time and lots of common sense, except being a sneak--and beingdead. To me, one's as bad as the other, with maybe first choice ondeath. You aren't a sneak, and I don't see why you hanker to be dead.What do you want to fight to the death for?"
"An accident it must appear to those who watch"]
Jose did not sit down beside Dade, but he came a little closer, "Why doI want to fight to the death? I will tell you, Senor; I am not ashamed.Since I was a child I have loved that senorita whom I will not name toyou. Only last Christmas time the senora, her mother, said I must waitbut a year longer till she was a little older. They would keep theirchild a little longer, and truly her heart is the heart of a child. Butshe knew; and I think she waited also and was happy. But look you,Senor! Then comes a stranger and steals--
"Ah, you ask me why must I fight to the death? Senor, you are a man;perchance you have loved--for of a truth I see sometimes the sadness inyour eyes. You know that I must fight thus. You know that to kill thatblue-eyed one is all there is left to do. Me, I could have put him outof the way before now, for there are many knives ready to do me theservice. Kill him I shall, Senor; but it shall be in fight; and if thesenorita sees--good. She shall know then that at least it is not acoward or a weakling who loves her. Do you ask why--"
Dade's hands went out, dismissing the question. "No, I don't ask anotherblamed thing. Go ahead and fight. Fight to kill, if that's the onlything that will satisfy you. You two aren't the first to lock horns overa woman. Jack seems just as keen for it as you are, so I don't reckonthere's any stopping either one of you. But it does seem a pity!"
"Why does it seem a pity?" Jose's tone was insistent.
"It seems a pity," Dade explained doggedly, "to see two fine fellowslike you and Jack trying to kill each other for a girl--that isn't worththe life of either one of you!"
In two steps Jose confronted him, his hand lifted to strike. Dade,looking up at him, flicked the ashes from his cigarette with hisforefinger, but that was the only move he made. Jose's hand trembled andcame down harmlessly by his side.
"I was mistaken," he said, smiling queerly. "You have never loved anywoman, Senor; and I think the sadness I have seen in your eyes is foryourself, that life has cheated you so. If you had known love, you couldnever have said that. Love, Senor, is worth everything a man has togive--even his life. You would know that, if you had ever loved." Hewaited a moment, closed his teeth upon further words, turned abruptly onhis heel and went away into the fog-darkened night.
Dade, with a slight curl to his lips that did not look quite like asmile, stared into the fire, where the embers were growing charred forhalf their length, and the flames were waving wearily and shrinking backto the coals, and the coals themselves were filmed with gray. Thecigarette went cold and clammy in his fingers, and in his eyes was thatsadness of which Jose had spoken; and something else besides.
They would fight, those two, and fight to kill. Since the world wasfirst peopled, men had fought as they would fight--for love; for thepossession of a pretty thing--warm, capricious, endearing, with possiblya heart and a soul beneath; possibly. And love--what was love, afterall? What is love worth? He had loved her, too; at least, he had feltall the emotions that either of them had felt for her. He was not surethat he did not still feel them, or would if he let himself go. He didnot believe, however, that those emotions were worth more thaneverything else in the world; more than his life, or honor, orfriendship. He had choked love, strangled it, starved it for sake offriendship; and, sitting there staring abstractedly into the filmingcoals, he wondered if he had done wrong; if those two were right, andlove was worth fighting for.
The man who fought the hardest, he felt, would in this case win that forwhich he fought. For he felt in his heart, that Teresita was only apretty little animal, the primitive woman who would surrender tostrength; and that he would win in the end who simply refused to yieldbefore her coquetries.
With a quick, impatient gesture he threw his cigarette into the coals,kicked viciously a lazily smoking brand which sent up a little blaze anda spurt of sparks that died almost immediately to dull coals again.
"Love's like that," he muttered pessimistically, standing up andstretching his arms mechanically. "And the winner loses in the end;maybe not always, but he will in this case. Poor old Jack! After all,she ain't worth it. If she was--" His chin went down for a minute ortwo, while he stared again at the fire. "If she was, I'd--But she ain't.Love's worth--what is love worth, anyway?"
He did not answer the question with any degree of positiveness, and hewent to bed wishing that he had never seen the valley of Santa Clara.
