XVII
BEFORE the end of their second day in the canon, the place had become toRamona so like a friendly home, that she dreaded to leave its shelter.Nothing is stronger proof of the original intent of Nature to do morefor man than the civilization in its arrogance will long permit her todo, than the quick and sure way in which she reclaims his affection,when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster, he is returned, for aninterval, to her arms. How soon he rejects the miserable subterfuges ofwhat he had called habits; sheds the still more miserable pretences ofsuperiority, makeshifts of adornment, and chains of custom! "Whom thegods love, die young," has been too long carelessly said. It is nottrue, in the sense in which men use the words. Whom the gods love, dwellwith nature; if they are ever lured away, return to her before they areold. Then, however long they live before they die, they die young. Whomthe gods love, live young--forever.
With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of the Indian,Alessandro saw how, hour by hour, there grew in Ramona's eyes the wontedlook of one at home; how she watched the shadows, and knew what theymeant.
"If we lived here, the walls would be sun-dials for us, would they not?"she said, in a tone of pleasure. "I see that yon tall yucca has gone inshadow sooner than it did yesterday."
And, "What millions of things grow here, Alessandro! I did not knowthere were so many. Have they all names? The nuns taught us some names;but they were hard, and I forgot them, We might name them for ourselves,if we lived here. They would be our relations."
And, "For one year I should lie and look up at the sky, my Alessandro,and do nothing else. It hardly seems as if it would be a sin to donothing for a year, if one gazed steadily at the sky all the while."
And, "Now I know what it is I have always seen in your face, Alessandro.It is the look from the sky. One must be always serious and not unhappy,but never too glad, I think, when he lives with nothing between him andthe sky, and the saints can see him every minute."
And, "I cannot believe that it is but two days I have lived in theair, Alessandro. This seems to me the first home I have ever had. Is itbecause I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?"
It was strange how many more words Ramona spoke than Alessandro, yet howfull she felt their intercourse to be. His silence was more than silent;it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllableof Alessandro's, nay, a look, told what other men took long sentences tosay, and said less eloquently.
After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, "You speak as the treesspeak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without sayinganything!"
This delighted Alessandro's very heart. "And you, Majella," heexclaimed; "when you say that, you speak in the language of our people;you are as we are."
And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words,--happier than shewould have been made by any other praise or fondness.
Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength as if by a miracle.The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour wasalready fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy whowooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, herself invisible toall but the Prince, hovered in the air, sang loving songs to draw himaway from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice andsummoned magicians to rout her by all spells and enchantments at theircommand. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off;but as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw him an apple,--amagic golden apple. Once having tasted of this, he refused all otherfood. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple;and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay thegolden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had not fed upon it;and when the Fairy came the next time, the Prince leaped into her magicboat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in his kingdom again. Itwas only an allegory, this legend,--a beautiful allegory, and true,--oflove and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, nowgrowing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, andjust as strength-giving.
"My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so soon?" said Ramona,studying his countenance with loving care. "I thought that night youwould die. Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes shine, and yourhand is not hot! It is the blessed air; it has cured you, as it curedFelipe of the fever."
"If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Majella," repliedAlessandro. "I had been under no roof except the tule-shed, till I sawyou. It is not the air;" and he looked at her with a gaze that said therest.
At twilight of the third day, when Ramona saw Alessandro leading upBaba, saddled ready for the journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noonAlessandro had said to her: "To-night, Majella, we must go. There is notgrass enough for another day. We must go while the horses are strong. Idare not lead them any farther down the canon to graze, for there isa ranch only a few miles lower. To-day I found one of the man's cowsfeeding near Baba."
Ramona made no remonstrance. The necessity was too evident; but thelook on her face gave Alessandro a new pang. He, too, felt as if exiledafresh in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses slowly up, andsaw Ramona sitting in a dejected attitude beside the nets in which wereagain carefully packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. Againthe sense of his homeless and destitute condition settled like anunbearable burden on his soul. Whither and to what was he leading hisMajella?
But once in the saddle, Ramona recovered cheerfulness. Baba was insuch gay heart, she could not be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairlyrollicking with satisfaction at being once more on the move. Capitan,too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, spite of its refreshingshade and cool water. He longed for sheep. He did not understand thisinactivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ramona laugh more thanonce, as he would come and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixinghis eyes intently on her face, as if he said in so many words, "Whatin the world are you about in this canon, and do not you ever intend toreturn home? Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do you notsee that I have nothing to do?"
"We must ride all night, Majella," said Alessandro, "and lose no time.It is a long way to the place where we shall stay to-morrow."
"Is it a canon?" asked Ramona, hopefully.
"No," he replied, "not a canon but there are beautiful oak-trees. Itis where we get our acorns for the winter. It is on the top of a highhill."
"Will it be safe there?" she asked.
"I think so," he replied; "though not so safe as here. There is no suchplace as this in all the country."
"And then where shall we go next?" she asked.
"That is very near Temecula," he said. "We must go into Temecula, dearMajella. I must go to Mr. Hartsel's. He is friendly. He will give memoney for my father's violin. If it were not for that, I would never gonear the place again."
"I would like to see it, Alessandro," she said gently.
"Oh, no, no, Majella!" he cried; "you would not. It is terrible; thehouses all unroofed,--all but my father's and Jose's. They wereshingled roofs; they will be just the same; all the rest are only walls.Antonio's mother threw hers down; I don't know how the old woman everhad the strength; they said she was like a fury. She said nobody shouldever live in those walls again; and she took a pole, and made a greathole in one side, and then she ran Antonio's wagon against it with allher might, till it fell in. No, Majella. It will be dreadful."
"Wouldn't you like to go into the graveyard again, Alessandro?" she saidtimidly.
"The saints forbid!" he said solemnly. "I think it would make me amurderer to stand in that graveyard! If I had not you, my Majel, Ishould kill some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak of it!" headded, after a moment's silence; "it takes the strength all out of myblood again, Majella. It feels as if I should die!"
And the word "Temecula" was not mentioned between them again until duskthe next day, when, as they were riding slowly along between low, woodedhills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, marshy place, witha little thread of trickl
ing water, at which their horses stopped, anddrank thirstily; and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in thedistance. "Lights, Alessandro, lights!" she exclaimed, pointing to them.
"Yes, Majella," he replied, "it is Temecula," and springing off his ponyhe came to her side, and putting both his hands on hers, said: "I havebeen thinking, for a long way back, Carita, what is to be done here. Ido not know. What does Majella think will be wise? If men have been sentout to pursue us, they may be at Hartsel's. His store is the place whereeverybody stops, everybody goes. I dare not have you go there, Majella;yet I must go. The only way I can get any money is from Mr. Hartsel."
"I must wait somewhere while you go!" said Ramona, her heart beating asshe gazed ahead into the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast asthe sea. "That is the only safe thing, Alessandro."
"I think so too," he said; "but, oh, I am afraid for you; and will notyou be afraid?"
"Yes," she replied, "I am afraid. But it is not so dangerous as theother."
"If anything were to happen to me, and I could not come back to you,Majella, if you give Baba his reins he will take you safe home,--he andCapitan."
Ramona shrieked aloud. She had not thought of this possibility.Alessandro had thought of everything. "What could happen?" she cried.
"I mean if the men were there, and if they took me for stealing thehorse," he said.
"But you would not have the horse with you," she said. "How could theytake you?"
"That mightn't make any difference," replied Alessandro. "They mighttake me, to make me tell where the horse was."
"Oh, Alessandro," sobbed Ramona, "what shall we do!" Then in anothersecond, gathering her courage, she exclaimed, "Alessandro, I know whatI will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one will come there. Shall Inot be safest there?"
"Holy Virgin! would my Majel stay there?" exclaimed Alessandro.
"Why not?" she said. "It is not the dead that will harm us. They wouldall help us if they could. I have no fear. I will wait there while yougo; and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to Mr. Hartsel'safter you. If there are men of the Senora's there, they will know me;they will not dare to touch me. They will know that Felipe would punishthem. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered to take Baba, theycan have him; we can walk when the pony is tired."
Her confidence was contagious. "My wood-dove has in her breast the heartof the lion," said Alessandro, fondly. "We will do as she says. Sheis wise;" and he turned their horses' heads in the direction of thegraveyard. It was surrounded by a low adobe wall, with one small gateof wooden paling. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, "The thieveshave taken the gate!"
"What could they have wanted with that?" said Ramona
"To burn," he said doggedly, "It was wood; but it was very little. Theymight have left the graves safe from wild beasts and cattle!"
As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose from one of thegraves. Ramona started.
"Fear nothing," whispered Alessandro. "It must be one of our people. Iam glad; now you will not be alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That wasthe corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her;" and leavingRamona at the gate, he went slowly on, saying in a low voice, inthe Luiseno language, "Carmena, is that you? Have no fear. It is I,Alessandro!"
It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed with grief, wasspending her days by her baby's grave in Pachanga, and her nights by herhusband's in Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, for theAmericans were there, and she feared them. After a short talk with her,Alessandro returned, leading her along. Bringing her to Ramona's side,he laid her feverish hand in Ramona's, and said: "Majella, I have toldher all. She cannot speak a word of Spanish, but she is very glad, shesays, that you have come with me, and she will stay close by your sidetill I come back."
Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to comfort the girl; but allshe could do was to press her hand in silence. Even in the darkness shecould see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. Words are lessneedful to sorrow than to joy. Carmena felt in every fibre how Ramonawas pitying her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to draw herfrom the saddle. Ramona bent down and looked inquiringly into her face.Again she drew her gently with one hand, and with the other pointed tothe corner from which she had come. Ramona understood. "She wants toshow me her husband's grave," she thought. "She does not like to be awayfrom it. I will go with her."
Dismounting, and taking Baba's bridle over her arm, she bowed her headassentingly, and still keeping firm hold of Carmena's hand, followedher. The graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each mound markedby a small wooden cross. Carmena led with the swift step of one who kneweach inch of the way by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and nearlyfell, and Baba was impatient and restive at the strange inequalitiesunder his feet. When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piledearth of the new grave. Uttering a wailing cry, Carmena, drawing Ramonato the edge of it, pointing down with her right hand, then laid bothhands on her heart, and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst intoweeping, and again clasping Carmena's hand, laid it on her own breast,to show her sympathy. Carmena did not weep. She was long past that;and she felt for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, suddensympathy of this stranger,--this girl like herself, yet so different,so wonderful, so beautiful, Carmena was sure she must be. Had the saintssent her from heaven to Alessandro? What did it mean? Carmena's bosomwas heaving with the things she longed to say and to ask; but all shecould do was to press Ramona's hand again and again, and occasionallylay her soft cheek upon it.
"Now, was it not the saints that put it into my head to come to thegraveyard?" thought Ramona. "What a comfort to this poor heart-brokenthing to see Alessandro! And she keeps me from all fear. Holy Virgin!but I had died of terror here all alone. Not that the dead would harmme; but simply from the vast, silent plain, and the gloom."
Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they would return to the gate.Considerate and thoughtful, she remembered that Alessandro would expectto find them there. But it was a long and weary watch they had, waitingfor Alessandro to come.
After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had struck off at aquick run for Hartsel's, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile from thegraveyard. His own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew near,he saw a light in its windows. He stopped as if shot. "A light in ourhouse!" he exclaimed; and he clenched his hands. "Those cursed robbershave gone into it to live already!" His blood seemed turning to fire.Ramona would not have recognized the face of her Alessandro now. It wasfull of implacable vengeance. Involuntarily he felt for his knife. Itwas gone. His gun he had left inside the graveyard, leaning against thewall. Ah! in the graveyard! Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting forhim. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world held now but one work, onehope, one passion, for him. But he would at least see who were thesedwellers in his father's house. A fierce desire to see their facesburned within him. Why should he thus torture himself? Why, indeed? Buthe must. He would see the new home-life already begun on the grave ofhis. Stealthily creeping under the window from which the light shone, helistened. He heard children's voices; a woman's voice; at intervals thevoice of a man, gruff and surly; various household sounds also. It wasevidently the supper-hour. Cautiously raising himself till his eyes wereon a level with the lowest panes in the window, he looked in.
A table was set in the middle of the floor, and there were sitting at ita man, woman, and two children. The youngest, little more than a baby,sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the table, impatient forits supper. The room was in great confusion,--beds made on the floor,open boxes half unpacked, saddles and harness thrown down in thecorners; evidently there were new-comers into the house. The windowwas open by an inch. It had warped, and would not shut down. BitterlyAlessandro recollected how he had put off from day to day the planingof that window to make it shut tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he couldhear all that was said. The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was asensitive on
e, and her voice kindly; but the man had the countenanceof a brute,--of a human brute. Why do we malign the so-called brutecreation, making their names a unit of comparison for base traits whichnever one of them possessed?
"It seems as if I never should get to rights in this world!" said thewoman. Alessandro understood enough English to gather the meaning ofwhat she said. He listened eagerly. "When will the next wagon get here?"
"I don't know," growled her husband. "There's been a slide in thatcursed canon, and blocked the road. They won't be here for several daysyet. Hain't you got stuff enough round now? If you'd clear up what'shere now, then 'twould be time enough to grumble because you hadn't goteverything."
"But, John," she replied, "I can't clear up till the bureau comes, toput the things away in, and the bedstead. I can't seem to do anything."
"You can grumble, I take notice," he answered. "That's about all youwomen are good for, anyhow. There was a first-rate raw-hide bedsteadin here. If Rothsaker hadn't been such a fool's to let those dogs ofIndians carry off all their truck, we might have had that!"
The woman looked at him reproachfully, but did not speak for a moment.Then her cheeks flushed, and seeming unable to repress the speech, sheexclaimed, "Well, I'm thankful enough he did let the poor things taketheir furniture. I'd never have slept a wink an that bedstead, I know,if it had ha' been left here. It's bad enough to take their houses thisway!"
"Oh, you shut up your head for a blamed fool, will you!" cried the man.He was half drunk, his worst and most dangerous state. She glanced athim half timorously, half indignantly, and turning to the children,began feeding the baby. At that second the other child looked up, andcatching sight of the outline of Alessandro's head, cried out, "There'sa man there! There, at the window!"
Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground, and held his breath. Hadhe imperilled all, brought danger on himself and Ramona, by yielding tothis mad impulse to look once more inside the walls of his home? Witha fearful oath, the half-drunken man exclaimed, "One of those damnedIndians, I expect. I've seen several hangin' round to-day. We'll have toshoot two or three of 'em yet, before we're rid of 'em!" and he took hisgun down from the pegs above the fireplace, and went to the door with itin his hand.
"Oh, don't fire, father, don't." cried the woman. "They'll come andmurder us all in our sleep if you do! Don't fire!" and she pulled himback by the sleeve.
Shaking her off, with another oath, he stepped across the threshold, andstood listening, and peering into the darkness. Alessandro's heart beatlike a hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of Ramona, he wouldhave sprung on the man, seized his gun, and killed him.
"I don't believe it was anybody, after all, father," persisted thewoman. "Bud's always seein' things. I don't believe there was anybodythere. Come in; supper's gettin' all cold."
"Well, I'll jest fire, to let 'em know there's powder 'n shot roundhere," said the fiend. "If it hits any on 'em roamin' round, he won'tknow what hurt him;" and levelling his gun at random, with his drunken,unsteady hand he fired. The bullet whistled away harmlessly intothe empty darkness. Hearkening a few moments, and hearing no cry, hehiccuped, "Mi-i-issed him that time," and went in to his supper.
Alessandro did not dare to stir for a long time. How he cursed his ownfolly in having brought himself into this plight! What needless pain ofwaiting he was inflicting on the faithful one, watching for him in thatdesolate and fearful place of graves! At last he ventured,--slidingalong on his belly a few inches at a time, till, several rods from thehouse, he dared at last to spring to his feet and bound away at fullspeed for Hartsel's.
Hartsel's was one of those mongrel establishments to be seen nowhereexcept in Southern California. Half shop, half farm, half tavern, itgathered up to itself all the threads of the life of the whole region.Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at Hartsel's, drankat Hartsel's, slept at Hartsel's. It was the only place of its kindwithin a radius of twenty miles; and it was the least bad place of itskind within a much wider radius.
Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow--when he was sober; but as thatcondition was not so frequent as it should have been, he sometimes camenear being a very bad fellow indeed. At such times everybody was afraidof him,--wife, children, travellers, ranchmen, and all. "It was only aquestion of time and occasion," they said, "Hartsel's killing somebodysooner or later;" and it looked as if the time were drawing nearfast. But, out of his cups, Hartsel was kindly, and fairly truthful;entertaining, too, to a degree which held many a wayfarer chained to hischair till small hours of the morning, listening to his landlord's talk.How he had drifted from Alsace to San Diego County, he could hardly havetold in minute detail himself, there had been so many stages and phasesof the strange journey; but he had come to his last halt now. Here, inthis Temecula, he would lay his bones. He liked the country. He likedthe wild life, and, for a wonder, he liked the Indians. Many a good wordhe spoke for them to travellers who believed no good of the race, andevidently listened with polite incredulity when he would say, as heoften did: "I've never lost a dollar off these Indians yet. They do alltheir trading with me. There's some of them I trust as high's a hundreddollars. If they can't pay this year, they'll pay next; and if they die,their relations will pay their debts for them, a little at a time, tillthey've got it all paid off. They'll pay in wheat, or bring a steer,maybe, or baskets or mats the women make; but they'll pay. They'rehonester 'n the general run of Mexicans about paying; I mean Mexicansthat are as poor's they are."
Hartsel's dwelling-house was a long, low adobe building, with stilllower flanking additions, in which were bedrooms for travellers, thekitchen, and storerooms. The shop was a separate building, of roughplanks, a story and a half high, the loft of which was one greatdormitory well provided with beds on the floor, but with no otherarticle of bedroom furniture. They who slept in this loft had nofastidious standards of personal luxury. These two buildings, with somehalf-dozen out-houses of one sort and another, stood in an enclosuresurrounded by a low white picket fence, which gave to the place acertain home-like look, spite of the neglected condition of the ground,which was bare sand, or sparsely tufted with weeds and wild grass. A fewplants, parched and straggling, stood in pots and tin cans around thedoor of the dwelling-house. One hardly knew whether they made the placelook less desolate or more so. But they were token of a woman'shand, and of a nature which craved something more than the unredeemedwilderness around her afforded.
A dull and lurid light streamed out from the wide-open door of thestore. Alessandro drew cautiously near. The place was full of men, andhe heard loud laughing and talking. He dared not go in. Stealing aroundto the rear, he leaped the fence, and went to the other house and openedthe kitchen door. Here he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartsel had never any butIndian servants in her employ. The kitchen was lighted only by onedim candle. On the stove were sputtering and hissing all the pots andfrying-pans it would hold. Much cooking was evidently going on for themen who were noisily rollicking in the other house.
Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In a few moments Mrs.Hartsel came hurrying back to her work. It was no uncommon experience tofind an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim light she did notrecognize Alessandro, but mistook him, as he sat bowed over, his head inhis hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort of recognized hanger-on of theplace, earning his living there by odd jobs of fetching and carrying,and anything else he could do.
"Run, Ramon," she said, "and bring me more wood; this cotton wood is sodry, it burns out like rotten punk; I'm off my feet to-night, with allthese men to cook for;" then turning to the table, she began cuttingher bread, and did not see how tall and unlike Ramon was the man whosilently rose and went out to do her bidding. When, a few moments later,Alessandro re-entered, bringing a huge armful of wood, which it wouldhave cost poor old Ramon three journeys at least to bring, and throwingit down, on the hearth, said, "Will that be enough, Mrs. Hartsel?"she gave a scream of surprise, and dropped her knife. "Why, who--" shebegan; then, seeing his
face, her own lighting up with pleasure, shecontinued, "Alessandro! Is it you? Why, I took you in the dark for oldRamon! I thought you were in Pachanga."
"In Pachanga!" Then as yet no one had come from the Senora Moreno's toHartsel's in search of him and the Senorita Ramona! Alessandro's heartfelt almost light in his bosom, From the one immediate danger he haddreaded, they were safe; but no trace of emotion showed on his face, andhe did not raise his eyes as he replied; "I have been in Pachanga. Myfather is dead. I have buried him there."
"Oh, Alessandro! Did he die?" cried the kindly woman, coming closer toAlessandro, and laying her hand on his shoulder. "I heard he was sick."She paused; she did not know what to say. She had suffered so at thetime of the ejectment of the Indians, that it had made her ill. For twodays she had kept her doors shut and her windows close curtained, thatshe need not see the terrible sights. She was not a woman of many words.She was a Mexican, but there were those who said that some Indian bloodran in her veins. This was not improbable; and it seemed more than everprobable now, as she stood still by Alessandro's side, her hand on hisshoulder, her eyes fixed in distress on his face. How he had altered!How well she recollected his lithe figure, his alert motion, his superbbearing, his handsome face, when she last saw him in the spring!
"You were away all summer, Alessandro?" she said at last, turning backto her work.
"Yes," he said: "at the Senora Moreno's."
"So I heard," she said. "That is a fine great place, is it not? Is herson grown a fine man? He was a lad when I saw him. He went through herewith a drove of sheep once."
"Ay, he is a man now," said Alessandro, and buried his face in his handsagain.
"Poor fellow! I don't wonder he does not want to speak," thought Mrs.Hartsel. "I'll just let him alone;" and she spoke no more for somemoments.
Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy seemed to have seizedhim; at last he said wearily: "I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr.Hartsel a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store."
"Yes," she said, "a lot of San Francisco men; they belong to the companythat's coming in here in the valley; they've been here two days. Oh,Alessandro," she continued, bethinking herself, "Jim's got your violinhere; Jose brought it."
"Yes, I know it," answered Alessandro. "Jose told me; and that was onething I stopped for."
"I'll run and get it," she exclaimed.
"No," said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. "I do not want it. Ithought Mr. Hartsel might buy it. I want some money. It was not mine; itwas my father's. It is a great deal better than mine. My father said itwould bring a great deal of money. It is very old."
"Indeed it is," she replied; "one of those men in there was looking atit last night. He was astonished at it, and he would not believe Jimwhen he told him about its having come from the Mission."
"Does he play? Will he buy it?" cried Alessandro.
"I don't know; I'll call Jim," she said; and running out she looked inat the other door, saying, "Jim! Jim!"
Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face,her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance.Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises,"Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night. Wait till morning."
"Till morning!" A groan escaped from Alessandro, in spite of himself. "Ican't!" he cried. "I must go on to-night."
"Why, what for?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much astonished. For one briefsecond Alessandro revolved in his mind the idea of confiding everythingto her; only for a second, however. No; the fewer knew his secret andRamona's, the better.
"I must be in San Diego to-morrow," he said.
"Got work there?" she said.
"Yes; that is, in San Pasquale," he said; "and I ought to have beenthere three days ago."
Mrs. Hartsel mused. "Jim can't do anything to-night," she said; "that'scertain. You might see the man yourself, and ask him if he'd buy it."
Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repugnance withheld him.He could not face one of these Americans who were "coming in" to hisvalley. Mrs. Hartsel understood.
"I'll tell you, Alessandro," said the kindly woman, "I'll give you whatmoney you need to-night, and then, if you say so, Jim'll sell the violinto-morrow, if the man wants it, and you can pay me back out of that, andwhen you're along this way again you can have the rest. Jim'll make asgood a trade for you's he can. He's a real good friend to all of you,Alessandro, when he's himself."
"I know it, Mrs. Hartsel. I'd trust Mr. Hartsel more than any other manin this country," said Alessandro. "He's about the only white man I dotrust!"
Mrs. Hartsel was fumbling in a deep pocket in her under-petticoat.Gold-piece after gold-piece she drew out. "Humph! Got more'n I thoughtI had," she said. "I've kept all that's been paid in here to-day, for Iknew Jim'd be drunk before night."
Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold. How he longed for an abundanceof those little shining pieces for his Majella! He sighed as Mrs.Hartsel counted them out on the table,--one, two, three, four, brightfive-dollar pieces.
"That is as much as I dare take," said Alessandro, when she put downthe fourth. "Will you trust me for so much?" he added sadly. "You know Ihave nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, till I get somework to do."
The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel's eyes. "It's a shame!" she said,--"ashame, Alessandro! Jim and I haven't thought of anything else, since ithappened. Jim says they'll never prosper, never. Trust you? Yes, indeed.Jim and I'd trust you, or your father, the last day of our lives."
"I'm glad he is dead," said Alessandro, as he knotted the gold intohis handkerchief and put it into his bosom. "But he was murdered, Mrs.Hartsel,--murdered, just as much as if they had fired a bullet intohim."
"That's true." she exclaimed vehemently. "I say so too; and so was Jose.That's just what I said at the time,--that bullets would not be half soinhuman!"
The words had hardly left her lips, when the door from the dining-roomburst open, and a dozen men, headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling,laughing, reeling into the kitchen.
"Where's supper! Give us our supper! What are you about with your Indianhere? I'll teach you how to cook ham!" stammered Jim, making a lurchtowards the stove. The men behind caught him and saved him. Eyeing thegroup with scorn, Mrs. Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in herbody, said: "Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the table, I willbring in your supper immediately. It is all ready."
One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone, led the rest backinto the dining-room, where, seating themselves, they began to pound thetable and swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs.
"Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro," whispered Mrs. Hartsel, asshe passed by him, standing like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred andcontempt, fixed on the tipsy group. "You'd better go. There's no knowingwhat they'll do next."
"Are you not afraid?" he said in a low tone.
"No!" she said. "I'm used to it. I can always manage Jim. And Ramon'sround somewhere,--he and the bull-pups; if worse comes to worse, I cancall the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are always the worst to getdrunk. But you'd better get out of the way!"
"And these are the men that have stolen our lands, and killed my father,and Jose, and Carmena's baby!" thought Alessandro, as he ran swiftlyback towards the graveyard. "And Father Salvierderra says, God is good.It must be the saints no longer pray to Him for us!"
But Alessandro's heart was too full of other thoughts, now, to dwelllong on past wrongs, however bitter. The present called him tooloudly. Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, knottedhandkerchief, he thought: "Twenty dollars! It is not much! But it willbuy food for many days for my Majella and for Baba!"
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