Gabriel Conroy

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER IX.

  IN WHICH THE FOOTPRINTS ARE LOST FOR EVER.

  A fervid May sun had been baking the adobe walls of the Presidio of SanRamon, firing the red tiles, scorching the black courtyard, and drivingthe mules and vaqueros of a train that had just arrived into the shadeof the long galleries of the quadrangle, when the _Comandante_, who wastaking his noonday _siesta_ in a low, studded chamber beside theguard-room, was gently awakened by his secretary. For thirty years thenoonday slumbers of the Commander had never been broken; his firstthought was the heathen!--his first impulse to reach for his trustyToledo. But, as it so happened, the cook had borrowed it that morning torake _tortillas_ from the Presidio oven, and Don Juan Salvatierracontented himself with sternly demanding the reason for this unwontedintrusion.

  "A se[~n]orita--an American--desires an immediate audience."

  Don Juan removed the black silk handkerchief which he had tied round hisgrizzled brows, and sat up. Before he could assume a more formalattitude, the door was timidly opened, and a young girl entered. For allthe disfigurement of scant, coarse, ill-fitting clothing, or thehollowness of her sweet eyes, and even the tears that dimmed their longlashes; for all the sorrow that had pinched her young cheek andstraightened the corners of her childlike mouth, she was still so fair,so frank, so youthful, so innocent and helpless, that the _Comandante_stood erect, and then bent forward in a salutation that almost swept thefloor. Apparently the prepossession was mutual. The young girl took aquick survey of the gaunt but gentlemanlike figure before her, cast arapid glance at the serious but kindly eyes that shone above theCommander's iron-grey mustachios, dropped her hesitating, timid manner,and, with an impulsive gesture and a little cry, ran forward and fellupon her knees at his feet. The Commander would have raised her gently,but she restrained his hand.

  "No, no, listen! I am only a poor, poor girl, without friends or home. Amonth ago, I left my family starving in the mountains, and came away toget them help. My brother came with me. God was good to us, Se[~n]or, andafter a weary tramp of many days we found a trapper's hut, and food andshelter. Philip, my brother, went back alone to succour them. He has notreturned. Oh, sir, he may be dead; they all may be dead--God only knows!It is three weeks ago since he left me; three weeks! It is a long timeto be alone, Se[~n]or, a stranger in a strange land. The trapper was kind,and sent me here to you for assistance. You will help me? I know youwill. You will find them, my friends, my little sister, my brother!"

  The Commander waited until she had finished, and then gently lifted herto a seat by his side. Then he turned to his secretary, who, with a fewhurried words in Spanish, answered the mute inquiry of the Commander'seyes. The young girl felt a thrill of disappointment as she saw that herpersonal appeal had been lost and unintelligible; it was with a slighttouch of defiance that was new to her nature that she turned to thesecretary who advanced as interpreter.

  "You are an American?"

  "Yes," said the girl, curtly, who had taken one of the strange, swift,instinctive dislikes of her sex to the man.

  "How many years?"

  "Fifteen."

  The Commander, almost unconsciously, laid his brown hand on herclustering curls.

  "Name?"

  She hesitated and looked at the Commander.

  "Grace," she said.

  Then she hesitated; and, with a defiant glance at the secretary, added--

  "Grace Ashley!"

  "Give to me the names of some of your company, Mees Graziashly."

  Grace hesitated.

  "Philip Ashley, Gabriel Conroy, Peter Dumphy, Mrs. Jane Dumphy," shesaid at last.

  The secretary opened a desk, took out a printed document, unfolded it,and glanced over its contents. Presently he handed it to the Commanderwith the comment "_Bueno._" The Commander said "_Bueno_" also, andglanced kindly and reassuringly at Grace.

  "An expedition from the upper Presidio has found traces of a party ofAmericans in the Sierra," said the secretary monotonously. "There arenames like these."

  "It is the same--it is our party!" said Grace, joyously.

  "You say so?" said the secretary, cautiously.

  "Yes," said Grace, defiantly.

  The secretary glanced at the paper again, and then said, looking atGrace intently--

  "There is no name of Mees Graziashly."

  The hot blood suddenly dyed the cheek of Grace and her eyelids dropped.She raised her eyes imploringly to the Commander. If she could havereached him directly, she would have thrown herself at his feet andconfessed her innocent deceit, but she shrank from a confidence thatfirst filtered through the consciousness of the secretary. So she beganto fence feebly with the issue.

  "It is a mistake," she said. "But the name of Philip, my brother, isthere?"

  "The name of Philip Ashley is here," said the secretary, grimly.

  "And he is alive and safe!" cried Grace, forgetting in her relief andjoy her previous shame and mortification.

  "He is not found," said the secretary.

  "Not found?" said Grace, with widely opened eyes.

  "He is not there."

  "No, of course," said Grace, with a nervous hysterical laugh; "he waswith me; but he came back--he returned."

  "On the 30th of April there is no record of the finding of PhilipAshley."

  Grace groaned and clasped her hands. In her greater anxiety now, alllesser fears were forgotten. She turned and threw herself before theCommander.

  "Oh, forgive me, Se[~n]or, but I swear to you I meant no harm! Philip isnot my brother, but a friend, so kind, so good. He asked me to take hisname, poor boy, God knows if he will ever claim it again, and I did. Myname is not Ashley. I know not what is in that paper, but it must tellof my brother, Gabriel, my sister, of all! O, Se[~n]or, are they living ordead? Answer me you must--for--I am--I am Grace Conroy!"

  The secretary had refolded the paper. He opened it again, glanced overit, fixed his eyes upon Grace, and, pointing to a paragraph, handed itto the Commander. The two men exchanged glances, the Commander coughed,rose, and averted his face from the beseeching eyes of Grace. A suddendeath-like chill ran through her limbs as, at a word from the Commander,the secretary rose and placed the paper in her hands.

  Grace took it with trembling fingers. It seemed to be a proclamation inSpanish.

  "I cannot read it," she said, stamping her little foot with passionatevehemence. "Tell me what it says."

  At a sign from the Commander, the secretary opened the paper and arose.The Commander, with his face averted, looked through the open window.The light streaming through its deep, tunnel-like embrasure, fell uponthe central figure of Grace, with her shapely head slightly bentforward, her lips apart, and her eager, passionate eyes fixed upon theCommander. The secretary cleared his throat in a perfunctory manner;and, with the conscious pride of an irreproachable linguist, began--

  "NOTICE.

  "TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE COMANDANTE OF THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FELIPE.

  "I have the honour to report that the expedition sent out to relieve certain distressed emigrants in the fastnesses of the Sierra Nevadas, said expedition being sent on the information of Don Jos['e] Bluent of San Geronimo, found in a ca[~n]on east of the Canada del Diablo the evidences of the recent existence of such emigrants buried in the snow, and the melancholy and deeply-to-be-deplored record of their sufferings, abandonment, and death. A written record preserved by these miserable and most infelicitous ones gives the names and history of their organisation, known as 'Captain Conroy's Party,' a copy of which is annexed below.

  "The remains of five of these unfortunates were recovered from the snow, but it was impossible to identify but two, who were buried with sacred and reverential rites.

  "Our soldiers behaved with that gallantry, coolness, patriotism, inflexible hardihood, and high-principled devotion which ever animate the swelling heart of the Mexican warrior. Nor ca
n too much praise be given to the voluntary efforts of one Don Arthur Poinsett, late Lieutenant of the Army of the United States of America, who, though himself a voyager and a stranger, assisted our commander in the efforts of humanity.

  "The wretched dead appeared to have expired from hunger, although one was evidently a victim"----

  The tongue of the translator hesitated a moment, and then with an air ofproud superiority to the difficulties of the English language, heresumed--

  "A victim to fly poison. It is to be regretted that among the victims was the famous Doctor Paul Devarges, a Natural, and collector of the stuffed Bird and Beast, a name most illustrious in science."

  The secretary paused, his voice dropped its pretentious pitch, he liftedhis eyes from the paper, and fixing them on Grace, repeated,deliberately--

  "The bodies who were identified were those of Paul Devarges and Grace Conroy."

  "Oh, no! no!" said Grace, clasping her hands, wildly; "it is a mistake!You are trying to frighten me, a poor, helpless, friendless girl! Youare punishing me, gentlemen, because you know I have done wrong, becauseyou think I have lied! Oh, have pity, gentlemen. My God--saveme--Philip!"

  And with a loud, despairing cry, she rose to her feet, caught at theclustering tendrils of her hair, raised her little hands, palms upward,high in the air, and then sank perpendicularly, as if crushed and beatenflat, a pale and senseless heap upon the floor.

  The Commander stooped over the prostrate girl. "Send Manuela here," hesaid quickly, waving aside the proffered aid of the secretary, with animpatient gesture quite unlike his usual gravity, as he lifted theunconscious Grace in his arms.

  An Indian waiting-woman hurriedly appeared, and assisted the Commanderto lay the fainting girl upon a couch.

  "Poor child!" said the Commander, as Manuela, bending over Grace,unloosed her garments with sympathetic feminine hands. "Poor little one,and without a father!"

  "Poor woman!" said Manuela to herself, half aloud; "and without ahusband."

  BOOK II.

  _AFTER FIVE YEARS._