A Deal in Wheat and Other Stories of the New and Old West

by Frank Norris

  THE GHOST IN THE CROSSTREES

  I

  Cyrus Ryder, the President of the South Pacific Exploitation Company,had at last got hold of a "proposition"--all Ryder's schemes were, inhis vernacular, "propositions"--that was not only profitable beyondprecedent or belief, but that also was, wonderful to say, more or lesslegitimate. He had got an "island." He had not discovered it. Ryder hadnot felt a deck under his shoes for twenty years other than thepromenade deck of the ferry-boat _San Rafael_, that takes him home toBerkeley every evening after "business hours." He had not discovered it,but "Old Rosemary," captain of the barkentine _Scottish Chief_, ofBlyth, had done that very thing, and, dying before he was able toperfect the title, had made over his interest in it to his best friendand old comrade, Cyrus Ryder.

  "Old Rosemary," I am told, first landed on the island--it is calledPaa--in the later '60's.

  He established its location and took its latitude and longitude, but asminutes and degrees mean nothing to the lay reader, let it be said thatthe Island of Paa lies just below the equator, some 200 miles west ofthe Gilberts and 1,600 miles due east from Brisbane, in Australia. It issix miles long, three wide, and because of the prevailing winds andprecipitous character of the coast can only be approached from the westduring December and January.

  "Old Rosemary" landed on the island, raised the American flag, had thecrew witness the document by virtue of which he made himself thepossessor, and then, returning to San Francisco, forwarded to theSecretary of State, at Washington, application for title. This waswithheld till it could be shown that no other nation had a prior claim.While "Old Rosemary" was working out the proof, he died, and the wholematter was left in abeyance till Cyrus Ryder took it up. By then therewas a new Secretary in Washington and times were changed, so that theGovernment of Ryder's native land was not so averse toward acquiringEastern possessions. The Secretary of State wrote to Ryder to say thatthe application would be granted upon furnishing a bond for $50,000; andyou may believe that the bond was forthcoming.

  For in the first report upon Paa, "Old Rosemary" had used the magic word"guano."

  He averred, and his crew attested over their sworn statements, that Paawas covered to an average depth of six feet with the stuff, so that thislast and biggest of "Cy" Ryder's propositions was a vast slab of anextremely marketable product six feet thick, three miles wide and sixmiles long.

  But no sooner had the title been granted when there came a dislocationin the proceedings that until then had been going forward so smoothly.Ryder called the Three Black Crows to him at this juncture, one certainafternoon in the month of April. They were his best agents. The plumsthat the "Company" had at its disposal generally went to the trio, andif any man could "put through" a dangerous and desperate piece of work,Strokher, Hardenberg and Ally Bazan were those men.

  Of late they had been unlucky, and the affair of the contraband arms,which had ended in failure of cataclysmic proportions, yet rankled inRyder's memory, but he had no one else to whom he could intrust thepresent proposition and he still believed Hardenberg to be the best bosson his list.

  If Paa was to be fought for, Hardenberg, backed by Strokher and AllyBazan, was the man of all men for the job, for it looked as though Ryderwould not get the Island of Paa without a fight after all, and nitratebeds were worth fighting for.

  "You see, boys, it's this way," Ryder explained to the three as they sataround the spavined table in the grimy back room of Ryder's "office.""It's this way. There's a scoovy after Paa, I'm told; he says he wasthere before 'Rosemary,' which is a lie, and that his Gov'ment has givenhim title. He's got a kind of dough-dish up Portland way and starts forPaa as soon as ever he kin fit out. He's got no title, in course, but ifhe gits there afore we do and takes possession it'll take fifty years o'lawing an' injunctioning to git him off. So hustle is the word for youfrom the word 'go.' We got a good start o' the scoovy. He can't put tosea within a week, while over yonder in Oakland Basin there's the _IdahoLass_, as good a schooner, boys, as ever wore paint, all ready but tofit her new sails on her. Ye kin do it in less than no time. The storeswill be goin' into her while ye're workin', and within the week I expectto see the _Idaho Lass_ showing her heels to the Presidio. You see thepoint now, boys. If ye beat the scoovy--his name is Petersen, and hisboat is called the _Elftruda_--we're to the wind'ard of a pretty pot o'money. If he gets away before you do--well, there's no telling; weprob'ly lose the island."

  II

  About ten days before the morning set for their departure I went over tothe Oakland Basin to see how the Three Black Crows were getting on.

  Hardenberg welcomed me as my boat bumped alongside, and extending agreat tarry paw, hauled me over the rail. The schooner was a wildernessof confusion, with the sails covering, apparently, nine-tenths of thedecks, the remaining tenth encumbered by spars, cordage, tangledrigging, chains, cables and the like, all helter-skeltered together insuch a haze of entanglements that my heart misgave me as I looked on it.Surely order would not issue from this chaos in four days' time withonly three men to speed the work.

  But Hardenberg was reassuring, and little Ally Bazan, the colonial, toldme they would "snatch her shipshape in the shorter end o' two days, ifso be they must."

  I stayed with the Three Crows all that day and shared their dinner withthem on the quarterdeck when, wearied to death with the strain ofwrestling with the slatting canvas and ponderous boom, they at lastthrew themselves upon the hamper of "cold snack" I had brought off withme and pledged the success of the venture in tin dippers full ofPilsener.

  "And I'm thinking," said Ally Bazan, "as 'ow ye might as well turn inalong o' us on board 'ere, instead o' hykin' back to town to-night.There's a fairish set o' currents up and daown 'ere about this time o'dye, and ye'd find it a stiff bit o' rowing."

  "We'll sling a hammick for you on the quarterdeck, m'son," urgedHardenberg.

  And so it happened that I passed my first night aboard the _Idaho Lass_.

  We turned in early. The Three Crows were very tired, and only Ally Bazanand I were left awake at the time when we saw the 8:30 ferryboatnegotiating for her slip on the Oakland side. Then we also went to bed.

  And now it becomes necessary, for a better understanding of what is tofollow, to mention with some degree of particularization the places andmanners in which my three friends elected to take their sleep, as wellas the condition and berth of the schooner _Idaho Lass_.

  Hardenberg slept upon the quarterdeck, rolled up in an army blanket anda tarpaulin. Strokher turned in below in the cabin upon the fixed loungeby the dining-table, while Ally Bazan stretched himself in one of thebunks in the fo'c's'le.

  As for the location of the schooner, she lay out in the stream, somethree or four cables' length off the yards and docks of a ship-buildingconcern. No other ship or boat of any description was anchored nearerthan at least 300 yards. She was a fine, roomy vessel, three-masted,about 150 feet in length overall. She lay head up stream, and from whereI lay by Hardenberg on the quarterdeck I could see her tops sharplyoutlined against the sky above the Golden Gate before I went to sleep.

  I suppose it was very early in the morning--nearer two than three--whenI awoke. Some movement on the part of Hardenberg--as I afterward foundout--had aroused me. But I lay inert for a long minute trying to findout why I was not in my own bed, in my own home, and to account for therushing, rippling sound of the tide eddies sucking and chuckling aroundthe _Lass's_ rudder-post.

  Then I became aware that Hardenberg was awake. I lay in my hammock,facing the stern of the schooner, and as Hardenberg had made up his bedbetween me and the wheel he was directly in my line of vision when Iopened my eyes, and I could see him without any other movement than thatof raising the eyelids. Just now, as I drifted more and more intowakefulness, I grew proportionately puzzled and perplexed to account fora singularly strange demeanour and conduct on the part of my friend.

  He was sitting up in his place, his knees drawn up under the blanket,one arm thrown around both, the hand o
f the other arm resting on theneck and supporting the weight of his body. He was broad awake. I couldsee the green shine of our riding lantern in his wide-open eyes, andfrom time to time I could hear him muttering to himself, "What is it?What is it? What the devil is it, anyhow?" But it was not his attitude,nor the fact of his being so broad awake at the unseasonable hour, noryet his unaccountable words, that puzzled me the most. It was the man'seyes and the direction in which they looked that startled me.

  His gaze was directed not upon anything on the deck of the boat, norupon the surface of the water near it, but upon something behind me andat a great height in the air. I was not long in getting myself broadawake.

  III

  I rolled out on the deck and crossed over to where Hardenberg sathuddled in his blankets.

  "What the devil--" I began.

  He jumped suddenly at the sound of my voice, then raised an arm andpointed toward the top of the foremast.

  "D'ye see it?" he muttered. "Say, huh? D'ye see it? I thought I saw itlast night, but I wasn't sure. But there's no mistake now. D'ye see it,Mr. Dixon?"

  I looked where he pointed. The schooner was riding easily to anchor, thesurface of the bay was calm, but overhead the high white sea-fog wasrolling in. Against it the foremast stood out like the hand of anilluminated town clock, and not a detail of its rigging that was not asdistinct as if etched against the sky.

  And yet I saw nothing.

  "Where?" I demanded, and again and again "where?"

  "In the crosstrees," whispered Hardenberg. "Ah, look there."

  He was right. Something was stirring there, something that I hadmistaken for the furled tops'l. At first it was but a formless bundle,but as Hardenberg spoke it stretched itself, it grew upright, it assumedan erect attitude, it took the outlines of a human being. From head toheel a casing housed it in, a casing that might have been anything atthat hour of the night and in that strange place--a shroud, if you like,a winding-sheet--anything; and it is without shame that I confess to acreep of the most disagreeable sensation I have ever known as I stood atHardenberg's side on that still, foggy night and watched the stirring ofthat nameless, formless shape standing gaunt and tall and grisly andwrapped in its winding-sheet upon the crosstrees of the foremast of the_Idaho Lass_.

  We watched and waited breathless for an instant. Then the creature onthe foremast laid a hand upon the lashings of the tops'l and undid them.Then it turned, slid to the deck by I know not what strange process,and, still hooded, still shrouded, still lapped about by itsmummy-wrappings, seized a rope's end. In an instant the jib was set andstood on hard and billowing against the night wind. The tops'l followed.Then the figure moved forward and passed behind the companionway of thefo'c's'le.

  We looked for it to appear upon the other side, but looked in vain. Wesaw it no more that night.

  What Hardenberg and I told each other between the time of thedisappearing and the hour of breakfast I am now ashamed to recall. Butat last we agreed to say nothing to the others--for the time being. Justafter breakfast, however, we two had a few words by the wheel on thequarterdeck. Ally Bazan and Strokher were forward.

  "The proper thing to do," said I--it was a glorious, exhilaratingmorning, and the sunlight was flooding every angle and corner of theschooner--"the proper thing to do is to sleep on deck by the foremastto-night with our pistols handy and interview the--party if it walksagain."

  "Oh, yes," cried Hardenberg heartily. "Oh, yes; that's the proper thing.Of course it is. No manner o' doubt about that, Mr. Dixon. Watch for theparty--yes, with pistols. Of course it's the proper thing. But I knowone man that ain't going to do no such thing."

  "Well," I remember to have said reflectively, "well--I guess I knowanother."

  But for all our resolutions to say nothing to the others about thenight's occurrences, we forgot that the tops'l and jib were both set andboth drawing.

  "An' w'at might be the bloomin' notion o' setting the bloomin' kite andjib?" demanded Ally Bazan not half an hour after breakfast. ShamelesslyHardenberg, at a loss for an answer, feigned an interest in the grummetsof the life-boat cover and left me to lie as best I might.

  But it is not easy to explain why one should raise the sails of ananchored ship during the night, and Ally Bazan grew very suspicious.Strokher, too, had something to say, and in the end the whole mattercame out.

  Trust a sailor to give full value to anything savouring of thesupernatural. Strokher promptly voted the ship a "queer old hookeranyhow, and about as seaworthy as a hen-coop." He held forth at greatlength upon the subject.

  "You mark my words, now," he said. "There's been some fishy doin's inthis 'ere vessel, and it's like somebody done to death crool hard, an''e wants to git away from the smell o' land, just like them as is killedon blue water. That's w'y 'e takes an' sets the sails between dark an'dawn."

  But Ally Bazan was thoroughly and wholly upset, so much so that at firsthe could not speak. He went pale and paler while we stood talking itover, and crossed himself--he was a Catholic--furtively behind thewater-butt.

  "I ain't never 'a' been keen on ha'nts anyhow, Mr. Dixon," he told meaggrievedly at dinner that evening. "I got no use for 'em. I ain't neverknown any good to come o' anything with a ha'nt tagged to it, an' we'remakin' a ill beginnin' o' this island business, Mr. Dixon--a blyme illbeginnin'. I mean to stye awyke to-night."

  But if he was awake the little colonial was keeping close to his bunk atthe time when Strokher and Hardenberg woke me at about three in themorning.

  I rolled out and joined them on the quarterdeck and stood beside themwatching. The same figure again towered, as before, gray and ominous inthe crosstrees. As before, it set the tops'l; as before, it came down tothe deck and raised the jib; as before, it passed out of sight amid theconfusion of the forward deck.

  But this time we all ran toward where we last had seen it, stumblingover the encumbered decks, jostling and tripping, but keepingwonderfully close together. It was not twenty seconds from the time thecreature had disappeared before we stood panting upon the exact spot wehad last seen it. We searched every corner of the forward deck in vain.We looked over the side. The moon was up. This night there was no fog.We could see for miles each side of us, but never a trace of a boat wasvisible, and it was impossible that any swimmer could have escaped themerciless scrutiny to which we subjected the waters of the bay in everydirection.

  Hardenberg and I dived down into the fo'c's'le. Ally Bazan was soundasleep in his bunk and woke stammering, blinking and bewildered by thelantern we carried.

  "I sye," he cried, all at once scrambling up and clawing at our arms,"D'd the bally ha'nt show up agyne?" And as we nodded he went on moreaggrievedly than ever--"Oh, I sye, y' know, I daon't like this. I eyen'tshipping in no bloomin' 'ooker wot carries a ha'nt for supercargo. Theywaon't no good come o' this cruise--no, they waon't. It's a sign, that'swot it is. I eyen't goin' to buck again no signs--it eyen't humannature, no it eyen't. You mark my words, 'Bud' Hardenberg, we clear thisport with a ship wot has a ha'nt an' we waon't never come back agyne, myhearty."

  That night he berthed aft with us on the quarterdeck, but though westood watch and watch till well into the dawn, nothing stirred about theforemast. So it was the next night, and so the night after that. Whenthree successive days had passed without any manifestation the keen edgeof the business became a little blunted and we declared that an end hadbeen made.

  Ally Bazan returned to his bunk in the fo'c's'le on the fourth night,and the rest of us slept the hours through unconcernedly.

  But in the morning there were the jib and tops'l set and drawing asbefore.

  IV

  After this we began experimenting--on Ally Bazan. We bunked him forwardand we bunked him aft, for some one had pointed out that the "ha'nt"walked only at the times when the colonial slept in the fo'c's'le. Wefound this to be true. Let the little fellow watch on the quarterdeckwith us and the night passed without disturbance. As soon as he took uphis quarters forward the haunting recommenced. Further
more, it began toappear that the "ha'nt" carefully refrained from appearing to him. He ofus all had never seen the thing. He of us all was spared the chills andthe harrowings that laid hold upon the rest of us during these stillgray hours after midnight when we huddled on the deck of the _IdahoLass_ and watched the sheeted apparition in the rigging; for by nowthere was no more charging forward in attempts to run the ghost down. Wehad passed that stage long since.

  But so far from rejoicing in this immunity or drawing courage therefrom,Ally Bazan filled the air with his fears and expostulations. Just thefact that he was in some way differentiated from the others--that he wassingled out, if only for exemption--worked upon him. And that he wasunable to scale his terrors by actual sight of their object excited themall the more.

  And there issued from this a curious consequence. He, the very one whohad never seen the haunting, was also the very one to unsettle whatlittle common sense yet remained to Hardenberg and Strokher. He neverallowed the subject to be ignored--never lost an opportunity ofreferring to the doom that o'erhung the vessel. By the hour he pouredinto the ears of his friends lugubrious tales of ships, warned as thisone was, that had cleared from port, never to be seen again. He recalledto their minds parallel incidents that they themselves had heard; heforetold the fate of the _Idaho Lass_ when the land should lie behindand she should be alone in midocean with this horrid supercargo thattook liberties with the rigging, and at last one particular morning, twodays before that which was to witness the schooner's departure, he cameout flatfooted to the effect that "Gaw-blyme him, he couldn't stand thegaff no longer, no he couldn't, so help him, that if the owners werewishful for to put to sea" (doomed to some unnamable destruction) "hefor one wa'n't fit to die, an' was going to quit that blessed day." Forthe sake of appearances, Hardenberg and Strokher blustered and fumed,but I could hear the crack in Strokher's voice as plain as in a brokenship's bell. I was not surprised at what happened later in the day, whenhe told the others that he was a very sick man. A congenital stomachtrouble, it seemed--or was it liver complaint--had found him out again.He had contracted it when a lad at Trincomalee, diving for pearls; itwas acutely painful, it appeared. Why, gentlemen, even at that verymoment, as he stood there talking--Hi, yi! O Lord !--talking, it wasa-griping of him something uncommon, so it was. And no, it was no mannerof use for him to think of going on this voyage; sorry he was, too, forhe'd made up his mind, so he had, to find out just what was wrong withthe foremast, etc.

  And thereupon Hardenberg swore a great oath and threw down the capstanbar he held in his hand.

  "Well, then," he cried wrathfully, "we might as well chuck up the wholebusiness. No use going to sea with a sick man and a scared man."

  "An' there's the first word o' sense," cried Ally Bazan, "I've heardthis long day. 'Scared,' he says; aye, right ye are, me bully."

  "It's Cy Rider's fault," the three declared after a two-hours' talk. "Nobusiness giving us a schooner with a ghost aboard. Scoovy or no scoovy,island or no island, guano or no guano, we don't go to sea in thehaunted hooker called the _Idaho Lass_."

  No more they did. On board the schooner they had faced the supernaturalwith some kind of courage born of the occasion. Once on shore, and nomoney could hire, no power force them to go aboard a second time.

  The affair ended in a grand wrangle in Cy Rider's back office, and justtwenty-four hours later the bark _Elftruda_, Captain Jens Petersen,cleared from Portland, bound for "a cruise to South Pacific ports--inballast."

  * * * * *

  Two years after this I took Ally Bazan with me on a duck-shootingexcursion in the "Toolies" back of Sacramento, for he is a handy manabout a camp and can row a boat as softly as a drifting cloud.

  We went about in a cabin cat of some thirty feet over all, the rowboattowing astern. Sometimes we did not go ashore to camp, but slept aboard.On the second night of this expedient I woke in my blankets on the floorof the cabin to see the square of gray light that stood for the cabindoor darkened by--it gave me the same old start--a sheeted figure. Itwas going up the two steps to the deck. Beyond question it had been inthe cabin. I started up and followed it. I was too frightened not to--ifyou can see what I mean. By the time I had got the blankets off and hadthrust my head above the level of the cabin hatch the figure was alreadyin the bows, and, as a matter of course, hoisting the jib.

  I thought of calling Ally Bazan, who slept by me on the cabin floor, butit seemed to me at the time that if I did not keep that figure in sightit would elude me again, and, besides, if I went back in the cabin I wasafraid that I would bolt the door and remain under the bedclothes tillmorning. I was afraid to go on with the adventure, but I was much moreafraid to go back.

  So I crept forward over the deck of the sloop. The "ha'nt" had its backtoward me, fumbling with the ends of the jib halyards. I could hear thecreak of new ropes as it undid the knot, and the sound was certainlysubstantial and commonplace. I was so close by now that I could seeevery outline of the shape. It was precisely as it had appeared on thecrosstrees of the _Idaho_, only, seen without perspective, and broughtdown to the level of the eye, it lost its exaggerated height.

  It had been kneeling upon the deck. Now, at last, it rose and turnedabout, the end of the halyards in its hand. The light of the earliestdawn fell squarely on the face and form, and I saw, if you please, AllyBazan himself. His eyes were half shut, and through his open lips camethe sound of his deep and regular breathing.

  At breakfast the next morning I asked, "Ally Bazan, did you ever walk inyour sleep."

  "Aye," he answered, "years ago, when I was by wye o' being a lad, I usedallus to wrap the bloomin' sheets around me. An' crysy things I'd do thetimes. But the 'abit left me when I grew old enough to tyke me whiskystrite and have hair on me fyce."

  I did not "explain away" the ghost in the crosstrees either to AllyBazan or to the other two Black Crows. Furthermore, I do not now referto the Island of Paa in the hearing of the trio. The claims and title ofNorway to the island have long since been made good and conceded--evenby the State Department at Washington--and I understand that CaptainPetersen has made a very pretty fortune out of the affair.

  THE RIDING OF FELIPE

  I. FELIPE

  As young Felipe Arillaga guided his pony out of the last intricacies ofPacheco Pass, he was thinking of Rubia Ytuerate and of the scene he hadhad with her a few days before. He reconstructed it now very vividly.Rubia had been royally angry, and as she had stood before him, her armsfolded and her teeth set, he was forced to admit that she was ashandsome a woman as could be found through all California.

  There had been a time, three months past, when Felipe found nocompulsion in the admission, for though betrothed to Buelna Martiarenahe had abruptly conceived a violent infatuation for Rubia, and hadremained a guest upon her rancho many weeks longer than he had intended.

  For three months he had forgotten Buelna entirely. At the end of thattime he had remembered her--had awakened to the fact that hisinfatuation for Rubia _was_ infatuation, and had resolved to end theaffair and go back to Buelna as soon as it was possible.

  But Rubia was quick to notice the cooling of his passion. First shefixed him with oblique suspicion from under her long lashes, thenavoided him, then kept him at her side for days together. Then atlast--his defection unmistakable--turned on him with furious demands forthe truth.

  Felipe had snatched occasion with one hand and courage with the other.

  "Well," he had said, "well, it is not my fault. Yes, it is the truth. Itis played out."

  He had not thought it necessary to speak of Buelna; but Rubia divinedthe other woman.

  "So you think you are to throw me aside like that. Ah, it is played out,is it, Felipe Arillaga? You listen to me. Do not fancy for one momentyou are going back to an old love, or on to a new one. You listen tome," she had cried, her fist over her head. "I do not know who she is,but my curse is on her, Felipe Arillaga. My curse is on her who nextkisses you. May that kiss be a blight to he
r. From that moment may evilcling to her, bad luck follow her; may she love and not be loved; mayfriends desert her, enemies beset her, her sisters shame her, herbrothers disown her, and those whom she has loved abandon her. May herbody waste as your love for me has wasted; may her heart be broken asyour promises to me have been broken; may her joy be as fleeting as yourvows, and her beauty grow as dim as your memory of me. I have said it."

  "'My Curse Is On Her Who Next Kisses You'"]

  "So be it!" Felipe had retorted with vast nonchalance, and had flung outfrom her presence to saddle his pony and start back to Buelna.

  But Felipe was superstitious. He half believed in curses, had seentwo-headed calves born because of them, and sheep stampeded over cliffsfor no other reason.

  Now, as he drew out of Pacheco Pass and came down into the valley theidea of Rubia and her curse troubled him. At first, when yet three days'journey from Buelna, it had been easy to resolve to brave it out. Butnow he was already on the Rancho Martiarena (had been traveling over itfor the last ten hours, in fact), and in a short time would be at the_hacienda_ of Martiarena, uncle and guardian of Buelna. He would seeBuelna, and she, believing always in his fidelity, would expect to kisshim.

  "Well, this is to be thought about," murmured Felipe uneasily. Hetouched up the pony with one of his enormous spurs.

  "Now I know what I will do," he thought. "I will go to San Juan Bautistaand confess and be absolved, and will buy candles. Then afterward willgo to Buelna."

  He found the road that led to the Mission and turned into it, pushingforward at a canter. Then suddenly at a sharp turning reined up just intime to avoid colliding with a little cavalcade.

  He uttered an exclamation under his breath.

  At the head of the cavalcade rode old Martiarena himself, and behind himcame a _peon_ or two, then Manuela, the aged housekeeper and--after afashion--duenna. Then at her side, on a saddle of red leather withsilver bosses, which was cinched about the body of a very small whiteburro, Buelna herself.

  She was just turned sixteen, and being of the best blood of the motherkingdom (the strain dating back to the Ostrogothic invasion), was fair.Her hair was blond, her eyes blue-gray, her eyebrows and lashes darkbrown, and as he caught sight of her Felipe wondered how he ever couldhave believed the swarthy Rubia beautiful.

  There was a jubilant meeting. Old Martiarena kissed both his cheeks,patting him on the back.

  "Oh, ho!" he cried. "Once more back. We have just returned from thefeast of the Santa Cruz at the Mission, and Buelna prayed for your safereturn. Go to her, boy. She has waited long for this hour."

  Felipe, his eyes upon those of his betrothed, advanced. She was lookingat him and smiling. As he saw the unmistakable light in her blue eyes,the light he knew she had kept burning for him alone, Felipe could haveabased himself to the very hoofs of her burro. Could it be possible hehad ever forgotten her for such a one as Rubia--have been unfaithful tothis dear girl for so much as the smallest fraction of a minute?

  "You are welcome, Felipe," she said. "Oh, very, very welcome." She gavehim her hand and turned her face to his. But it was her hand and not herface the young man kissed. Old Martiarena, who looked on, shook withlaughter.

  "Hoh! a timid lover this," he called. "We managed different when I was alad. Her lips, Felipe. Must an old man teach a youngster gallantry?"

  Buelna blushed and laughed, but yet did not withdraw her hand nor turnher face away.

  There was a delicate expectancy in her manner that she neverthelesscontrived to make compatible with her native modesty. Felipe had beenher acknowledged lover ever since the two were children.

  "Well?" cried Martiarena as Felipe hesitated.

  Even then, if Felipe could have collected his wits, he might have savedthe situation for himself. But no time had been allowed him to think.Confusion seized upon him. All that was clear in his mind were the lastwords of Rubia. It seemed to him that between his lips he carried apoison deadly to Buelna above all others. Stupidly, brutally heprecipitated the catastrophe.

  "No," he exclaimed seriously, abruptly drawing his hand from Buelna's,"no. It may not be. I cannot."

  Martiarena stared. Then:

  "Is this a jest, senor?" he demanded. "An ill-timed one, then."

  "No," answered Felipe, "it is not a jest."

  "But, Felipe," murmured Buelna. "But--why--I do not understand."

  "I think I begin to," cried Martiarena. "Senor, you do not," protestedFelipe. "It is not to be explained. I know what you believe. On myhonour, I love Buelna."

  "Your actions give you the lie, then, young man. Bah! Nonsense. Whatfool's play is all this? Kiss him, Buelna, and have done with it."

  Felipe gnawed his nails.

  "Believe me, oh, believe me, Senor Martiarena, it must not be."

  "Then an explanation."

  For a moment Felipe hesitated. But how could he tell them the truth--thetruth that involved Rubia and his disloyalty, temporary though that was.They could neither understand nor forgive. Here, indeed, was an_impasse_. One thing only was to be said, and he said it. "I can giveyou no explanation," he murmured.

  But Buelna suddenly interposed.

  "Oh, please," she said, pushing by Felipe, "uncle, we have talked toolong. Please let us go. There is only one explanation. Is it not enoughalready?"

  "By God, it is not!" vociferated the old man, turning upon Felipe. "Tellme what it means. Tell me what this means."

  "I cannot."

  "Then I will tell _you_!" shouted the old fellow in Felipe's face. "Itmeans that you are a liar and a rascal. That you have played withBuelna, and that you have deceived me, who have trusted you as a fatherwould have trusted a son. I forbid you to answer me. For the sake ofwhat you were I spare you now. But this I will do. Off of my rancho!" hecried. "Off my rancho, and in the future pray your God, or the devil, towhom you are sold, to keep you far from me."

  "You do not understand, you do not understand," pleaded Felipe, thetears starting to his eyes. "Oh, believe me, I speak the truth. I loveyour niece. _I love Buelna_. Oh, never so truly, never so devoutly asnow. Let me speak to her; she will believe me."

  But Buelna, weeping, had ridden on.

  II. UNZAR

  A fortnight passed. Soon a month had gone by. Felipe gloomed about hisrancho, solitary, taciturn, siding the sheep-walks and cattle-ranges fordays and nights together, refusing all intercourse with his friends. Itseemed as if he had lost Buelna for good and all. At times, as thecertainty of this defined itself more clearly, Felipe would fling hishat upon the ground, beat his breast, and then, prone upon his face, hishead buried in his folded arms, would lie for hours motionless, whilehis pony nibbled the sparse alfalfa, and the jack-rabbits limping fromthe sage peered at him, their noses wrinkling.

  But about a month after the meeting and parting with Buelna, word wentthrough all the ranches that a hide-roger had cast anchor in MontereyBay. At once an abrupt access of activity seized upon the rancheros.Rodeos were held, sheep slaughtered, and the great tallow-pits began tofill up.

  Felipe was not behind his neighbours, and, his tallow once in hand, sentit down to Monterey, and himself rode down to see about disposing of it.

  On his return he stopped at the wine shop of one Lopez Catala, on theroad between Monterey and his rancho.

  It was late afternoon when he reached it, and the wine shop wasdeserted. Outside, the California August lay withering and suffocatingover all the land. The far hills were burnt to dry, hay-like grass andbrittle clods. The eucalyptus trees in front of the wine shop (the firsttrees Felipe had seen all that day) were coated with dust. The plains ofsagebrush and the alkali flats shimmered and exhaled pallid mirages,glistening like inland seas. Over all blew the trade-wind; prolonged,insistent, harassing, swooping up the red dust of the road and the whitepowder of the alkali beds, and flinging it--white-and-red banners in asky of burnt-out blue--here and there about the landscape.

  The wine shop, which was also an inn, was isolated, lonely, but it wascomfo
rtable, and Felipe decided to lay over there that night, then inthe morning reach his rancho by an easy stage.

  He had his supper--an omelet, cheese, tortillas, and a glass ofwine--and afterward sat outside on a bench smoking innumerablecigarettes and watching the sun set.

  While he sat so a young man of about his own age rode up from theeastward with a great flourish, and giving over his horse to the_muchacho_, entered the wine shop and ordered dinner and a room for thenight. Afterward he came out and stood in front of the inn and watchedthe _muchacho_ cleaning his horse.

  Felipe, looking at him, saw that he was of his own age and about his ownbuild--that is to say, twenty-eight or thirty, and tall and lean. But inother respects the difference was great. The stranger was flamboyantlydressed: skin-tight pantaloons, fastened all up and down the leg withround silver buttons; yellow boots with heels high as a girl's, set offwith silver spurs; a very short coat faced with galloons of gold, and avery broad-brimmed and very high-crowned sombrero, on which the silverbraid alone was worth the price of a good horse. Even for a SpanishMexican his face was dark. Swart it was, the cheeks hollow; a tiny,tight mustache with ends truculently pointed and erect helped out thebelligerency of the tight-shut lips. The eyes were black as bitumen, andflashed continually under heavy brows.

  "Perhaps," thought Felipe, "he is a _toreador_ from Mexico."

  The stranger followed his horse to the barn, but, returning in a fewmoments, stood before Felipe and said:

  "Senor, I have taken the liberty to put my horse in the stall occupiedby yours. Your beast the _muchacho_ turned into the _corrale_. Mine isan animal of spirit, and in a _corrale_ would fight with the otherhorses. I rely upon the senor's indulgence."

  At ordinary times he would not have relied in vain. But Felipe's nerveswere in a jangle these days, and his temper, since Buelna's dismissal ofhim, was bitter. His perception of offense was keen. He rose, his eyesupon the stranger's eyes.

  "My horse is mine," he observed. "Only my friends permit themselvesliberties with what is mine."

  The other smiled scornfully and drew from his belt a little pouch ofgold dust.

  "What I take I pay for," he remarked, and, still smiling, tenderedFelipe a few grains of the gold.

  Felipe struck the outstretched palm.

  "Am I a _peon_?" he vociferated.

  "Probably," retorted the other.

  "I _will_ take pay for that word," cried Felipe, his face blazing, "butnot in your money, senor."

  "In that case I may give you more than you ask."

  "No, by God, for I shall take all you have."

  But the other checked his retort. A sudden change came over him.

  "I ask the senor's pardon," he said, with grave earnestness, "forprovoking him. You may not fight with me nor I with you. I speak thetruth. I have made oath not to fight till I have killed one whom now Iseek."

  "Very well; I, too, spoke without reflection. You seek an enemy, then,senor?"

  "My sister's, who is therefore mine. An enemy truly. Listen, you shalljudge. I am absent from my home a year, and when I return what do Ifind? My sister betrayed, deceived, flouted by a fellow, a nobody, whomshe received a guest in her house, a fit return for kindness, forhospitality! Well, he answers to me for the dishonour."

  "Wait. Stop!" interposed Felipe. "Your name, senor."

  "Unzar Ytuerate, and my enemy is called Arillaga. Him I seek and----"

  "Then you shall seek no farther!" shouted Felipe. "It is to RubiaYtuerate, your sister, whom I owe all my unhappiness, all my suffering.She has hurt not me only, but one--but----Mother of God, we wastewords!" he cried. "Knife to knife, Unzar Ytuerate. I am Felipe Arillaga,and may God be thanked for the chance that brings this quarrel to myhand."

  "You! You!" gasped Unzar. Fury choked him; his hands clutched andunclutched--now fists, now claws. His teeth grated sharply while aquivering sensation as of a chill crisped his flesh. "Then the soonerthe better," he muttered between his set teeth, and the knives flashedin the hands of the two men so suddenly that the gleam of one seemedonly the reflection of the other.

  Unzar held out his left wrist.

  "Are you willing?" he demanded, with a significant glance.

  "And ready," returned the other, baring his forearm.

  Catala, keeper of the inn, was called.

  "Love of the Virgin, not here, senors. My house--the _alcalde_--"

  "You have a strap there." Unzar pointed to a bridle hanging from a pegby the doorway. "No words; quick; do as you are told."

  The two men held out their left arms till wrist touched wrist, andCatala, trembling and protesting, lashed them together with a strap.

  "Tighter," commanded Felipe; "put all your strength to it."

  The strap was drawn up to another hole.

  "Now, Catala, stand back," commanded Unzar, "and count three slowly. Atthe word 'three,' Senor Arillaga, we begin. You understand."

  "I understand."

  "Ready.... Count."

  "One."

  Felipe and Unzar each put his right hand grasping the knife behind hisback as etiquette demanded.

  "Two."

  They strained back from each other, the full length of their left arms,till the nails grew bloodless.

  "_Three!_" called Lopez Catala in a shaking voice.

  III. RUBIA

  When Felipe regained consciousness he found that he lay in an upperchamber of Catala's inn upon a bed. His shoulder, the right one, wasbandaged, and so was his head. He felt no pain, only a little weak, butthere was a comfortable sense of brandy at his lips, an arm supportedhis head, and the voice of Rubia Ytuerate spoke his name. He sat up on asudden.

  "Rubia, _you_!" he cried. "What is it? What happened? Oh, I remember,Unzar--we fought. Oh, my God, how we fought! But you----What brought youhere?"

  "Thank Heaven," she murmured, "you are better. You are not so badlywounded. As he fell he must have dragged you with him, and your headstruck the threshold of the doorway."

  "Is he badly hurt? Will he recover?"

  "I hope so. But you are safe."

  "But what brought you here?"

  "Love," she cried; "my love for you. What I suffered after you had gone!Felipe, I have fought, too. Pride was strong at first, and it was pridethat made me send Unzar after you. I told him what had happened. Ihounded him to hunt you down. Then when he had gone my battle began. Ah,dearest, dearest, it all came back, our days together, the life we led,knowing no other word but love, thinking no thoughts that were not ofeach other. And love conquered. Unzar was not a week gone before Ifollowed him--to call him back, to shield you, to save you from hisfury. I came all but too late, and found you both half dead. My brotherand my lover, your body across his, your blood mingling with his own.But not too late to love you back to life again. Your life is mine now,Felipe. I love you, I love you." She clasped her hands together andpressed them to her cheek. "Ah, if you knew," she cried; "if you couldonly look into my heart. Pride is nothing; good name is nothing; friendsare nothing. Oh, it is a glory to give them all for love, to give upeverything; to surrender, to submit, to cry to one's heart: 'Take me; Iam as wax. Take me; conquer me; lead me wherever you will. All is welllost so only that love remains.' And I have heard all that hashappened--this other one, the Senorita Buelna, how that she for bade youher lands. Let her go; she is not worthy of your love, cold,selfish----"

  "Stop!" cried Felipe, "you shall say no more evil of her. It is enough."

  "Felipe, you love her yet?"

  "And always, always will."

  "She who has cast you off; she who disdains you, who will not suffer youon her lands? And have you come to be so low, so base and mean as that?"

  "I have sunk no lower than a woman who could follow after a lover whohad grown manifestly cold."

  "Ah," she answered sadly, "if I could so forget my pride as to followyou, do not think your reproaches can touch me now." Then suddenly shesank at the bedside and clasped his hand in both of hers. Her beautifulhair, unbound, tumbled
about her shoulders; her eyes, swimming withtears, were turned up to his; her lips trembled with the intensity ofher passion. In a voice low, husky, sweet as a dove's, she addressedhim. "Oh, dearest, come back to me; come back to me. Let me love youagain. Don't you see my heart is breaking? There is only you in all theworld for me. I was a proud woman once. See now what I have broughtmyself to. Don't let it all be in vain. If you fail me now, think how itwill be for me afterward--to know that I--I, Rubia Ytuerate, have beggedthe love of a man and begged in vain. Do you think I could live knowingthat?" Abruptly she lost control of herself. She caught him about theneck with both her arms. Almost incoherently her words rushed from hertight-shut teeth.

  "Ah, I can _make_ you love me. I can make you love me," she cried. "Youshall come back to me. You are mine, and you cannot help but come back."

  "_Por Dios_, Rubia," he ejaculated, "remember yourself. You are out ofyour head."

  "Come back to me; love me."

  "No, no."

  "Come back to me."

  "No."

  "You cannot push me from you," she cried, for, one hand upon hershoulder, he had sought to disengage himself. "No, I shall not let yougo. You shall not push me from you! Thrust me off and I will embrace youall the closer. Yes, _strike_ me if you will, and I will kiss you."

  And with the words she suddenly pressed her lips to his.

  Abruptly Felipe freed himself. A new thought suddenly leaped to hisbrain.

  "Let your own curse return upon you," he cried. "You yourself have freedme; you yourself have broken the barrier you raised between me and mybetrothed. You cursed her whose lips should next touch mine, and you arepoisoned with your own venom."

  He sprang from off the bed, and catching up his _serape_, flung it abouthis shoulders.

  "Felipe," she cried, "Felipe, where are you going?"

  "Back to Buelna," he shouted, and with the words rushed from the room.Her strength seemed suddenly to leave her. She sank lower to the floor,burying her face deep upon the pillows that yet retained the impress ofhim she loved so deeply, so recklessly.

  Footsteps in the passage and a knocking at the door aroused her. Awoman, one of the escort who had accompanied her, entered hurriedly.

  "Senorita," cried this one, "your brother, the Senor Unzar, he isdying."

  Rubia hurried to an adjoining room, where upon a mattress on the floorlay her brother.

  "Put that woman out," he gasped as his glance met hers. "I never sentfor her," he went on. "You are no longer sister of mine. It was you whodrove me to this quarrel, and when I have vindicated you what do you do?Your brother you leave to be tended by hirelings, while all your thoughtand care are lavished on your paramour. Go back to him. I know how todie alone, but as you go remember that in dying I hated and disownedyou."

  He fell back upon the pillows, livid, dead.

  Rubia started forward with a cry.

  "It is you who have killed him," cried the woman who had summoned her.The rest of Rubia's escort, _vaqueros_, _peons_, and the old _alcalde_of her native village, stood about with bared heads.

  "That is true. That is true," they murmured. The old _alcalde_ steppedforward.

  "Who dishonours my friend dishonours me," he said. "From this day,Senorita Ytuerate, you and I are strangers." He went out, and one byone, with sullen looks and hostile demeanour, Rubia's escort followed.Their manner was unmistakable; they were deserting her.

  Rubia clasped her hands over her eyes.

  "Madre de Dios, Madre de Dios," she moaned over and over again. Then ina low voice she repeated her own words: "May it be a blight to her. Fromthat moment may evil cling to her, bad luck follow her; may she love andnot be loved; may friends desert her, her sisters shame her, herbrothers disown her----"

  There was a clatter of horse's hoofs in the courtyard.

  "It is your lover," said her woman coldly from the doorway. "He isriding away from you."

  "----and those," added Rubia, "whom she has loved abandon her."

  IV. BELUNA

  Meanwhile Felipe, hatless, bloody, was galloping through the night, hispony's head turned toward the _hacienda_ of Martiarena. The RanchoMartiarena lay between his own rancho and the inn where he had metRubia, so that this distance was not great. He reached it in about anhour of vigorous spurring.

  The place was dark though it was as yet early in the night, and anominous gloom seemed to hang about the house. Felipe, his heart sinking,pounded at the door, and at last aroused the aged superintendent, whowas also a sort of _major-domo_ in the household, and who in Felipe'sboyhood had often ridden him on his knee.

  "Ah, it is you, Arillaga," he said very sadly, as the moonlight struckacross Felipe's face. "I had hoped never to see you again."

  "Buelna," demanded Felipe. "I have something to say to her, and to the_padron_."

  "Too late, senor."

  "My God, dead?"

  "As good as dead."

  "Rafael, tell me all. I have come to set everything straight again. Onmy honour, I have been misjudged. Is Buelna well?"

  "Listen. You know your own heart best, senor. When you left her ourlittle lady was as one half dead; her heart died within her. Ah, sheloved you, Arillaga, far more than you deserved. She drooped swiftly,and one night all but passed away. Then it was that she made a vow thatif God spared her life she would become the bride of the church--wouldforever renounce the world. Well, she recovered, became almost wellagain, but not the same as before. She never will be that. So soon asshe was able to obtain Martiarena's consent she made all thepreparations--signed away all her lands and possessions, and spent thedays and nights in prayer and purifications. The Mother Superior of theConvent of Santa Teresa has been a guest at the _hacienda_ thisfortnight past. Only to-day the party--that is to say, Martiarena, theMother Superior and Buelna--left for Santa Teresa, and at midnight ofthis very night Buelna takes the veil. You know your own heart, SenorFelipe. Go your way."

  "But not _till_ midnight!" cried Felipe.

  "What? I do not understand."

  "She will not take the veil till midnight."

  "No, not till then."

  "Rafael," cried Felipe, "ask me no questions now. Only _believe_ me. Ialways have and always will love Buelna. I swear it. I can stop thisyet; only once let me reach her in time. Trust me. Ah, for this oncetrust me, you who have known me since I was a lad."

  He held out his hand. The other for a moment hesitated, then impulsivelyclasped it in his own.

  "_Bueno_, I trust you then. Yet I warn you not to fool me twice."

  "Good," returned Felipe. "And now _adios_. Unless I bring her back withme you'll never see me again."

  "But, Felipe, lad, where away now?"

  "To Santa Teresa."

  "You are mad. Do you fancy you can reach it before midnight?" insistedthe _major-domo_.

  "I _will_, Rafael; I _will_."

  "Then Heaven be with you."

  But the old fellow's words were lost in a wild clatter of hoofs, asFelipe swung his pony around and drove home the spurs. Through the nightcame back a cry already faint:

  "_Adios, adios_."

  "_Adios_, Felipe," murmured the old man as he stood bewildered in thedoorway, "and your good angel speed you now."

  When Felipe began his ride it was already a little after nine. Could hereach Santa Teresa before midnight? The question loomed grim before him,but he answered only with the spur. Pepe was hardy, and, as Felipe wellknew, of indomitable pluck. But what a task now lay before the littleanimal. He might do it, but oh! it was a chance!

  In a quarter of a mile Pepe had settled to his stride, the dogged, evengallop that Felipe knew so well, and at half-past ten swung through themain street of Piedras Blancas--silent, somnolent, dark.

  "Steady, little Pepe," said Felipe; "steady, little one. Soh, soh.There."

  The little horse flung back an ear, and Felipe could feel along thelines how he felt for the bit, trying to get a grip of it to ease thestrain on his mouth.

  The _De Profundi
s_ bell was sounding from the church tower as Felipegalloped through San Anselmo, the next village, but by the time heraised the lights of Arcata it was black night in very earnest. He sethis teeth. Terra Bella lay eight miles farther ahead, and here from thetown-hall clock that looked down upon the plaza he would be able to knowthe time.

  "Hoopa, _Pepe; pronto_!" he shouted.

  The pony responded gallantly. His head was low; his ears in constantmovement, twitched restlessly back and forth, now laid flat on his neck,now cocked to catch the rustle of the wind in the chaparral, thescurrying of a rabbit or ground-owl through the sage.

  It grew darker, colder, the trade-wind lapsed away. Low in the sky uponthe right a pale, dim belt foretold the rising of the moon. Theincessant galloping of the pony was the only sound.

  The convent toward which he rode was just outside the few scattered hutsin the valley of the Rio Esparto that by charity had been invested withthe name of Caliente. From Piedras Blancas to Caliente between twilightand midnight! What a riding! Could he do it? Would Pepe last under him?

  "Steady, little one. Steady, Pepe."

  Thus he spoke again and again, measuring the miles in his mind,husbanding the little fellow's strength.

  Lights! Cart lanterns? No, Terra Bella. A great dog charged out at himfrom a dobe, filling the night with outcry; a hayrick loomed by like aship careening through fog; there was a smell of chickens and farmyards.Then a paved street, an open square, a solitary pedestrian dodging justin time from under Pepe's hoofs. All flashed by. The open country again,unbroken darkness again, and solitude of the fields again. Terra Bellapast.

  But through the confusion Felipe retained one picture, that of themoon-faced clock with hands marking the hour of ten. On again with Pepeleaping from the touch of the spur. On again up the long, shallow slopethat rose for miles to form the divide that overlooked the valley of theEsparto.

  "Hold, there! Madman to ride thus. Mad or drunk. Only desperadoes gallopat night. Halt and speak!"

  The pony had swerved barely in time, and behind him the Monterey stagelay all but ditched on the roadside, the driver fulminating oaths. ButFelipe gave him but an instant's thought. Dobe huts once more abruptlyranged up on either side the roadway, staggering and dim under thenight. Then a wine shop noisy with carousing _peons_ darted by.Pavements again. A shop-front or two. A pig snoring in the gutter, a doghowling in a yard, a cat lamenting on a rooftop. Then the smell offields again. Then darkness again. Then the solitude of the opencountry. Cadenassa past.

  But now the country changed. The slope grew steeper; it was the lastlift of land to the divide. The road was sown with stones and scoredwith ruts. Pepe began to blow; once he groaned. Perforce his speeddiminished. The villages were no longer so thickly spread now. The crestof the divide was wild, desolate, forsaken. Felipe again and againsearched the darkness for lights, but the night was black.

  Then abruptly the moon rose. By that Felipe could guess the time. Hisheart sank. He halted, recinched the saddle, washed the pony's mouthwith brandy from his flask, then mounted and spurred on.

  Another half-hour went by. He could see that Pepe was in distress; hisspeed was by degrees slacking. Would he last! Would he last? Would theminutes that raced at his side win in that hard race?

  Houses again. Plastered fronts. All dark and gray. No soul stirring.Sightless windows stared out upon emptiness. The plaza bared itsdesolation to the pitiless moonlight. Only from an unseen window aguitar hummed and tinkled. All vanished. Open country again. Thesolitude of the fields again; the moonlight sleeping on the vast sweepof the ranchos. Calpella past.

  Felipe rose in his stirrups with a great shout.

  At Calpella he knew he had crossed the divide. The valley lay beneathhim, and the moon was turning to silver the winding courses of the RioEsparto, now in plain sight.

  It was between Calpella and Proberta that Pepe stumbled first. Felipepulled him up and ceased to urge him to his topmost speed. But fivehundred yards farther he stumbled again. The spume-flakes he tossed fromthe bit were bloody. His breath came in labouring gasps.

  But by now Felipe could feel the rising valley-mists; he could hear thepiping of the frogs in the marshes. The ground for miles had slopeddownward. He was not far from the river, not far from Caliente, not farfrom the Convent of Santa Teresa and Buelna.

  But the way to Caliente was roundabout, distant. If he should follow theroad thither he would lose a long half-hour. By going directly acrossthe country from where he now was, avoiding Proberta, he could save muchdistance and precious time. But in this case Pepe, exhausted, stumbling,weak, would have to swim the river. If he failed to do this Felipe wouldprobably drown. If he succeeded, Caliente and the convent would be closeat hand.

  For a moment Felipe hesitated, then suddenly made up his mind. Hewheeled Pepe from the road, and calling upon his last remainingstrength, struck off across the country.

  The sound of the river at last came to his ears.

  "Now, then, Pepe," he cried.

  For the last time the little horse leaped to the sound of his voice.Still at a gallop, Felipe cut the cinches of the heavy saddle, shook hisfeet clear of the stirrups, and let it fall to the ground; his coat,belt and boots followed. Bareback, with but the headstall and bridleleft upon the pony, he rode at the river.

  Before he was ready for it Pepe's hoofs splashed on the banks. Then thewater swirled about his fetlocks; then it wet Felipe's bare ankles. Inanother moment Felipe could tell by the pony's motion that his feet hadleft the ground and that he was swimming in the middle of the current.

  He was carried down the stream more than one hundred yards. Once Pepe'sleg became entangled in a sunken root. Freed from that, his hoofs caughtin grasses and thick weeds. Felipe's knee was cut against a rock; but atlength the pony touched ground. He rose out of the river trembling,gasping and dripping. Felipe put him at the steep bank. He took itbravely, scrambled his way--almost on his knees--to the top, thenstumbled badly and fell prone upon the ground. Felipe twisted from underhim as he fell and regained his feet unhurt. He ran to the brave littlefellow's head.

  "Up, up, my Pepe. Soh, soh."

  Suddenly he paused, listening. Across the level fields there came to hisears the sound of the bell of the convent of Santa Teresa tolling formidnight.

  * * * * *

  Upon the first stroke of midnight the procession of nuns entered thenave of the church. There were some thirty in the procession. The firstranks swung censers; those in the rear carried lighted candles. TheMother Superior and Buelna, the latter wearing a white veil, walkedtogether. The youngest nun followed these two, carrying upon heroutspread palms the black veil.

  Arrived before the altar the procession divided into halves, fifteenupon the east side of the chancel, fifteen upon the west. The organbegan to drone and murmur, the censers swung and smoked, thecandle-flames flared and attracted the bats that lived among the raftersoverhead. Buelna knelt before the Mother Superior. She was pale and alittle thin from fasting and the seclusion of the cells. But, try as shewould, she could not keep her thoughts upon the solemn office in whichshe was so important a figure. Other days came back to her. A littlegirl gay and free once more, she romped through the hallways and kitchenof the old _hacienda_ Martiarena with her playmate, the young Felipe; ayoung schoolgirl, she rode with him to the Mission to the instruction ofthe _padre_; a young woman, she danced with him at the _fete_ of AllSaints at Monterey. Why had it not been possible that her romance shouldrun its appointed course to a happy end? That last time she had seen himhow strangely he had deported himself. Untrue to her! Felipe! HerFelipe; her more than brother! How vividly she recalled the day. Theywere returning from the Mission, where she had prayed for his safe andspeedy return. Long before she had seen him she heard the gallop of ahorse's hoofs around the turn of the road. Yes, she remembered that--thegallop of a horse. Ah! how he rode--how vivid it was in her fancy.Almost she heard the rhythmic beat of the hoofs. They came nearer,nearer. Fast, f
uriously fast hoof-beats. How swift he rode. Gallop,gallop--nearer, on they came. They were close by. They swept swiftlynearer, nearer. What--what was this? No fancy. Nearer, nearer. No fancythis. Nearer, nearer. These--ah, Mother of God--are real hoof-beats.They are coming; they are at hand; they are at the door of the church;they are _here_!

  She sprang up, facing around. The ceremony was interrupted. Thefrightened nuns were gathering about the Mother Superior. The organceased, and in the stillness that followed all could hear that furiousgallop. On it came, up the hill, into the courtyard. Then a shout,hurried footsteps, the door swung in, and Felipe Arillaga, ragged,dripping, half fainting, hatless and stained with mud, sprang towardBuelna. Forgetting all else, she ran to meet him, and, clasped in eachother's arms, they kissed one another upon the lips again and again.

  The bells of Santa Teresa that Felipe had heard that night on the blanksof the Esparto rang for a wedding the next day.

  Two days after they tolled as passing bells. A beautiful woman had beenfound drowned in a river not far from the house of Lopez Catala, on thehigh road to Monterey.

  THE END