As she rode, her right hand suddenly caught up the lassoo tied to the front of the saddle and threw it at the American ... a tug at the rope ... and Watson, to escape rolling out of the saddle, had to stop and turn his horse back; his companions meanwhile, rode on, unaware of his capture.
The thong still tight about his shoulders, Richard rode up to the girl; he was too much annoyed to free himself and ride away; better have it out!
“Come here,” she said smiling, as she drew in the rope. “Tell me what you mean by going around with that woman—without my permission!”
In a voice betraying his annoyance, Watson replied sharply,
“You have no rights over me, señorita Rojas! I shall go about with anyone I like!”
Celinda grew pale. She had not expected that tone. But very quickly she recovered herself, and imitating the young man’s serious manner, she replied,
“Mr. Watson, I have over you this right at least. I do care about what happens to you, and I don’t like to see you in bad company!”
Conquered by the girl’s comic seriousness, young Watson burst out laughing; and then Celinda laughed too.
“You know how I am,gringuito.... I don’t like to see you with that woman. Anyway she’s too old for you.... Swear to me that you’ll do what I ask—or I won’t let you go!”
Watson swore solemnly, with hand up-raised, making determined efforts to preserve his solemnity. Celinda loosened the rope and the two young people set off in the opposite direction to that taken by Elena and her party.
Since the day when the Frenchman had shown themarquesathe engineering works at the Dam, somewhat boastfully exhibiting his authority over the workmen, Pirovani had felt that he had lost ground; and he was eager at any cost to regain it.
An inspiration came to him one morning as he leaned on his elbow over the railing of his balcony. He knew now how to steal a march on his rival! Within half an hour one of the Italian’s foremen was in conference with his employer.
This fellow, a Chilian, crafty, ingenious in finding a way out of tight places, was frequently called uponby the contractor to handle difficult missions for him. He was known as “the Friar” by his compatriots, an allusion to his sojourn during one period of his adventurous life with the Dominicans at Valparaiso. As a result of this experience he not only knew how to read and write; he had also acquired a taste for unusual words, which he rendered more unusual still by stressing their syllables to his own taste. Soft-voiced and courteous-mannered, he peppered his conversation with poetic phrases. A little incident of two fatal knife thrusts administered to a friend had caused him to abandon his native land.
Foreseeing that his master’s summons would mean a long journey, he had ridden over on his excellent mare. As he dismounted, Pirovani came out, and gave his henchman a vigorous slap on the shoulder by way of indicating the affectionate confidence he felt in him.
“Listen,roto,” said the contractor, adopting the Chilians’ own ironical nickname for themselves, “I want you to get to the station as fast as you can. The train for Buenos Aires will go through in two hours, and you are going to take it.”
In spite of his half-breed impassivity, the Friar could not suppress a gesture of astonishment at hearing that he was being sent to the capital.
“Just as soon as you get there,” Pirovani continued, “give this list to my agent, Fernando—you know him. Tell him he is to buy these things at once, and give you the packages. You are to take the next train back. I expect you to make the round trip in five days.”
The Chilian listened with utmost gravity to thesecommands. He concluded from his employer’s manner that the mission being entrusted to him must be of tremendous importance and felt agreeably flattered at having been chosen to accomplish it.
Pirovani thrust a fistfull of bills into his hand and bade him good-by, turning his back on him with the brisk satisfaction of a general who has just commanded the manœuvres sure to bring a quick and decisive victory.
With a frown indicative of profound thought, the Friar went down the steps.
“This must be an order for steel for the works,” he reflected. “Or perhaps he’s sending me for money....”
Seeing that Pirovani had retired into his cottage, he gave up his attempt to think out a reason for his errand, deeming it simpler to open the envelope entrusted to him. Then he stood in the middle of the street reading the papers it contained.
His first glance at the several lines of the document did not enlighten him.
“One dozen bottles of ‘Jardin Florido’.”
“Idem, ‘Nymphs and Undines’.”
“Six dozen boxes of ‘Moonlight Soap’”....
The bewildered foreman went on with the remaining pages of the thick packet. He was beginning to understand; but the more he understood, the greater was his astonishment. Was it for this that he was being sent to Buenos Aires with orders to return at once?...
“Holy smoke!” he muttered, “this can’t all be forone female! There’s enough here for the Grand Turk’s harem!”
But, as the prospect of a trip to Buenos Aires pleased him, even though he would be able to remain there only a few hours, he cheerfully mounted his horse, and galloped off hot-foot to the station.
Of all themarquesa’snightly callers, the calmest, to judge by appearance, was Moreno. As his work kept him busy only about one day a week, he spent the rest of the time reading in the window of the frame house where he had set up his office. He was a greedy and insatiable reader, devouring two and sometimes three novels daily. His passion for novels of all kinds was one of long standing; it had grown worse in the many hours of solitude he spent at la Presa. When everybody else went away to work in the morning, leaving him alone in his rustic office, he had no distraction of any other kind.
It was after the arrival of the Torre Biancas that his literary preferences, up to that time not clearly formulated, took definite shape. He determined henceforth to read nothing but those tales the scene of which was the so-called world of fashion, with heroes and heroines who were personages of supposedly high society. Moreover, now that he was rubbing elbows with some of the most distinguished representatives of Parisianhigh-life, he could judge of whether these novels were true descriptions of the subject they attempted to treat, or not.
At times he would stop reading and look up at the ceiling with an ecstatic expression, while a desire whispered in his brain,
“Oh, to be the hero of such a story! Oh, to be loved by a woman of high society!”
One afternoon when Moreno was least expecting him Canterac appeared at his door on horseback. As a rule he was at that time of day always at the dam. Something unusual must have happened ... the captain would not be likely otherwise to come and see him.
The horseman rode up to the window and shook hands with Moreno. With military abruptness, avoiding all preambles, he began,
“I wanted to talk to you a minute before tonight so you can get a letter off in today’s mail.... It’s about a present for themarquesa. Poor woman, in this desert of ours she has none of the things she’s accustomed to, and if you remember, a few weeks ago she happened to mention that she misses perfumes so much....”
The engineer took some papers out of a leather wallet, and gave them to Moreno.
“I clipped these out of some catalogues that the Galician fellow at the store gave me. Of course it took him a while to get them for me from Buenos Aires. I should have had them three days ago, so as to send the order by the other train. But, to come to the point.... You have a lot of friends in Buenos Aires, won’t you get one of them to buy these things for me? And take the money out of my pay for the month....”
Moreno with a nod, took the catalogue clippings.
“I hope Pirovani won’t get ahead of me in thismatter,” Canterac went on. “The fellow is more insufferable every day.”
The captain had left him to return to his work at the Dam. Moreno neglected his novel a moment longer to examine the catalogue lists and prices; and as he did so his eyes grew round with amazement; in fact they became almost as round and blank as the shell-rimmed glasses covering them.
For the list marked was a long one; it contained not only perfumery, but all kinds of toilet articles. Evidently the Captain had plunged into the catalogue as though it were a newly discovered continent, appropriating everything he encountered.
“All this mounts up to more than a thousandpesos,” said the paymaster to himself. “And Canterac’s pay is only 800pesosa month.”
Methodical and prudent as he was, a man of figures and accounts, he felt outraged at this lack of balance between income and expenditure. But after a little reflection he began to smile to himself. After all, this lavishness was easy to understand! Themarquesawas so charming ... and she couldn’t be expected to live like an ordinary woman!
But all the rest of the afternoon Moreno was uneasy; he couldn’t keep his attention on the novel he held in his hands. It would waver and slowly sink to the table in front of him, thickly strewn with business papers. Finally, with a frown, he picked up a sheet of writing paper and with the expression of a child fearful of being caught telling a whopper, he began to write—
“Dear Clara:Send me, as soon as you get this, the frock coat I had made when we were married. Things have changed here considerably. Quite important persons are coming this way now and there are a good many parties given for them. Naturally I want to make as good an appearance as anybody else. It’s really quite important for my advancement that I should....”
“Dear Clara:
Send me, as soon as you get this, the frock coat I had made when we were married. Things have changed here considerably. Quite important persons are coming this way now and there are a good many parties given for them. Naturally I want to make as good an appearance as anybody else. It’s really quite important for my advancement that I should....”
Here Moreno scratched his head with his pen handle; then, with a remorseful expression, he went on writing until he had covered all four pages of his letter paper.
Every evening now at themarquesa’s tertulias, Pirovani betrayed the indecision and preoccupation of one who has something on his mind of which he must speak, but whose emotions get the better of him before he can begin.
After a week of hesitancy however he decided to postpone his offer no longer; he reached this decision precisely on the evening when Moreno counted on enjoying one of the most triumphant moments of his life.
Elena was wearing one of those evening dresses of hers the effect of which she was constantly varying by the addition or removal of some ornament so that her costumes always appeared new. Canterac and Torre Bianca wore dinner dress, and Pirovani was displaying the majestic cut of his swallow-tail. But, alas! He was no longer the only one to be so arrayed; for, at the last moment, Moreno had arrived wearing the evening clothes sent down by his wife. It was truethat his clothes were modest enough, and somewhat the worse for numerous years of service and moth balls. But still they were formal evening dress, and robbed the contractor of the distinction of being the only guest present to be thus attired; as a consequence, Pirovani was so nervous that he chattered like a magpie.
Watson and Robledo had compromised with their surroundings by putting on dark suits; they felt obliged to change their clothes every evening now so as not to strike too glaring a note in the picture of incongruous elegance that was being created out of respect for Elena’s presence.
Watson was tired out by his day’s work; he was preoccupied moreover with thinking of the meeting he had had in the late afternoon with Celinda near her father’s ranch. Finally, after several more or less disguised yawns, he got up to go to his own quarters. Elena could not conceal her annoyance when he returned her look of cordial interest with a coolly courteous bow, as though it were without the slightest regret that he left her charming presence.
As, at that very moment, Canterac was engaged in conversation with theMarques, and as Moreno was discussing something with Robledo, Pirovani seized his opportunity.
“I haven’t dared say anything before,Marquesa, but now I feel that I must.... This frame is unworthy of your beauty and elegance....”
He gave a depreciative glance about at the room and its furnishings.
“If you like, my house is at your disposal fromtomorrow on. It is yours,marquesa. I can live in the house of one of my employees.”
Elena, for some reason, did not betray great astonishment. One might have said that she had been expecting this offer for a long time, or even that she had been subtly suggesting it to the contractor. However, she went through various gestures of protest, at the same time smiling at Pirovani, and letting her glance rest caressingly on him.
Finally she weakened before his arguments, and promised to consider the suggestion and consult her husband about it; she could not decide alone....
While Robledo and Watson were at work the next day, she kept her promise.
In spite of the submissiveness with which Torre Bianca usually accepted his wife’s suggestions, he indicated in no uncertain terms that this particular one scandalized him. Certainly he could not accept Pirovani’s generosity!
“What will people think of his giving up his own house to us? Everyone knows that he takes such enjoyment in it!”
No; he shook his head emphatically. Besides, all his class feeling awoke at the thought of being under obligations to a man, for whom he felt no dislike, it is true, but whose tastes he considered rather vulgar.
But Elena became irritable.
“Your friend Robledo is constantly doing us favors, and yet it doesn’t seem to occur to you that people might think that strange! Why do you think it so extraordinary that a new friend should express his interest in us by letting us live in his house?”
And Torre Bianca, who was so accustomed to yield on every occasion to his wife’s wishes, felt himself yielding once more at these words; nevertheless he persisted for awhile longer in voicing his objections to the idea, so that finally, by way of settling the matter, Elena said,
“Of course I understand your scruples ... but it isn’t as though the house were being given to us ... it is simply rented. I insisted on that point to Pirovani. You will pay him when the irrigation project begins to bring us in some money.”
With a gesture of resignation, the marqués surrendered. Particularly noticeable at the moment was his air of discouragement; and he looked aged and sick, as though some secret malady were eating away his life.
“Do as you like. I have no desire but to see you happy.”
The following day Elena called on Pirovani. It had been arranged that she was to see the house, and look it over thoroughly before moving.
The contractor, pale with emotion at being alone with her at last, received her at the head of the stairs, and escorted her through the various rooms. Elena, playing her part as mistress of the establishment, at once ordered certain pieces of furniture to be moved about; the Italian, meanwhile, overcome with admiration of her taste, looked significantly at Sebastiana the housekeeper; he wanted her too to share his ecstasy over the titled lady’s exquisite discrimination.
Finally they reached the bedroom that was to be Elena’s henceforth. On the dressing table and chairs,spread out in every available space, were innumerable packages all carefully wrapped in tissue paper, tied with ribbon, and sealed; and about each package hovered an aroma of flowers and spices. Pirovani was opening them eagerly, revealing dozens of flasks of perfumes, and boxes of delicate and extravagant soaps, as well as handsome toilet articles; all the enormous order, in fact, brought from Buenos Aires, and that now with its gilded labels, its gorgeously lined cases, its glittering cut glass, caressed the eye and at the same time flattered the sense with its perfumes suggestive of all the marvellous blossoms of a Persian garden.
Elena passed from surprise to amazement; finally she burst out laughing, uttering exclamations of amusement not untinged with mockery.
“How generous of you! But there’s enough here to start a perfume shop!”
Pirovani, quite white by this time, and growing bolder under themarquesa’ssmiles, tried to get possession of her hand. But Elena, with a malicious glance in her dark eyes, checkmated him at once.
“I know that this is a real present,” she said, “and that you are not like those vulgar men who sell their gifts.... You want nothing from me but appreciation, I am sure!”
Then, taking pity on the Italian’s embarrassment—alas! he had, as well he knew, laid himself open to the charge of vulgarity, according to themarquesa’sdefinition—she extended her right hand graciously toward his lips.
“That is for you,” she said.
But he had not yet learned how to kiss a lady’s hand with the proper mixture of fervor and restraint; and Elena, abruptly putting an end to his homage, shook her finger at him....
They went on then to the other rooms of the house, and the contractor, as though repentant of his audacity, meekly followed his guest about; and yet there were moments when he wished he had been more audacious still; but above his conflicting sentiments persisted a sense of triumph. Themarquesa’swhite and fragrant hand had actually been offered to his lips, and with what a gesture!
Ah, what good fortune to be able to offer a woman like that a house, and servants, and the luxurious articles so indispensable to her comfort!... With a smile Pirovani contemplated his recent success, and dreamed of other successes to come....
PIROVANI’S house took on an entirely new appearance after the Torre Biancas moved in. The window panes shone now and through them could be seen new and gay-colored curtains. The servants no longer lolled about the verandah, unkempt and dirty, performing their household duties in full sight of the street. The presence of the beautiful and elegant new mistress of the house had inspired them all with a desire to present a somewhat less untidy appearance. Even the fat Sebastiana “wore her Sunday clothes every day,” as her friends put it.
The community around the Dam enjoyed other novelties too after Elena had taken possession of the contractor’s bungalow. There was in Pirovani’s parlor a grand piano of modest dimensions which until then had remained locked. It represented a purchase the Italian had made in Buenos Aires to oblige a friend who had invested too much money in his stock of musical instruments. Besides, the contractor had heard that no parlor was complete without a piano, but of course he had always thought he would have one with perpendicular strings and an upright case. However, on his friend’s recommendation, he had purchased the handsome instrument, although he had small hope that any one would ever come to the Dam who would prove capable of playing it.
Elena however paid it a great deal of attention,sitting in front of it for hours at a time, letting her fingers run up and down the keyboard, while the “romances” she had learned when she was a young girl came back to her; but invariably she interrupted them to dash off a fragment of the popular music she had heard in Paris before she came away.
Inspired by this evocation of her more youthful past, she sometimes added her voice to that of the instrument. When this happened Sebastiana and the other servants left their work in the corral or the balconies, and cautiously creeping nearing and nearer the drawing room listened with softened expressions and glances of admiration to the sounds issuing from it, subdued like the creatures of the wood who listened to Orpheus’ lyre.
The neighbors too yielded to the spell. As soon as it was night and the workmen had finished their meal, the women and children would start out for Pirovani’s. Squatting on the ground at a little distance they would gaze eagerly at the windows that glowed red from the lamp within. If some of the children grew impatient, and began their own games again, their mothers would cry out,
“Be still, you little gallows birds, the lady’s going to sing!”
And an almost religious emotion passed through them at the sound of the piano keys and Elena’s voice; for the melody that penetrated through the wooden walls to the crowd in the dark street seemed a message from another world; so many of them had, for years, heard no music but that of twanging guitars at theboliche.
Then, impelled by admiration and twinges of desire, some of the men would join the groups in the street. They were the same men who looked with indifference at the girl from the Rojas ranch with her boy’s clothes and boy’s ways; but this woman, when she rode by in her trim riding skirt, aroused their enthusiasm. What a woman, themarquesade Torre Bianca! Some curves about her!
And, as they listened to her singing, they stood gaping with sensuous delight, firmly believing that only a beautiful woman could utter tones such as those vibrating in their ears....
A week after the Torre Biancas had moved into their new quarters, Sebastiana announced to her friends that henceforth theseñora marquesawas going to be at home once a week just like the great ladies in Buenos Aires. This announcement was made in such fashion that the gossips ofLa Presatook it into their heads that these weekly parties were going to be extraordinary occasions. Scarcely was dinner over on the appointed night, when groups began to gather before the illuminated windows. Some of the women stood with hands raised to their ears so as to hear better, and they did not hesitate, by means of severe elbow thrusts, to impose silence on their chattering neighbors.
While her guests were arriving, Elena, at the piano, was singing sentimental lyrics of a bygone period.
The first to present themselves were Canterac and Moreno. The latter, in order to complete his evening attire, had thought it necessary to don a silk hat. Pirovani could top off his dress suit with a crush hat if he liked! Just the same themarquesa, who was awoman of such distinction, couldn’t help noticing things like that!... details of course, but how quickly they betray bad taste!
As Canterac stood on the first step of the stairway he said to his companion,
“I oughtn’t to go into this house, belonging as it does to that schemer Pirovani, whom I thoroughly detest. But I was afraid themarquesawouldn’t like it if I didn’t come to her party.”
Moreno, the friend of everybody, and incapable of animosity, took up the defense of the absent contractor.
“But that Italian is a good fellow! I am certain he likes you very much.”
Canterac’s reply to these conciliating words was a threatening gesture,
“The fellow, tactless as he is, seems to take pains to cross my path.... There’s something coming to him....”
They entered the house and themarquéscame forward to welcome them. Then they passed into the drawing-room, where all three men stood waiting, while Elena went on with her song as though she had not heard them come in.
As he approached the bungalow Robledo broke into a broad smile at sight of Pirovani in a new fur overcoat, and a brand new top hat, ordered from Bahia Blanca—for this occasion—as though some familiar spirit had informed him of his friend Moreno’s disparaging thoughts!
From the groups of curiosity-seekers, half-hidden in the shadow, came bursts of laughter and whispers. Some of them were making fun of the tube of shiningsilk which the contractor had put on his head; others were admiring it, their starved vanity making them feel that somehow this high silk hat was adding to the importance of the life they all led out there in the desert.
“Here I am, a visitor in my own house,” said Pirovani laughing, and as though startled by the extravagant novelty of his performance.
“You made a mistake in giving it up,” replied Robledo drily.
Pirovani assumed a superior air.
“You must admit, my dear fellow, that your quarters weren’t quite the proper place for a lady, at least a lady of such distinction.... Even though I never went to college, I know what a man with any claims to being anybody owes to such a woman, and that’s why....”
With a shrug Robledo moved on as though he did not wish to hear further. The contractor puffed along behind him, and, pointing towards the glowing windows, he exclaimed in a transport of enthusiasm;
“What a voice! What an artist, eh?”
Once more Robledo shrugged, and then both men went into the house.
On reaching the drawing room they joined the other three men who were standing there listening. No sooner had Elena uttered the last note than the contractor burst into applause amid loud exclamations of enthusiasm. Canterac, Robledo, and Moreno, although less explosively, also expressed their admiration, each in his own fashion.
It at once became evident that in the new house thegatherings were going to be less simple and austere than in Robledo’s lodgings. Sebastiana, who held firmly to the opinion thatmatewas the remedy for every kind of infirmity, as well as the supreme delight of the human palate, was forced to serve cups of boiling water with a thing calledteain it to the guests.... The two little half-breed servants followed shyly in Sebastiana’s wake, bearing sugar and cakes.
Under pretext of attending to the serving of the refreshments, Elena came and went among those guests of hers, whose eyes avidly followed her about as she balanced her cup, sometimes spilling a little of its contents on the saucer. Her three privileged admirers tried to engage her in conversation; but, gently evading them, she always brought it about that sooner or later, they found themselves carrying on a dialogue with her husband.... Meanwhile, she was in pursuit of the only man who, so it seemed, cared nothing about talking to her, and who had been silent most of the evening. Finally, by skilful manœuvres, she found herself sitting at the far end of the room with Robledo beside her.
“Evidently Watson didn’t care to come,” Elena was saying. “I am more firmly convinced every day that he doesn’t like me, and I sometimes think that you don’t like me very much either....”
Robledo remonstrated, more in gestures than words, at this accusation; but as Elena was pleased to make herself out the victim of an unjust antipathy on the part of the two business associates, the Spaniard finally replied,
“Watson and I are your husband’s friends, and on his account it alarms us to see how lightly you arouse certain equivocal hopes in all these men who come to see you.”
Elena began to laugh, as if pleased by Robledo’s words, and the grave tone in which he uttered them.
“You needn’t worry about that. A woman of experience, who knows the world as I know it, isn’t likely to compromise herself with any of these people you speak of.”
And she cast an ironic glance at her three admirers who were still sitting beside her husband.
“Of course I do not allow myself to make any suppositions,” Robledo continued in the same tone, “I simply see the present, just as in Paris I saw ... and I am a little worried about the future.”
Elena could not decide, as she looked at the engineer, whether to continue to treat the subject lightly or to become angry. Finally she took up the dialogue again with the grave expression of one who has been offended by the tone of the discussion.
“I do not think myself either better or worse than other women. It is simply that I was born to live in luxury, and I have never in my whole life met anyone able to give me all that I wanted.”
During a long pause they looked at one another; then she added,
“The men who wanted to win me could never give me all that I need in life; and those who might have satisfied my desires never noticed me.”
She lowered her head as though her courage had suddenly abandoned her.
“You have no idea what my life has been.... I need wealth, I cannot live without money; and I spent the best part of my youth running after it ... uselessly! Just as I thought I held it in my hand, it vanished, to reappear again farther on.... Again I had to give chase.... And again.... Always the same story!”
She was silent for a few moments, assembling her thoughts; then she added, as though making a confession,
“Men cannot understand the anxieties and desires of the women of today. We need so much more to live on than the women of former times! An automobile and a pearl necklace are the modern woman’s uniform. Without them any women who thinks at all knows that she is unhappy, helpless.... Sometimes I had these indispensable articles, but I never felt sure of them.... I never could count on being able to keep them ... there was always the prospect of losing them the next day. And we all need to hope, don’t we, in order to live! So I am living on the hope now that my husband will make a fortune ... even though I cannot foresee when that might happen. Yet even so, it is enough to help me stand this horrible exile.”
Then, in a tone of discouragement, she went on,
“And what is he likely to make?Sous, perhaps, where you make thousands ofpesos! No ... I ought never to have married Federico!”
She raised her head and smiled sadly at Robledo.
“Perhaps it would have meant happiness for me to have met a man like you, spirited, energetic, able tomaster his destiny. And you, to become all that you had it in you to be, ought to have had a woman to inspire you....”
It was now Robledo’s turn to smile.
“It is a little late to talk of that.”
But she looked at him obstinately while she protested at his words. Is it ever too late for anything while one lives? And there are men of such supreme energy that they are like tropical regions where death is known but not old age, and they are forever renewing themselves, like the springtime. They have that commanding will which imagination obeys; and imagination is the artist who touches up the dull grey canvas of existence with the colors of his crazy palette.
Elena’s face was close to him, her eyes searching his. For a moment he was troubled. Then, with a gesture of negation, he took possession of himself.
“What you say, my dear friend, is very interesting. But men who are really energetic do not care to be revived to false springtimes. That always brings complications.”
As they went on talking she alluded again to her past experiences.
“If I were to tell you my life! Of course every woman cherishes the belief that her history needs only to be adequately told in order to make the most interesting novel ever written. I don’t pretend that my experiences have invariably been interesting. But they have made me unhappy because there was always such a disproportion between what I thought I deserved and what life gave me.”
She paused, as if a painful thought had suggested itself.
“Don’t think that I am one of thoseparvenueswho hunger for the pleasures and comforts that they have never enjoyed. Quite the contrary! I need luxury and money in order to live, because I had them when I was a child. Then, when I was a young girl I was very poor. What struggles I went through to win my way back to the position I had formerly occupied! The position I had been educated to.... And the struggle never ends.... All kinds of catastrophes repeat themselves until I am sick of them ... and all the while I am farther and farther away from the place that should belong to me in life. Here I am now, in one of the most god-forsaken corners of the earth, leading an existence that must be very like that of the people who lived in the most primitive times.... And yet you blame me!”
Robledo took up his own defence.
“I am your friend, and your husband’s. When I see you heading in a wrong direction, I merely give you some good advice. The game you are playing with these men is a dangerous one.”
He indicated clearly enough that he was talking about the men sitting at the other end of the room with Torre Bianca.
“Moreover, before you came, life here was monotonous, it is true, but it was at least peaceful and fraternal. Now your presence seems to have changed these men. They look at one another with scarcely concealed hostility, and I am afraid that their rivalry, which up to the present is merely childish, will sooneror later take a turn toward the tragic. You forget that we are living far removed from other human groups and this isolation makes us by slow degrees revert to barbarism. Our passions, domesticated as they are in city life, lose their manners here, and run wild. Take care! It is dangerous to play with them as though they were feeble toys.”
She laughed at his fears; and there was in her laugh something scornful. She couldn’t understand such love of caution in a strong man.
“You must let me have my court! I need to have people who admire me about me, or I can’t live.... Yes, like a pampered actress, if you like. What would become of me if I couldn’t have the fun of coquetting and flirting?”
Then frowning, and in an irritable voice she inquired,
“What else is there to do here, will you tell me? You have your work, your battle with the river, your contests from time to time with the workmen. All day long I am bored to death. On some of those interminable afternoons I cannot get away from the thought of killing myself ... and it is only when night finally arrives and these admirers of mine come to see me, that I find this desert endurable. In some other part of the world no doubt I should laugh at them, but here I find them interesting. They are my only comfort in this horrible loneliness....”
With a mocking smile she looked in the direction of the three men; and then she added,
“Don’t worry, Robledo. I am not likely to losemy head over any one of them. I know what I am doing.”
And, somewhat bitterly, she compared herself to a traveller on the Patagonian table-lands who, with only one cartridge in his revolver, might be attacked by several of the vagabonds who prowl about in the mountains. If he were to fire he would get rid of only one enemy, and leave himself quite defenceless against the attacks of the others. Wasn’t it better to prolong the situation, and threaten them all without firing?
“You needn’t fear that I shall take any one of these men for my lover. They are not the kind to lose one’s head over. But even though some one of them should interest me, I would be cautious, for fear of what the others might say and do when they found that there was no chance for them. It’s far better to keep them all restlessly happy with hope.”
And, noticing that her prolonged conversation with Robledo was arousing uneasiness among the other visitors, and in fact quite scandalizing them, she got up and moved towards them. All three at once came towards her, surrounding her as though they were going to fight with one another for each one of her words and gestures.
It was after midnight when themarquesa’sfirsttertuliacame to an end. The lateness of the hour was unprecedented in the social annals of La Presa. It was only on those Saturday nights when the workmen received their bi-monthly pay that some of the Galician’s customers stayed out as late as that, and usually it was because they couldn’t get home.
All next day Sebastiana went about half asleep, and with lagging feet, for she had got up at dawn as usual, in spite of having stayed up the night before until the last guest had gone.
She stood on the balcony scolding one of the little half-breeds, who “with all her noise was going to wake up the mistress,” when suddenly she seemed to forget her anger, and stood, one hand over her eyes, peering at the street. A horse was rearing there, too abruptly reined in by his rider, who was quite carelessly waving a hand at the voluble house-keeper.
“Mi señorita... I never know her with those clothes! How is my little one?”
And hastily she clambered down the steps and crossed the street to welcome Celinda Rojas.
Mistress and servant had not met since the day Sebastiana had left the ranch. Out of spite for don Rojas, the half-breed made haste to enumerate all the advantages of her new position.
“It’s a fine house I’m in,señorita mía! No offence to your own, of course. Money flows through it like water in the irrigation ditch. And the mistress is a finegringa, they say she was born amarquesaover there in her country. The Italian fellow, they say too, is a demon with his workmen, but he seems half foolish over theseñora marquesa, and he takes good care that she lacks for nothing. Last night we had a party with music. I thought of my pretty dove when I heard it, and I said to myself, ‘How my little mistress would love to hear thismarquesasing!’”
Celinda nodded as she listened, as though what sheheard excited her curiosity, making her eager to hear more.
Meanwhile Sebastiana, so as further to impress her, went on to enumerate the guests who had been present at the party.
“Haven’t you forgotten someone?” the girl asked when Sebastiana came to a pause. “Wasn’t don Ricardo there, the young man who works with don Manuel, the engineer?”
The half-breed shook her head.
“No. I never once the whole evening long saw thegringo.”
Then she burst out laughing, slapping the enormous muscles of her thighs, which served to bring them into still greater relief under the thin stuff of her skirt.
“I knew it,niniña, I knew it! I’ve heard how you and thegringoare always riding around together, and how not a day goes by that you don’t see each other. But if ever you give him your lips to kiss, little one, be sure to pick out a spot where no one can see you, to do it in. These people around here talk too much, it’s meat and drink to them. And don’t forget that those folks down at the river have very long spectacles, and they can see for miles and miles....”
Celinda blushed, and at the same time protested at her nurse’s insinuations.
“Yes, he’s a fine young man,” the half-breed went on. “That don Ricardo is a handsomegringo, and he’d make a grand husband for you if don Carlos, with his contrary nature, doesn’t stand in the way of your marrying him. When thesegringosfrom America don’t drink, they make fine husbands. I had afriend who married one of them, and she leads him about by the nose. And I know another one who....”
But Celinda wasn’t interested in Sebastiana’s friends and interrupted her.
“So don Ricardo wasn’t here last night?”
“Neither last night, nor any other night. I’ve never seen him around here at all.”
Sebastiana looked at the girl with a gleam of amusement in her eyes, while a good-natured smile spread over her wide, copper-colored face.
“So you’re a little bit jealous, child? No need to blush about that. We’re all the same when we’re in love with a man. The first thing we think about is that some one is going to take him away from us.... But you’ve no reason to worry.... A pearl the like of you,niña,mía! The lady in the house there is handsome too, especially when she’s just got through fixing her hair, and putting all those things that smell so good and that came all the way from Buenos Aires on her face.... But, when you are in the game, what hope has she? Didn’t I see my little girl here come into the world, you might say? And I’ll bet theseñora marquesacan’t remember when she was born.”
Then, as a result of her own thoughts, she considered it well to add,
“To tell the truth, I don’t think themarquesais so old, at that—but anyone wouldseemold alongside of you, precious! We can’t all be rose-buds!”
She stopped talking for a moment while she looked about, and then lowering her voice, and standing on the tips of her toes, she said, as joyfully as any gossip who has found someone to whom to impart a tit-bit,“You must know, pretty one, that there are plenty of them running after her ... but don Ricardo is none of those! The poorgringohas enough on his hands looking after you, my jasmine-blossom! The others are all chasing after themarquesalike ostriches ... the captain, and the Italian, and the government fellow, the one who always carries so many papers.... All of them out of their heads and bristling at sight of one another like so many dogs. The husband never sees a thing ... and she laughs at them all and has a good time making them squirm.... To tell the truth I don’t think she cares a picayune for any one of the whole lot that comes to the house.”
But Celinda’s uneasiness was not set at rest by these words. On the contrary she protested mentally,
“How can Richard Watson be compared with these people?”
Then she felt that she must express a part at least of what she was thinking.
“It may be true,” she observed, “that she doesn’t care much about the others, but Richard is younger than any of them, and I know that these women who have run about a lot in the world, and are beginning togrow old ... well, they’re often very capricious!”
THE notorious Manos Duras lived on an elevation of themesafrom which he could see the distant limits of Patagonia on the far horizon, and below, the wide, twisting curves of the river, beyond which stretched one end of the Rojas ranch.
His ranch-house, of adobe, was surrounded by other huts, or hovels, and a few corrals fenced in by old stockades, but only on rare occasions was any cattle to be found in them.
Everyone in the country knew where the ranch of Manos Duras was located; but very few ever cared to visit it, for the region had a bad name. Sometimes those who with a certain trepidation passed near by, felt reassured when they saw how solitary the place was. On the road leading up to the ranch house there were none of those barking and leaping long-haired dogs with blood-shot eyes and pointed ears who usually accompany the cowboy. Nor were any horses to be seen nibbling at the sparse grass in the corrals.
Manos Duras was away. Possibly he was roving up and down the banks of the Colorado where cattle were more abundant than along the Rio Negro. Or possibly he was roaming among the spurs of the Andes, going to pay a visit to his friends in the Bolson valley, settled for the most part by Chilian adventurers, or on his way to make a call on his acquaintances along the shores of the Andene lakes. These excursions of histo the mountains were usually undertaken for the purpose of disposing, in Chile, of the cattle he had “rustled” in the Argentine.
But at other times the Manos Duras ranch contained an extraordinary diversity of inhabitants. Wanderinggauchoslike himself took up their quarters in the adobe huts for weeks at a time without anyone’s ever discovering for a certainty where they came from nor where they were going.
Thecomisarioof La Presa was beginning to feel uneasy about these mysterious visitors. He got little rest, for not a night went by that he did not fear that some scandalous depradation might occur. Yet day after day passed, and nothing happened to ruffle the calm of the settlement and its outskirts. At thegaucho’sranch numerous heads of cattles were sold and skinned, and Manos Duras provided the whole region with meat. But, as no complaints of theft reached him, don Roque refrained from any investigation as to the source of the bandit’s flocks and herds.
Then one fine morning thegaucho’scompanions disappeared, and Manos Duras continued living in solitude on his ranch; at last he too disappeared for a while, to thecomisario’sinfinite relief.
Suddenly he reappeared again, with three companions, evil-looking specimens out of whom no one could get a word. At the Galician’s it was asserted that they came from a distant valley of the mountain chain.
“They’re three good fellows who are out of luck,” said thegaucho. “Three pals of mine who are going to live up at the ranch until the white-livered rotters down yonder get through telling lies about them.”
One day of intense heat, Manos Duras sprang on his horse to go up to La Presa to make some purchases.
The Patagonian summer had begun with the violent ardor it displays in lands rarely cooled by rain, but where the winter temperatures go down to many degrees below zero. The parching soil seemed to tremble under the intensity of the sun’s hot brilliance. So strong was the radiation that straight lines took on a wave-motion in the dazzling glare, and the outlines of the mountains, the buildings and the people in the streets became oddly changed. These tricks of the blinding light doubled or even tripled the objects in the scene, giving the impression that this desert land was a region of lakes, where everything was reflected in a series of glittering surfaces. The mirages of the desert, these, which attract the attention of even the sons of the soil, so odd and capricious are the forms which these optical illusions assume.
Far in the distance, behind the deep gash cut by the river, almost on a level with the horizon line, lay what looked like a long, dark-colored worm with a tuft of cotton on its head.
Manos Duras stopped short to look at it. That was not the day on which the mail train usually came in from Buenos Aires.
“It must be a freight from Bahia Blanca,” he said to himself.
He could make it out quite plainly although it was still many miles away from la Presa, and it had as many miles again to go before it would stop at Fuerte Sarmiento. In this land the power of vision seemed enormously increased; the retina seemed capable hereof enclosing a vast extent of territory; here distance seemed to have lost its significance. It meant little compared with the importance it assumed in other parts of the world.
After gazing a few seconds at the slowly moving train miles away, thegauchostarted off once more at a gallop. To shorten the way, he was accustomed to ride through the out-lying part of the Rojas ranch stretched between his land and the settlement beyond. With the coolness that was so characteristic of him he turned his horse down a trail that only a practised eye could have discovered between the toughmatorralbrush.
But don Rojas was also at that hour riding about his property, looking it over and making calculations for the future.
The part of his estate that was on the plateau would never amount to anything, he reflected. That beggared soil could never provide fodder for more than a very limited number of cattle. His herds were “criollos,” as he called them disparagingly; that is to say they were spare, heavy-boned beasts, hard-hoofed, with clumsy horns; in short they were adapted to their rigorous surroundings, and could get along on sparse pasturage; these were the degenerate descendents of the cattle that, centuries before, the Spanish colonists had brought over in their small sailing vessels.
He was thinking regretfully of the prize herds of his father’s estate, of the huge steers, flat backed as your hand, short-horned, the solid flesh fairly bursting through their sleek hides—mountains of beefsteak, as he called them.... Then he began thinking of themiracle that was to be wrought on his lands below when the irrigation ditches brought them the water that was to transform them, releasing their fertility.... Alfalfa would flourish there as in the land of Canaan, and here, along the banks of the Rio Negro he would be able at last to reproduce the marvels of scientific breeding accomplished on the ranches near Buenos Aires; then, instead of thin, hard-hided “criollos” he would have herds of the finest cattle, the product of crossing the best breeds to be found anywhere in the world. With all the delight of an artist in polishing off his creations don Carlos brooded over this transformation that in his mind’s eye he saw taking place on his barren ranch, when suddenly he saw a rider approaching him.
He raised his hand to shade his eyes and could scarcely contain himself when he saw who it was.
“By the.... What? That robber Manos Duras!”
Thegauchoas he drew near, raised his hand to his sombrero, in greeting, then spurred his horse ahead.
After a moment of hesitation don Carlos also started off at top speed, cut across thegaucho’spath, and obliged him to stop.
“Who gave you permission to come on my property?” he shouted in a voice that was shrill and shaking with anger.
Manos Duras made no attempt to reply, merely looking at the rancher with the same silent insolence he used towards others. His bold eyes however avoided meeting those of don Carlos. As though offering excuses, he replied in a low tone that he was aware of the fact that he had no right to pass through therewithout the owner’s permission, but the short-cut eliminated a long and round-about bit of the road to la Presa. Then, as a final explanation he added:
“Besides, don Carlos lets everyone ride through here....”
“Everyone but you,” was the aggressive reply. “If ever I find you again on my land, you’ll get one of these bullets!”
This reply put an end to thegaucho’sassumed meekness. He looked contemptuously at Rojas, and said with slow distinctness,
“You are an old man, that’s why you talk to me like that.”
Don Carlos took his revolver from his belt and pointed it at thegaucho’sbreast.
“And you are nothing but a cattle thief.... Why they should all be afraid of you is more than I can understand. But if ever again you steal one of my steers, old man as I am, I’ll make you pay for it!”
As the rancher was still pointing his revolver at him, and as the expression of his face allowed no doubt whatever concerning his determination to carry out his threats, thegauchodid not dare move a hand toward his belt. The slightest motion on his part might call forth a shot.... So he contented himself with giving don Carlos a venomous glance, and saying very low,
“We’ll meet again, boss, and we’ll have more time to talk.”
With this he dug his spurs into his horse and set off at a gallop, without looking back, while don Carlos remained holding his revolver in his right hand.
Near the river however thegauchohad a more agreeable encounter. He noticed three riders coming towards him, and stopped to see who they might be.
Themarquesahad felt impelled to accept an invitation to go once more to the works to see the progress of the dam. Things were now at such a pass between Pirovani and the French engineer that she had felt it necessary to her own peace to sooth the latter by accepting his suggestion that she ride out with him. For his part, he felt that he must show her once again that he was after all the directing spirit of the enterprise, and that the contractor, on that ground at least, had to submit himself very often to his commands.
While they were on these excursions the Captain could talk much more freely to Elena than at her house. The fact that themarquéswas busy with the work of planning the canal system aroused all sorts of hopes and illusions in the captain’s breast. If only themarquesawould consent to riding with him, alone, along the river bank....
But, as though she had divined his thoughts, she insisted that Moreno go with them. Only on that condition would she consent....
“Because you see, you’re dangerous,señorCanterac,” said Elena, pretending to be afraid, and at the same time laughing at her pretended fear.
“I’ll go with you only if this friend of ours, who is the father of a family, and a thoroughly serious sort of person, goes along with us.”
Moreno, pleased at having been included, but at the same time somewhat vexed at being described in such terms, rode along behind Elena, who paid not theslightest attention to him. She remembered him only when Canterac became too vehement in his attentions, riding close to her horse and grasping her hand, or attempting other more or less daring gallantries.
“Moreno,” she would manage to say, while the Captain was manœuvering for place, “ride forward and stay on my left.... I don’t want the Captain so near ... anyway they’re too bold! I don’t like military men!”
All three stopped their attempts at conversation to look intently at Manos Duras who was waiting motionless at the side of the road. Moreno knew who he was and murmured his name to Elena, whose interest in thegauchowas so keen that she yielded to her impulse to speak to him.
“So you are the famous Manos Duras of whom we have heard so often?”
The horseman seemed a little disturbed by Elena’s words, and more so by her smile. He took off his sombrero with a reverential gesture—“as though he were in front of a miracle-working picture,” thought Moreno—Then, in a theatrical manner that was with him quite spontaneous, he replied,
“I am that unhappy man,señora, and this present moment is the happiest in my life.”
He looked at her with eyes in which she could plainly read a strange mixture of worship and desire; and she smiled with pleasure at the barbaric homage she was receiving.
Canterac, who thought the conversation ridiculous, indicated his impatience by teasing his horse and protesting every few moments that they ought to begetting on. But Elena did not choose to hear him, and, with smiling interest, continued her conversation with thegaucho.
“They tell dreadful stories about you.... Are they true? How many murders have you really committed?”
“Black calumnies,señora!” Manos Duras replied, looking straight into her eyes. “But, if there are any murders I can commit for you, you have only to ask!”
Elena seemed thoroughly pleased by this reply, and said with a look at Canterac,
“How gallant the man is, in his way! You can’t deny that such offers as these are pleasant to hear....”
But the engineer for some reason seemed more and more irritated by the familiarity of this conversation between Elena and the cattle-rustler. Repeatedly he tried to nose his horse between the mounts of the other two, so as to put an end to the dialogue, but each time, with a gesture of impatience, Elena checked him.
Seeing that she was bent on continuing her conversation with Manos Duras he turned to Moreno; he had to express his anger to someone.
“This fellow is too presumptuous! We’ll have to give him a lesson!”
The government employee accepted without reservation the allusion to thegaucho’spresumption, but he merely shrugged at the suggestion of teaching him better. What couldtheydo to this terrible bandit, if even thecomisariohad to show him a certain respect?
“You ought at least to stop them from buying his meat at the settlement. Boycott him, that’s part of the answer!”
Moreno nodded with alacrity. The suggestion was easy enough to carry out, if that was all that he would be asked to do....
Finally Elena moved on, bidding farewell to thegauchowith a coquetry excited by his emotion and the wolfish desire she saw in his eyes....
“Poor fellow! How interesting to meet him like this.”
And while the three riders went on, Manos Duras still remained motionless by the road. He wanted to look a while longer at that woman. A grave, thoughtful expression had come over his face as though he had a presentiment that this meeting, in some way or other, was to affect his life. But when Elena and her companions passed behind a hillock of sand and disappeared from his range of vision, thegauchono longer felt the dazzling stimulation of her presence. He smiled cynically to himself while pictures of barbaric lubricity passed through his mind, driving out his doubts and restoring to him his accustomed boldness.
“And why not?” he said to himself. “This is a woman, like those that dance at theboliche... aren’t they all the same?”
Elena and her escorts went on along the river bank. Suddenly Elena straightened up in her saddle so as to be able to see farther into the distance.
In a meadow edged on the river side with young willows, were two horses, saddled but not hitched. A man and a boy stood at the far end of the meadow practising throwing the rope. The lariat they were using seemed to be a light one, less heavy and rapid inthe air than the lassoos of woven leather that the native cow-punchers used.
More by instinct than by strength of sight, Elena recognized the boy. Undoubtedly that wasFlor de Rio Negroteaching Watson to throw the rope, and laughing at thegringo’sclumsy attempts to master the whirling, snake-like coils. Richard too, now that Torre Bianca went daily to direct the canal work, was enjoying more liberty, and was using it to follow the Rojas girl about in her rides and share in her childish games.
Indicating to her companions that they were not to follow her, Elena rode towards the meadow.
Celinda however was quicker to notice her than was Watson. With a sudden right-about she turned her back on the intruder, and at the same time ordered Watson to fix one of her spurs, which, so she said, had come loose.
The youth, after kneeling at her feet for a moment, found the spur quite firmly in place, and was about to get up. But she was determined to keep him on his knees.
“I tell you,gringuito, that I’m going to lose it! Please fasten it better!”
And it was only when she saw that Elena, offended, and well aware of the girl’s hostility and strategem, had turned her horse about and was riding away, that she allowed him to get up.
A little before sunset Elena’s party rode up the main street of the town. In front of Pirovani’s house, which she now looked upon as hers, Elena dismounted, leaning on Moreno, who, as she stepped to the ground, had anticipated the Captain’s move to help her.
Offended, the Frenchman saluted with military abruptness, and rode away without waiting until Elena had gone into the house. Another day spoiled! He was furious with the others, and with himself.
Pirovani appeared, issuing from a side-street. As soon as the contractor caught sight of Moreno who was going toward his house, he ran after him, eager to hear about the episodes of an excursion to which he had not been invited. With the easy credulity of the jealous, he believed that Canterac must have won a great advance on him during that short ride with themarquesa.
With childish satisfaction he smiled when the government employee told him how, several times, theseñora marquesahad asked him to help her keep the Frenchman at a proper distance.
“Of course I know that she can’t stand him,” said the Italian. “I’m not so stupid that I can’t see that! But, as he’s the engineer in charge of the works, and can do favors for Robledo and her husband, she doesn’t dare tell him what she thinks of him....”
But his delight took a sharp fall when Moreno went on to tell him of the encounter with Manos Duras, and the “presumption” with which the fellow had talked to the “señora marquesa.”
This was too much for the contractor!
“All these people think they are everybody’s equal just because we are all together here in this desert,” he exclaimed, scandalized. “Some fine day this cattle thief will take it into his head to come to themarquesa’sparties, just as though he were one of us.... It’s outrageous!”
“By the way,” said Moreno, “the Captain doesn’t want any more meat to be bought of Manos Duras, nor any business done with him whatever. That’s more in your hands than Canterac’s.”
Pirovani agreed with vehement signs of assent.
“And I’ll see to it! That Frenchman has the right idea for once. This is the first time in weeks that he’s said anything I could see any sense in!”