THE last of the customers to leave thebolichethat evening were going home when Robledo stopped in front of the house Elena occupied.
He went softly up the stairs and, after a few seconds of hesitation, knocked gently at the door. After a very brief interval it opened, and Sebastiana appeared, thoroughly surprised at being summoned in this fashion just as she was going to bed. Her coarse hair was arranged in numerous braids, each one of which was tied at the end with a knot of ribbon or string, and with her enormous arms she tried to conceal a part of her copper-colored and exuberant bosom, freed from the compression of her corset. Her wrathful eyes, which gave warning of the hailstorm of abusive words with which she was planning to receive the importunate disturber of her peace, softened at sight of Robledo, and before he had time to speak, she was saying in the most amiable tone in the world,
“The mistress is in her bedroom, and theseñor marquéshas gone out with his accursed pistol case. I thought he was at your house ... but come in, I’ll go call theseñora.”
Robledo had good reason to know that Torre Bianca had gone to see him, but he felt it imperative to speak to themarquesa. However, he hesitated about steppinginto the house. He had no desire to find himself alone with Elena. Besides, his interview with her must be of the briefest. Torre Bianca might return at any moment, and it would be awkward to explain his presence there when a few minutes earlier he had been talking with themarquésat his house.
“I want to see your mistress for just a second.... It would be better if she just leaned out of her bedroom window....”
The half-breed closed the door, and Robledo went along the outside balcony past several windows. One of them opened a few moments later and Elena, her hair hanging loose, and a dressing gown thrown negligently about her shoulders, but leaving much of her arms and breast exposed, leaned out.
She had gotten up quickly, and appeared startled. Even before Robledo spoke she asked anxiously,
“Has something happened to Watson? Why are you here at this hour?”
Robledo smiled ironically; then he answered,
“Watson is quite well. My being here at such an hour as this is on some other man’s account.”
He looked at her with severity and added slowly,
“Within a few hours’ time two men are going to kill one another. This is a horrible absurdity which makes it quite impossible for me to sleep tonight. So I have come to say to you, Elena, stop this frightful thing, for heaven’s sake!”
As soon as she felt certain that Robledo’s business in no wise concerned Watson, Elena replied, with little concealed ill-humor,
“What do you want me to do? They can fight if they choose. That’s what men are born for.”
Robledo heard these words with a gesture of astonishment. How cruel they sounded!
“Although I am a woman,” she continued, “these matters don’t alarm me. Federico fought a duel for me when we were first married. Several men in my country risked their lives in duels for me in the hope of making themselves agreeable in this way. I never interfered in any of them.”
An expression of contempt passed over her face as she added,
“Do you really think that I am going to ask these two gentlemen not to risk their precious lives on my account, just so afterwards they can ask me for something in return? Anyway, if I interfered, each one of them would believe that I was interested in him ... and I don’t care a snap for either of them. If it were some other man who was concerned, I might grant your request....”
Robledo raised his head slightly at the phrase “some other man,” and for a moment saw clearly before him the image of his partner. The expression in Elena’s eyes grew gentle.
“Go to bed and sleep peacefully, just as I shall, Robledo. Let those two vain male creatures announce all they like that they are going to kill one another. Nothing serious will happen, you’ll see!”
She made a motion as though to draw back into the bedroom, for a crowd of “jejenes” and other insects attracted by her fragrant flesh were beginning to swarm around her shoulders, and she had to ward them off by constant slaps while she spoke.
“If you see Watson tell him that I expected him allday. With all this commotion about the duel I suppose it was impossible for him to get away.... Till tomorrow then, and rest easy! There’s no need to worry....”
She closed the window, pretending a childish fear of the mosquitoes, and Robledo retired, defeated.
At the same hour Canterac, seated at his work table, was finishing a long letter with these words,
“ ...and this is my last request. I hope you will grant it. Good-by, my sons! Forgive me!”
He folded the sheet of paper and put it in an envelope which he placed methodically in the pocket of a coat hanging near him.
“If luck’s against me tomorrow,” he thought, “they’ll find this letter on my person. Before the duel I’ll ask Watson to send it to my family, in case....”
An hour later his opponent was entering Moreno’s lodgings.
The government employee had returned just a short time before from the meeting with Canterac’s seconds. Pirovani spoke haltingly, struggling hard to conceal his emotion.
He had just left two letters on Moreno’s table, one of them very bulky, with the envelope still unsealed, showing the contents to be a folio of close written sheets. The Italian had been writing most of the night, trying to condense his affairs into such form as could be jotted down on these sheets. He pointed to the less voluminous of the two letters.
“That is for my daughter,” he said gravely. “Send it to her if anything final happens to me....”
Moreno tried to laugh as though he couldn’t at allbelieve in the possibility of a fatality. But he stopped his feigned merriment abruptly when the contractor went on in a still graver voice,
“This thicker envelope contains an authorization duly made out, by means of which you will be able to collect the money the government owes me, and other sums at the bank. A man as competent as you ought to find it possible, by means of all that I have prepared for you in this packet, to take over my business. I am also leaving a will, appointing you my daughter’s guardian. You are the only man here, Moreno, in whom I place my confidence. Even though now and then you have been more on my enemy’s side than mine ... but that doesn’t matter! I know that you are honest, and I am entrusting my daughter and my fortune to you,—everything I have in the world.”
Moreno was so moved by this proof of confidence in him that he was forced to raise a hand to his eyes. Then he stood up to grasp the Italian’s hand, and with broken phrases expressed his intention of fulfilling with the utmost exactitude the obligation laid upon him. He vowed that he would devote himself to the care of his friend’s daughter and fortune, if the duel should result fatally for him.
. . . . . . . . . .
Sunrise; a meadow overgrown with fine grass, along the river bank; at the far end, some old willows, their roots half exposed to the air. Slowly dying, they lay across the stream, and it seemed as though at any moment they might fall into it.
A gloomy spot at best; and it was here that Elena’s friends had elected to fight their duel. The light striking horizontally and almost level with the surface of the ground, elongated the shadows of the human figures and the trees, making them seem fantastic and unreal.
Pirovani arrived first, escorted by Moreno and don Carlos, all of them dressed in black. But the contractor was distinguished from those who accompanied him by his coat, which was new and of a solemn cut. He had received it the preceding week from Buenos Aires. It was the creation of a well-known tailor there of whom he had ordered a complete outfit of clothes similar to those made for the most fastidious millionaires of the capital.
Behind this group came a tall, heavy old man, whose nose was purplish and bulbous, due to excessive use of alcohol through a long and prosperous life. He carried a surgeon’s instrument case. This was the doctor whom Rojas had gone to fetch the day before.
A few minutes later Canterac, Torre Bianca and Watson arrived. The captain and themarquéswore long frock coats, less striking than Pirovani’s, and black neckties, just as though they were officiating at a funeral. Watson alone wore a dark-colored business suit.
After ceremoniously saluting his antagonist and the latter’s seconds from afar, Canterac began to walk up and down along the river bank, pretending to amuse himself watching the birds who were displaying their customary morning animation, or throwing stones into the current. The contractor did not wish to make a less gallant showing; bent on imitating the captain ineverything, he also walked up and down near the willows, and looked at the river. And thus both of them continued promenading up and down, like two automatons, each on that part of the bank he had selected.
Torre Bianca, who because of his experience in such matters, directed the arrangements, began to pace out distances. He asked Watson for the two canes that the latter had foresightedly brought with him, and stuck one into the ground. Then he looked toward the sun with one hand over his eyes in order to discover just how the light struck; and then once more he measured out twenty paces.
“Twenty,” he said, and stuck in the second cane.
Then he went up to the other seconds, drew out a coin, and after a word from Moreno, tossed it into the air. As it fell, the government employee said to Rojas,
“We have won, don Carlos. We can choose our ground.”
Themarqués, who had brought his pistol case, spread it open on the grass. With elaborate care and deliberation he loaded the weapons, producing the same coin in order to consult chance once again. As the metal disc fell, Moreno leaned over to look at it and said to the rancher,
“Luck is with us. We can choose the revolver we prefer.”
Then Pirovani’s seconds went to bring him up to that one of the canes they had chosen. Themarquésand Watson conducted their principal to the spot marked by the second cane.
Meanwhile the doctor somewhat confusedly set about his preparations. It was the first time that he had witnessed a duel. With one knee on the ground he opened his instrument case and began to unroll bandages, open medicine flasks, and examine the condition of his instruments.
The antagonists stood facing one another, Canterac rigid, his face grave but inexpressive, like a soldier awaiting the word of command. Pirovani’s eyes glowed like coals, he looked aggressive, furious. When Moreno came up to him to give him a revolver, he said, very low,
“You watch me kill him. I know I’m going to do it....”
But then he forgot his homicidal hopes to add,
“I wish they would explain clearly to me how much time I can have to take aim. I don’t want to make any mistake, and be taken for an ignoramus who doesn’t understand these affairs.”
The two opponents held their pistols aloft, the barrels point up. Moreno noticed that Pirovani’s coat was unbuttoned and carefully buttoned it. Then he turned up the Italian’s collar so that the white of his shirt could not be seen. Meanwhile, Torre Bianca was examining Canterac, who was correctly buttoned up, in military fashion, but he too needed to have his coat collar turned up. Both men, before taking their weapons, had removed their hats and given them to the seconds.
Taking a stand between them both, themarquésremoved a paper from his pocket and read slowly:
“ ...Secondly, the director of the duel will clap his hands three times, whereupon the principals are totake aim and fire when they are ready, in the interval between the first and the third handclap.”
“Thirdly, if one of the two principals fires after the third handclap he will be disqualified, and declared an outlaw to the gentleman’s code.”
Pirovani, with his pistol held above him, thrust his head forward and looked toward the marqués so as to hear better, and he nodded at each word that came from Torre Bianca. Canterac remained impassive, as though listening to something that was perfectly familiar to him.
Themarquéswent on reading, and finally put away the sheet of paper and addressed both antagonists.
“It is my duty to ask those here present if they are able to come to terms without firing. Is it possible for you gentlemen to settle this difficulty without having recourse to the duel? Does either of you wish to offer excuses to the other?”
Pirovani violently shook his head. “No!” Canterac remained motionless. Not a line of his sombre expression softened.
Themarquésspoke again, removing his hat with mournful solemnity,
“Then fate is to decide between you, and each of you is to comply with the requirements of the field of honor.”
He took a few steps backward, keeping the combatants in full view. Then he raised his hand. Were they ready? Pirovani nodded. His adversary continued motionless.
Themarquésbrought his hands to within a few inches of one another, indicating that he was ready togive the first handclap. Every motion that he made was so slow that it assumed a tragic solemnity.
The other seconds, at a considerable distance from him, were looking on with ill-dissimulated emotion. Still kneeling near his instrument case, the doctor was looking up with wide-open eyes.
Themarquésbrought his hands together, slowly uttering “Fire.... One....”
Both men brought their revolvers down simultaneously.
Pirovani, whose sole thought at that moment was that he must not shoot after the third handclap, fired at once. His opponent blinked one eye, and the muscles of his cheek on the same side contracted slightly, as though he had felt a projectile brush close by. But he at once recovered his impassivity and went on taking aim.
Themarquésclapped his hands again. “Two!”
When Pirovani saw that he had not wounded his enemy, and that now he stood disarmed before him, there passed over his face like a swift cloud, an expression of pure fear. But it had gone in an instant. Then, looking at Canterac who was still taking aim, he crossed his arms, pointing his own useless revolver at his breast, and, as though defying death, presented himself full face to the shot.
Moreno clutched Rojas by the shoulder.
“Pucha!... He is going to kill him,” he said between his teeth.
Torre Bianca gave the third clap. “Three!” But the instant before Canterac had fired.
There was a general rush in one direction. Only the captain remained motionless, one arm hanging by his side, the still smoking revolver in his left hand.
Pirovani lay stretched on the ground, an inert mass. The men who reached him first saw a thread of blood coming from the top of his head, and running out, a miniature stream, on the grass. Then his head was hidden from view, for every one was crowding around the fallen body, leaning over to hear what the doctor was saying.
In a few moments the latter looked up, and stammered,
“There’s nothing to be done ... he’s dead!”
Seeing that Canterac was approaching to learn what had been the effect of his shot, Torre Bianca went up to him, quickening his steps. His gesture told Canterac what had happened even before he spoke.
His second judged it necessary to get him away from the field and ordered him to follow. On the other side of the sand dunes a vehicle was waiting. It was the same one that had transported Elena to the garden party.
When this cart deposited them in front of the house that had once belonged to Pirovani, both men stood hesitant.... Torre Bianca could not ask the captain to enter the house of the man he had just shot; nor did Canterac dare move towards it.
So they were standing, unable to make a decision, when Robledo appeared. He had evidently been prowling about the vicinity to learn some news of the event. When he saw Canterac, he looked questioningly at him.
“And the other ...?”
Canterac bowed his head, and themarquéswith a gesture told Robledo what had happened.
All three men stood silent. Finally the Frenchman said very low,
“My career is ended, my family lost to me.... And the most frightful part of it all is that I can feel no hate when I think of that poor man.... What is to become of me?”
Robledo was the only one of the three capable at that moment of coming to a determined decision.
“The first thing you must do, Canterac, is to get away. There’ll be a great stir about this affair. We won’t be able to hush it up as though it were a fist-fight in theboliche. You must get away to the Andes, at once. When you get into Chile you can wait there.... Everything in this world can be settled somehow ... perhaps well, perhaps badly, but settled somehow.”
The Frenchman, however, had lost his grip for the moment. What could he do? He had no money ... he had spent it all for that mad garden party.... How could he live in Chile? He knew no one there....
Robledo took his arm and pulled him gently away from the others.
“The first thing to do is to get away,” he repeated. “I’ll see that you have what you need to do that. Come!”
Canterac however hesitated to obey. He was looking back at Torre Bianca.
“Before I go,” he murmured, “I would like to say good-by to themarquesa.”
Robledo listened with a pitying smile to this plea. Then he took hold of him with paternal superiority.
“Let’s not lose time,” he said. “Look after yourself, and nobody else. Themarquesahas other things to think about.”
And he took Canterac with him to his quarters.
All that day the town seethed with the news of the duel. Indeed some of the inhabitants treated the occasion as a holiday. In the main street thick groups of men and women gathered, talking, gesticulating, and casting hostile glances at the house that had once been the contractor’s. Torre Bianca’s name, and his wife’s, were bandied about even more frequently than those of the men who had fought the duel.
Some of thegauchoswho were friends of Manos Duras passed in and out among the groups. Apparently the recent event had quite overshadowed the hostility existing between them and the people of the settlement.
In the middle of the afternoon Manos Duras himself came riding up the main street. He stared with profound interest at the dead man’s house. Some of the half-breed girls spoke to him. What did he think of that woman who made the men around her kill one another in cold blood?... But the notoriousgauchomerely shrugged, and smiling contemptuously, passed on.
Three of his friends were waiting for him at theboliche. They were men who lived the greater part of the year in the foothills of the Andes. Recently they had been paying him a visit at his ranch. Under other circumstances don Roque would have been alarmedto learn of this fact. He would have suspected that these pals of thegaucho’swere preparing some shameless piece of cattle rustling. But at that particular moment the most important persons at the dam were giving thecomisariofar more to worry about than the thievinggauchoshad ever done.
When Manos Duras stepped into the “Almacén del Gallego,” he noticed that there were many more customers there than on other workday afternoons. Everyone was talking about the contractor’s death.
“That woman did it all,” someone was shouting. “She’s to blame for the whole thing, the—!”
Manos Duras bethought him of the afternoon when he had first seen themarquesa; and the memory was enough to make him look as aggressively at the man who was talking as though the words contained an insult for him.
“If two men chose to fight with bullets for this lady, what have you got to say about it?... I’m just as ready as they were to draw a bead on anyone who insults her.... Come on now, let’s see if there’s one of you dares step on my poncho....”
Thisgauchochallenge was received in silence by theGallego’spatrons. When the talk began again it was about subjects that Manos Duras could not take exception to.
At nightfall Torre Bianca from one of his windows looked wonderingly at the groups of people in the street. Their number had noticeably increased. Then he noticed that thecomisario, who had just returned from Fuerte Sarmiento, was going about talking to different people in the crowd, urging them to go home.When he saw themarquésat the window the police commissioner raised his hat to him.
Men and women turned to stare at Elena’s husband. Many of the glances turned in his direction were hostile, but no one dared make any demonstration against him.
Torre Bianca could not conceal his amazement at having so many eyes fastened upon him. Then he took in the fact that there was something very unfriendly in the glances coming his way. Haughtily, but sadly, he closed the window. He did not understand.
A little later Sebastiana opened the house door and leaned over the railing of the balcony. She was irresistibly attracted by this crowd in which she spied many old friends. But when they saw her, the women who were in the street began to gesticulate and shriek out insults.
Annoyed by such an incomprehensible reception, she replied in the same fashion; but crushed finally by the strength of numbers of her enemies, and seeing that several of the men were joining in the attack on her, contributing loud guffaws and vile names, she retired defeated. Her meditations in the kitchen during the next few hours brought her to an alarming conclusion. Every woman of the region, even though she might formerly have been a friend, would now be against her because she was in the service of themarquesa!
At about the same time of the day, Watson returned to town. After the morning’s tragedy he had accompanied the seconds and the doctor while they transported the victim’s body to a dilapidated ranch house near the river. Then they determined to removeit to Fuerte Sarmiento, since Pirovani was to be buried there, in order to avoid the outbreaks that would be imminent if this ceremony were performed in La Presa.
As he was riding into town, just as he reached the first houses of the settlement he encountered Canterac.
The latter also was on horseback; and he wore a sombrero and a poncho just like thegauchos. From his saddle hung a sack of the kind used by the cow-punchers to carry clothing and various belongings.
As soon as Watson recognized him he stopped to say good-by, for Canterac had all the appearance of one prepared to cross the Patagonian desert.
Canterac, by way of replying to his question, pointed to that part of the horizon where the first stars were beginning to glitter over the invisible Andes. Then he told him that he counted on spending the night at a ranch near Fuerte Sarmiento, and that he would probably be under way again before dawn.
“Good-by, Watson,” he said. “It would have been a good thing for us if that woman had never come here. Strange, in what a different light I see things now. But ... it’s too late.”
For a few seconds he looked hesitatingly at the youth; then finally with decision, he said,
“I’ve earned at least the right to speak through my folly ... listen to what I am going to say, and don’t be offended if I give you advice that you don’t ask for.... Never let anything come between you and Robledo, boy.... There are few souls in this world like his. It’s thanks to him that I am getting away. Everything in this outfit belongs to him.... Don’t trust anyone who speaks ill of him....”
He eyed the boy sadly at these words; and before he rode away, he offered him still another bit of advice.
“And don’t on any account forget that young lady they callFlor de Rio Negro!” Then he shook Watson by the hand, waved him good-by, and leaning down, spurred his horse. In a moment he had vanished into the darkness of the new-born night.
WATSON, as he went on towards the town, felt the prick of a conscience that has lost its accustomed tranquility.
With remorse he remembered the brief dialogue in Canterac’s park, in the course of which he had answered Robledo harshly.
“And for this woman,” he thought, “for this woman who coolly sends men to their death, I treated my best friend in such fashion!”
And after Robledo’s image came that of Celinda, with unhappy, reproachful eyes....
“PoorFlor de Rio Negro,” he thought to himself. “Tomorrow I must go beg her to forgive me ... if she will listen to me....”
Absorbed in his thoughts, he rode into La Presa, letting his horse pick the way. Suddenly he noticed that the animal was hesitating, about to stop. Raising his head Watson saw that he was in front of Elena’s house.
Thecomisario, assisted by two of his men, was with paternal exhortations gently shoving the last group of curiosity-mongers out of the way.
Don Roque followed them down the street, and Richard was about to ride on when he noticed that one of the windows of the Torre Bianca’s house hadopened. A woman’s hand was beckoning to him. Watson remained indifferent to the summons, and the window swung out wide enough to let Elena appear in the opening. She was dressed in black, as though in mourning, but she wore her floating veils with considerable coquetry.
Richard felt that he must at least approach the house sufficiently to offer his greetings. He took off his hat in response to Elena’s affectionate signs to him.
“Such a long time since I have seen you, Ricardo!... Come in at once....”
But he shook his head, looking at her sternly.
“You do not ask for whom I am in mourning,” she went on. “It is for my husband’s mother, a dear old lady whom I loved very much. I feel so bad about this loss.... And I do so need at this very moment to talk to a friend....”
As she spoke she tried to maintain a sorrowful expression, although at the same time she was employing every gracious word and gesture she knew to persuade him to come in. But Richard persistently shook his head, and said, finally,
“I shall come to see you when you are living in some other house, and when your husband is present. I cannot come now.”
Coldly he went away without turning around; and Elena’s emotions ran the scale from intense surprise to hot anger. Finally she banged the window shut with a violence that threatened to demolish it.
That night after supper Watson offered Robledo his apologies for his unfriendly words to him at the gardenfête; but Robledo cut him short.
“That’s all over and done with, Watson. We’re as good friends as before, aren’t we? So what does all that matter? The terrible part of this affair is what happened to poor Pirovani ... and in some ways it’s even worse for Canterac. Of course his words make an impression on you. Poor fellow! He wouldn’t take anything more than what was absolutely necessary for his journey over the mountains. He’s going to wait for news from me in Chile, he says. I must get some letters of recommendation for him from friends of mine in Buenos Aires.... But what a catastrophe, Watson!... And all for a woman!”
Robledo was silent for a while. Then he added optimistically,
“She isn’tbad, she’s merely a woman of impulse, whose emotions have never had the slightest training; and so she sows evil, without knowing always what she is doing, because all her attention is centered on herself. She has never discovered that she isn’t the center of the universe. If she were rich, she would perhaps be good. But she cannot be content with a modest sort of existence, and she’s incapable of sacrificing herself. All the trouble in her life comes from the fact that she has so little and desires so much!”
He smiled sadly and then went on after a pause,
“Fortunately all women are not like that. She herself told me that in this age of ours, the woman who thinks at all is unhappy and hates all the rest of creation if she can’t have the pearl necklace that is ‘the modern woman’s uniform’.... I am quoting.... But there is something more terrible still thanthe woman who is determined to get a pearl necklace for herself, Richard, and that is the woman who having had it once, has lost it, and feels that she must at any cost get it back!”
The memory of Gualicho, the demon who tormented the Indians with his wiles, driving them to the point where they mounted their horses and pursued him with darts and tomahawks, passed through his mind. Elena, in the old world, would have been merely one of many dangerous women; and her powers for evil would have been checked and neutralized by the proximity of others like herself. But here, surrounded by men who admired her, conscious of primitive surroundings among which she stood out like a being of finer clay, she had, without wishing to, exerted an influence as evil as that of the red-skinned demon, in former times the terror of the wanderinggauchosof the Pampas.
She herself had been a victim of the loneliness of her surroundings to the extent at least of becoming enamored of Watson. She had believed that she could play with men and despise them. That at least was what she had intimated to Robledo one evening, while she gazed pityingly at her victims. But Richard was youth, and masculine energy incarnate; he was, moreover, the object of a young girl’s first love; and so to this mature coquette, eager to win him away from an inexperienced adolescent, as a proof that her former powers of seduction had not yet waned, he represented an irresistible temptation.... And now her vanity had been cruelly wounded. Not only had the only man she had found interesting in this wilddesert repulsed her; she had every reason to believe that he despised her....
Robledo meanwhile went on talking about themarquesawith a somewhat contemptuous pity.
“She really believes that she was born for higher things, and yet fate seems determined to make her roll downhill.... It isn’t surprising that she should appear to be a bad woman, when you consider that she doesn’t know what resignation means.”
But the effect of Elena’s influence on affairs at the dam was sufficiently alarming....
“Our contractor dead ... our chief engineer a fugitive.... How can we carry on the work, Watson? The construction at the dam will be delayed and the spring floods will come before we have braced the walls. What are we going to do? I’ll have to run up to Buenos Aires to get help.”
And he spent most of the night worrying about what was to be done to save three years’ labor from destruction.
The next morning Watson got on his horse; but instead of riding towards the canal works he took the road to the Rojas ranch. There was no use going on with this secondary part of the work until the government sent down a new engineer to take over the completing of the work on the dam.
When he reached the ranch he was about to dismount and open the “palisade,” or barrier poles that closed the way. But near it he discovered a small half-breed, about ten years of age, a chubby little fellow with velvety antelope’s eyes, and a skin of alustrous light chocolate color. The small boy, one finger in his nose, was smiling at him.
“The master went out early this morning,” he said in reply to Richard’s question. “Last night someone stole one of his cows.”
“And where’s your mistress, Cachafaz?”
Young Puck, who had earned his name Cachafaz through an unbelievable series of deviltries, took his finger out of his nose, and pointed vaguely to the horizon line.
“She just now left. You’ll find her somewhere near.”
And with his dirty forefinger he gestured in a zigzag towards the distant desert. Watson grasped the fact that for young master Cachafaz “just now” might mean one hour, or two or three, and “somewhere near” might mean anywhere within two leagues. But he must see Celinda! Determined to find her, he set his horse off at a gallop towards the open, trusting that luck would lead him in the right direction.
But what young Cachafaz had not told the visitor was that, in his estimable mother’s opinion, the little mistress of the ranch was sick. Cachafaz’s mother was an old Indian woman who had come to take Sebastiana’s place as housekeeper; but she lacked some of Sebastiana’s virtues; she had neither her good humor nor her talent for work. All day long she kept a Paraguay cigar in one corner of her blue, nicotine-stained lips, and when don Carlos wasn’t at home, she used his carved calabash and silverbombillafor the absorption of her ownmate.
The servants and peons at the ranch looked uponCachafaz’s mother with superstitious respect, for it was generally believed that she was a witch and held dealings with the invisible spirits of the air, those that howl as they whirl inside the sand columns as high as towers, that the hurricanes drive in front of them when they come down from the plateau lands. When the old squaw noticed that Celinda was in very poor spirits indeed and found her crying several times, she shook her head knowingly, as though all this merely confirmed her suspicions.
“The trouble with the girl is that she’s sick, and I know what sickness she’s sick of.”
An ancestor of the old woman’s had been a great medicine man back in the times when the Indians were still the owners of the land. He was always summoned whenever the chiefs fell sick. His son had inherited his secret lore, but unfortunately he had handed on only a part of it to his daughter, who became Cachafaz’s mother.
“It’s theayacuyasthat are bothering the girl, and she must be cured of the wounds left by their arrows.”
The old squaw was well acquainted with theayacuyas, hob-goblins so diminutive that a dozen of them would scarcely cover a finger nail; they always carried bows and arrows, and it was the wounds from these weapons that caused most of the sicknesses in the world.
She herself had never seen them, for she was nothing but a poor ignorant, miserable old woman, but her father, and her grandfather before him, who had been greatmachisor medicine men, had often had dealings with these little creatures. Only the nativeIndians could see them. Some of thegringodoctors pretended to have seen them too, and called them by a name in their own language,microbe, but what did they know about them ...?
And if you took their bows and arrows away from them, they attacked human beings with tooth and nail, and it was important to know how, by bleeding and sucking, to get the splinters of the arrows, or the nails and teeth that the invisible demons left in the bodies of their victims, out of the poisoned wounds.
“I’ll find you amachiwho’ll make you well, little lady, and take away this sadness that theayacuyasbrought upon you. But don’t let the master know of it.”
Celinda smiled at the remedies suggested by Cachafaz’s mother. When she grew tired of being shut up in the ranch house she went to get her horse and rode him hither and yon over the desert with no goal to reach. She never wore boy’s clothes now. She hated those clothes because of the memories they awoke. She preferred riding in skirts; and she had laid aside too the lassoo that had once been her favorite plaything.
That morning she had been galloping for more than an hour over the ranch when she noticed, on a slight elevation, a rider standing motionless; the distance diminished him to the size of a little tin soldier.
She stopped when she noticed that the miniature rider was plunging down the slope and galloping towards her as though he had recognized her. For some time he was lost to sight, then he reappeared, much bigger in size, on the edge of a deep depression.When she saw that the rider was Watson, her first impulse was to flee. But she repented of this impulse as though it were cowardly, and turning her horse about, remained motionless in a disdainful attitude.
Richard rode up to her, and with his hat in his hand and eyes humbly cast down, he was about to beg pardon. He opened his mouth to speak but the words would not come. Nor did Celinda give him time.
“What do you want?” she asked harshly. “Has yourgringadismissed you? Other people’s leavings aren’t welcome here.”
And she wheeled her horse about to ride away. Richard made a desperate effort.
“Celinda! I’ve come to tell you I’m sorry.... I came to get myFlor de Rio Negro... to....”
She softened a little at the note of child-like humility in the young man’s voice; but at once she recovered herself and looked at him unforgivingly.
“Ask alms of God, brother, and go your way. Today I have no alms to give!”
She began to move away; but she stopped long enough to tell him with the cruelty of a spoiled child,
“I don’t like men who ask for pardon. Anyway, I vowed that if you wanted to see me again you’d have to catch me with the rope.... But you’ll never be able to. You’re nothing but a tenderfoot, and agringo, and you’re awkward and I don’t like you!”
And spurring her horse she went off at a gallop, not however, before casting Richard a look of complete scorn.
He stood distressed by this dismissal, and felt no desire to follow her. Then his vanity took offenseas he went over the words that she had thrown at him. She had belittled him as a man, and he was going to get hold of her and show her that he was no tenderfoot nor as awkward as she made out.
Then began a wild race through the ranch, one rider following the other up hill and down, from ridge to gully. Now and then Celinda, who had a great advantage over her pursuer, would rein in her horse as though she wanted to be overtaken; but as soon as he came near, she started off at a gallop again, insulting him with the terms that thegauchosof other days used when they made fun of the awkward Europeans and their lack of skill as riders.
“Clodhoppergringo! Tenderfoot, who doesn’t know one end of a horse from another!”
Richard kept a coil of lariat thatFlor de Rio Negrohad given him on the front of his saddle. As he rode along he let it out and began throwing it over her head every time he came near her. But the lassoo always fell into space, while Celinda, from far away, laughed at this exhibition. However, her laughter had changed its character and was growing heartier and happier, as though expressing, not so much contempt for the man she was mocking, as genuine merriment. Watson too was laughing; so often, when they had laughed together, they had made up their quarrels!
In their circlings about they had little by little approached the ranch. Celinda jumped her horse over an obstacle of tree-trunks and rode into the corral. Watson did not dare let his horse take the height and rode around the palisade in order to get in through a gate.
He reached the main building of the ranch with calculated slowness, hoping that someone would come out to whom he could speak. Celinda remained invisible, and he did not dare go up to the front door of the house, for fear theseñoritaRojas might receive him in unfriendly fashion.
Again little Cachafaz appeared quite providentially, close to the horse’s feet.
“Tell theseñoritaCelinda I would like to come in and say ‘how do you do’ to her!”
Cachafaz went away scratching his little fat chocolate colored belly under his loose shirt. In a few minutes he came out of the house, and in his soft Indian singsong he announced to Watson,
“Mistress says you’re to go away, and that she doesn’t want to see you, because you are ... because you are very ugly!”
Cachafaz burst out laughing at his own words; but Watson looked despondently at the house. Then he turned his horse about, and, a little consoled by a resolution he had just taken, rode homeward.
“I shall come back tomorrow,” he said to himself. “I shall come back every day until she forgives me.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Elena sat absorbed in thought, sitting in an armchair. Then she took up a position near the window where she could look out on the main street without being seen.
As a matter of fact she could be seen only by two of the four policemen of La Presa. Don Roque had placed them near the house so that there should be no moregathering in groups around it as on the day before. For the moment the people of the settlement seemed to have forgotten Pirovani’s former dwelling. No one seemed at all inclined to stop in front of it, and thecomisario’sprecaution seemed superfluous. Besides many of the workmen from the dam had gone to Fuerte Sarmiento to be present at the contractor’s funeral. The others were either in theGallego’sshop, or gathering to talk in different places on the outskirts of the town, where they heatedly discussed the possibility of the immediate suspension of the work, which would leave most of them out of employment.
Some of the more optimistic ones were certain that on the very next train a new chief engineer would arrive, quite as though the government at Buenos Aires could not go on for a day without starting up the works at the dam again. The Galician and some of the other Spaniards were betting on don Manuel Robledo as the new director of the works.
Some of the old peons who had labored on all the public works of the country shrugged their shoulders with characteristic fatalism.
“The cart is caught in the mire, and you’ll see a long time pass before its wheels revolve again!”
Meanwhile Elena, standing behind the window, was gazing at the solitary street and mentally reviewing all the difficulties of her present situation. Pirovani dead ... Canterac a fugitive ... she no longer even knew who owned the house she was living in. Besides this, Robledo must have been talking about her to the only man whose presence gave emotional interest to the monotony of her life in that God-forsaken country.Perhaps at that very moment this man, whom she needed, was with that girl who had tried to lash her face with a riding whip....
Never, in the whole course of her complicated history, the many phases of which she alone knew, had she found herself placed in a situation so difficult. Even that heterogeneous mob, in which there was many a man with a European crime record, dared to criticize her, and went so far as to force the public authorities to set a guard over her ... there they were, those two men armed with sabres, just within sight of her window. And she had crossed the ocean and come to live in this wild land only to find herself in this lamentable situation!
She had always found a way out of the difficulties of her life, she had always discovered a solution. Sometimes it was a bad one, and sometimes profitable ... but what was the solution of the difficulties that faced her now?... Should she go away? But how? She and her husband were as penniless as when they arrived; more so, since Robledo was not going to pay their fare back. And where could they go, with the law lying in wait for her husband if he should return to Paris?
She was terrified at the thought of remaining in La Presa. Her life there had been tolerable up to the present, thanks to Pirovani’s generosity, and the rivalry she had stirred up among the men of the community. But now that the Italian was dead she would have to give up this house that was palatial compared to the other dwellings of the settlement. No one would come any more to admire her, pay her attentions, and desire her, doing everything to make life agreeable for her. Only Robledo remained ... and he was an enemy! And as for Watson, who might have provided the solution she was seeking ... there was his partner in the way!
An idea that she had been cherishing of late passed through her mind. When she had been out riding with Watson, it had occurred to her more than once that now was the time to leave Torre Bianca, who was, after all, a failure, who would never succeed in getting ashore from the shipwreck.... But with Watson she would be able to make her way in the world. He was young, energetic.... With the advice of an experienced woman to guide him through a life of adventure, he would succeed anywhere. In her previous life she had had similar experiences under far less favorable circumstances.... But of what use to think about Watson? This solution was denied her. An implacable hate burned in her at the thought.
Richard had gone away for good and all. She could not doubt that, after the words they had exchanged while she stood at her window the day before....
Perhaps it would be easy to win him back if she could only have him alone with her for a while. But, aware of that danger, hadn’t he told her bluntly that he would call upon her again only if her husband were present? The tone in which he had spoken, and his look at her as he spoke, had shown her clearly enough that he would be immovable on this point.
Ignorant as she could not help but be of the young man’s conversation with Canterac after the duel, shenaturally attributed his change of manner to Celinda’s influence.
“She has taken him away from me,” the older woman thought. “It is she who stands in my way.... How I hate her!”
And while she pursued these reflections, she felt agitated and divided by diverse and opposing thoughts as though she were two distinct persons. The image of Watson comforted her even in these painful moments. He was young, he was the master fated to come along sometime in the life of a woman who has played coldly and cruelly with men. In all her previous life she had sought men out of ambition or vanity. But now she needed Watson; she needed him not only because he could get her out of the critical situation in which she found herself, but because he was youth and strength and resourcefulness, he was everything she lacked, everything her weary life needed. And as though that were not enough, she felt the pain of jealousy, the jealousy of an impulsive and mature woman who sees her last hope of happiness snatched away by a rival young enough to be her daughter.
And with this torment, there was all the difficulty of the tragic situation created by the rivalry she had excited between two of her admirers; and there was the urgent necessity of protecting herself against the general hostility that was likely to pursue her throughout the whole community.
“What am I to do?” she kept saying to herself. “Where shall I go?”
A knock at the drawing room door interrupted her.It was Sebastiana, who came in with a timid, undecided expression, fingering a corner of her apron, and smiling at her mistress as though looking for words in which to explain what had brought her there.
Elena gave her a little encouragement, and finally the half-breed plucked up courage enough to speak.
“I was in the employ of don Pirovani, and as he is dead now ... and for the reason that everybody knows, I must go away.”
Themarquesasignified her surprise at this decision. Sebastiana could remain, of course. She was pleased with her services. The contractor’s death was not sufficient reason for her going. As long as she must work somewhere, she might as well work for Elena. But the half-breed was insistent, and went on shaking her head.
“I must go. If I stay, there are friends of mine here who’ll scratch my eyes out. Many thanks!... just the same, I’d rather stay on good terms with my people ... and ... I might as well say it ... theseñora marquesahasn’t any friends here.”
At this Elena deemed it prudent not to continue the conversation. So she expressed her acceptance of Sebastiana’s decision.
“Very well, if you are afraid to stay here....”
This prudence quite moved Sebastiana.
“I’d like to stay. Theseñorais very kind, and never did me any harm.... But that’s the way people are, and I can’t fight all the women in town.... But if there’s anything I can do for theseñora, she has only to ask.... It would be a pleasure....”
Finally, after expatiating further on her desire tobe useful to Elena, and her unwillingness to leave her, Sebastiana withdrew.
Near the door she stopped to reply to Elena’s question about the whereabouts of themarqués.
“I don’t know. He went out this morning and hasn’t come back yet. Perhaps he went to Fuerte Sarmiento with don Moreno for the funeral of my poor old master.”
When she was once more alone Elena’s thoughts turned to her husband as to someone long forgotten but now presenting himself with renewed importance. She was so accustomed to looking upon him as a person entirely lacking in desires of his own, as someone ready to accept all her notions, and disposed to believe whatever she wanted him to believe! But this latest episode of her life had been of such a violent nature.... In a large city it would have caused little more than a ripple. But here, in the monotony of life in a pioneer community, where such unprecedented events were rare, surrounded by this rabble of adventurers, predisposed to insult persons of superior rank....
She felt more and more uneasy at the thought of the possibility that Torre Bianca might learn the real cause of the rivalry between those two men whose duel he had directed. Mentally she reviewed all that had passed between her husband and herself since the previous day. On returning to the house, Federico had told her of the sad outcome of the duel; he had obviously taken certain precautions in telling her the news, as though fearful of the emotion it might cause her. But later that day he had appeared a changed man. He would not speak, he answered her questionsin monosyllables. And twice she surprised him gazing fixedly at her with an expression that she had never seen him wear before. After having closed the window, to shut out the stares of the crowd that so much annoyed him, he had shut himself up in his bedroom, and had gone away the next morning very early, while Elena was still asleep. All that day she had not seen him. What was she to think?
But her uneasiness soon left her. She was so accustomed to controlling her husband that she concluded that her suspicions and fears were all uncalled for. Besides, even though her uneasiness should be well founded, she would always be able to calm and reassure him, as she had done so many times before.
The sight of a passer-by slowly walking in front of the house, and looking attentively at the windows, was enough to make her forget all about her husband ... Manos Duras! An hour earlier, when, as now, she had stood at the window, she had thought once or twice that she saw thegauchostanding at the entrance to an alley that ran into the main street near the house. The notorious cow-puncher was roaming around the town on foot just like a European laborer on a holiday. As soon as he caught sight of themarquesaon the other side of the window panes, he saluted her, taking off his hat with a flourish and showing his wolf’s teeth.
This was the first pleasant greeting that Elena had received since Pirovani’s death. She felt instinctively that this man was the only admirer left her; that this should be seemed to her so comic that she could not help smiling. Henceforth there was only one suitor for herfavor whom she could count on in that part of the world ... and he was a cattle-rustlinggaucho!
She stood meditating once more, her forehead pressed against the window-panes, staring at the solitary street. Manos Duras had disappeared in the neighboring alleyway, and even the two policemen, considering their vigil unnecessary, had wandered off to theboliche.
Again three discreet raps on the door ... Sebastiana entered more resolutely. This time she spoke very low, and with a confidential expression in her crafty eyes.
“Has the master come in?” asked Elena.
“No; it’s something else I’m to tell you.... I was in the corral a moment ago, and thegauchothey call Manos Duras suddenly looked in at the back gate and he said....”
Sebastiana made a valiant effort to recall the man’s words. He had charged her to tell theseñora marquesathat he was “at her orders for anything she might choose to command, that in times of trouble one discovers one’s true friends, and now that there were so many people both in the town and outside of it, talking evil of theseñoraout of pure envy, Manos Duras was glad to have the opportunity to say that he was just the same in his sentiments as before.”
“Tell your mistress that I don’t turn around with every wind like the others, and that she will always be the same for me, for I’m one of those that break but never bend ... that’s what he told me to tell theseñora....”
Elena received the words with a smile. Poor man! And yet there were people who said he was no better than a bandit! To her at that moment he seemed the most interesting male creature in the region; he was the only gentleman to offer her assistance!
When the half-breed went out of the room Elena remained standing near the window, her eyes following the passers-by as they came and went in constantly increasing numbers. Several times she stepped back at sight of groups of workmen on horseback or in carriages returning from Fuerte Sarmiento. They must undoubtedly be those who had gone to the contractor’s funeral. All of them, she noticed, looked askance at the house before they passed on.
At dusk she saw a solitary rider go by, his head obstinately held down. It was Richard Watson. From his dust-covered clothing, and the lagging pace of his horse, she concluded that he had not been to the funeral. He must have spent the day riding in the open, undoubtedly on the Rojas ranch or wandering near the river with that girl who was so free with her whip.—“And I have to stay shut up here like a wild beast to escape the insults of this miserable and unjust rabble ... and then they wonder that I do the things I do....”
She remained motionless, her eyes closed, while the shadows of twilight crept out of the corners of the room, and came to mingle their darkness in the core of her being. A faint and fading light from outside gave a certain bluish phosphorescence to the window panes, outlining Elena’s motionless silhouette.
When night had fallen she called Sebastiana, who answered, saying that she was bringing the light.
And she appeared bearing a large lamp which she placed on the table in the centre of the parlor.
She was on the point of going away, believing that she had discharged her full duty, when her mistress stopped her.
“Do you know where that Manos Duras you spoke to me about a while ago is now?”
The half-breed, always inclined to chatter, produced a long preamble before giving a definite reply. Manos Duras was going about these days with some friends of his from the mountains who were staying with him at his ranch ... they were a poor sort and not at all God-fearing. No telling what they might be up to ... and he had said while he was talking at the gate that he might soon go away on a long trip and that this was the principal reason why he had come to bother theseñora, in case she should want him to do anything for her.
“And probably,” she wound up, “if he hasn’t gone back to his ranch, I’ll find him this very moment at theboliche!”
“Go find him,” said Elena, “and tell him that I want him to be in front of the house at ten o’clock.... You needn’t say anything else. But be careful how you tell him ... I don’t care to have anyone overhear....”
Sebastiana had some doubts as to whether she had heard the first words correctly, but at being admonished by her mistress to be discreet, she forgot her astonishment and began affirming vehemently that theseñoracould rest easy as to her prudence and that shewas accustomed to discharging confidential missions with the utmost care.
She went out of the house and made a bee-line for theboliche. If thegauchowas not there, it would mean that he had started for his ranch.
When she reached the door of theGallego’sestablishment, she stopped and peered inside. As it was the supper hour the customers were not numerous. The majority of them had gone to their own homes where they were having their evening meal with their families. An hour later they would have returned to sit around the counter. An oldgauchowas strumming the guitar while he gazed up at the paunch of one of the crocodiles hanging from the ceiling. Manos Duras’ three guests were listening attentively. Manos Duras himself was sitting on a horse’s skull, and leaning one shoulder against the wall, was smoking meditatively. As the owner of thebolichewas absent, Friterini, behind the counter, was assuming all the airs of proprietorship, while he blissfully perused an ancient and greasy copy of an Italian magazine.
Manos Duras looked up when he heard a discreet cough, and saw a half-breed in the door beckoning to him to come out. When he had followed her to the rear of theGallego’sshop, Sebastiana delivered her message in a mysterious manner, keeping one finger on her lips; she even went so far as to wink one eye. Thegauchoneedn’t take her for a fool. She had some idea what her message meant!
When the half-breed had gone, Manos Duras waited a few minutes before returning to theboliche. He wanted to be alone in the dark, for it seemed tohim that he could enjoy his satisfaction better there. But in his satisfaction there was a great deal of astonishment. How could he have foreseen, that afternoon, as he wandered in front of the greatseñora’shouse, that she would send him a message asking him to see her in private that very night?
When through Sebastiana, whom he found in the corral, he had made his offer of assistance to her mistress he had simply been, in his own special way, obeying a chivalrous impulse. He wanted to appear to themarquesa’seyes to be a man different from the rest, and he had offered his protection without any hope that she would accept it.... Yet one hour later she was sending for him. What was she going to ask him to do for her?
Fortified by male vanity he dismissed his doubts. Even though he was a rough cattle merchant, he was after all a man; and a better one at that than these others.... They were all afraid of him ... thesegringasfrom the other side of the world were capricious creatures ... one never knew where their fancy might lead them.... Manos Duras smiled....
“Just what I always said,” he thought, “they are all alike!”
And he returned to thebolicheand sat down with his friends, waiting for the hour stipulated by the greatseñora.
Robledo and Watson were at that moment finishing their supper.
Someone knocked at the door.
They were both astonished to see Torre Bianca come in; he was so thoroughly covered with dust that hisblack clothes looked grey, and his hair and mustache were completely white.
“I’ve just come back from Fuerte Sarmiento, from poor Pirovani’s funeral.... Moreno brought me back in his carriage.”
Robledo invited him to sit down at the table.
“Have some supper here, if you don’t feel that you must go at once to your house.”
Torre Bianca shook his head.
“I do not intend to go back to my house.”
He spoke with such decision that Robledo stared at him. So tense were the nerves of themarquésthat his hands shook and his tongue stumbled over the words he spoke.
“I had something to eat with Moreno before coming back here.... But I’ll eat a little now.... Death ... it’s pretty grim, isn’t it? Poor Pirovani.... I’ll have a drink if you don’t mind.”
In spite of mentioning several times that he was hungry, he ate very little of the food brought him by Robledo’s servant. But on the other hand he drank a great deal of wine, tossing it down mechanically, as though unaware that he was drinking.
Robledo thought he noticed the odor of gin about him. Undoubtedly he and Moreno had had several drinks before starting on the journey home. Perhaps this was the explanation of his excitement. He was not in the habit of drinking liquor.
Watson, who had finished his supper, noticed that Torre Bianca was looking at him as though he wanted to intimate that his presence was inopportune.
“Is Moreno at his place now?” the young American inquired.
And on hearing that he was, Watson took himself off to discuss with the government employee the report that was to be presented at Buenos Aires, urging that the work at the dam be continued.
When Torre Bianca found himself alone with his friend, he became a different person. His excitement abated suddenly, he lowered his eyes, and it seemed to Robledo that he was shrinking in his chair like something soft that huddles in on itself for lack of support from within. All the spurious energy of alcohol had vanished at a stroke and Torre Bianca, sitting opposite him there, had all the appearance of a wrapping from which the contents has been deftly removed.
“I must talk to you,” he said, lifting his mild and pleading eyes to his friend. “You are all that is left me now, the only human being in the world who cares anything about me ... and for that very reason you must let me have the truth. Today, while they were burying poor Pirovani, I could think of nothing but this.... ‘I must see Robledo. He will tell me frankly what I am to think of all this.’ What I mean by ‘all this’ is the things I have noticed since yesterday ... everywhere I go ... the way people look at me, the dislike they show in their gestures, the names I can hear them calling me in their minds ... they don’t have to speak, because I can guess it all.... Oh, it is too horrible!”
His voice broke on a note of complete discouragement and he covered his face with his hands. Robledomurmured a few words intended to cheer him up a little, but themarquésinterrupted him.
“You can talk later, Manuel. But first you must hear some things you don’t know, and some of the things I told you once and that you have forgotten. I must ask you one thing. Do you believe that my wife is deceiving me?”
Robledo looked his astonishment at his friend’s words. Several minutes passed before he attempted to reply. It was obvious that Torre Bianca was in terror of his answer! And to avoid hearing it, he began relating the whole story of his relations with Elena.
Robledo had heard a part of this history when he was in Paris; how themarquéshad met her in London, the high rank her family held in Russia at the court of the Czars, and so on.... But now the speaker’s tone was quite changed, as though Torre Bianca himself had his doubts about the authenticity of that past in which, up to that very day, he had had complete faith, and about which he had always shown a great deal of pride.
Furthermore, between the lines of his narrative, Federico was revealing new episodes to his friend. Apparently the events of the past stood out in clearer relief now, and his attention was caught by details that until then had passed unnoticed. There had always been in his house an intimate friend, a favored friend, whom his wife treated with the utmost confidence, asserting that she had known him since the days when she was living with her distinguished family. Andwhen one “friend” went away, another appeared ... but the place was never vacant. Twice themarquéshad fought duels for his wife’s honor, as a result of her being calumniated by men who but a short time before had been frequent visitors in her drawing-room. And with remorse he recalled that his antagonist in one of these duels had been a friend of his whom he had seriously wounded.
“I have told you the whole story of my life with this woman,” he said. “At least all that I am sure of concerning her life. All the rest is what she herself says ... and I don’t know whether I am to believe it or not.... I even doubt what she says about her nationality and her name. I told her frankly everything about myself ... and she gave me back lies ... lies ... lies....”