Señora Fernandezerred in her judgment of Don Felipe, which was but natural. She still regarded him as the impetuous, hot-headed youth of former days, not what he really was—the mature man, sobered by years of experience and suffering which had taught him the value of self-control.
He understood the nature, knew as never before the mettle of the woman with whom he had to deal, and on no account would he foolishly precipitate a quarrel with the Captain. He would bide his time and strike only when the moment seemed propitious. The vague rumors which were current concerning Chiquita must have some foundation, else why the continual gossip on every tongue? He would investigate the matter for himself, in his own time and way; meanwhile he would reinstate himself in the good graces of the community by making himself as agreeable and popular as possible, a thing not difficult for one of his wealth and accomplishments.
He had doffed his Mexican costume for the more prosaic attire of the modern man which became him equally well and which was more to his liking. To the cosmopolitan that he had become, the place and the people had shrunk terribly during his absence, and there seemed to be little left in common between him and them.The presence of the Americans was a godsend to him, while he in turn was like a fresh breeze from the outer world to them.
He instinctively recognized a confederate in Blanch. They possessed a common interest and spent much time together. Strange that the same fate which had overtaken him was now threatening her! Those who deny a fixed destiny and can therefore afford to ignore the laughter of the gods, may answer with some assurance that the lives of most people, especially the marked ones, are tragic—perhaps. But why had Colonel Van Ashton, the bon-vivant and habitué of clubs, the adored of pretty young women and confidant of duennas, taken the one road which led to the wilderness when it is well known that all roads lead to Rome, especially when the Colonel had about as much interest in his present surroundings as a polar bear might reasonably expect to find on the equator? Possibly it was for the same reason that the Colonel also watched with increasing alarm the sudden and growing interest which his daughter began to take in the man he detested most on earth.
Reveal the cause, the hidden well-spring of destiny, and the effect may be predicted with comparative accuracy. Can the lamb lie down with the lion? Were there ever substantial grounds for the assertion, or was it only metaphor—mere poetical allusion? The world has been on thequi vivefor the fulfillment of prophecy ever since the expulsion of our common ancestry from Eden. The actual motives and reasons which underlie the workings of destiny are usually about as clear as those which bereft Samson of his locks or left the lonefigure of Marius seated amid the ruins of Carthage. And yet, even in the face of time-worn contradictions apparent to the most superficial and credulously minded, pretty, distracting Bessie Van Ashton had begun to cast her eyes in the direction of Dick Yankton, the handsome, open-handed, devil-may-care son of nature who regarded the world of fashion to which she belonged with about as much concern as he did the dust on his boots.
Possiblyennuiprompted this willful bit of womanhood to make a plaything of that picturesque child of nature, just as loneliness caused him to open his eyes to the existence of that, which in the logical and ordinary course of events, he would have entirely overlooked. But since life is made up almost entirely of contraries, it is not so much with reasons that we have to deal as with facts—things as they are. Clothe human nature in whatever garb you like, at heart it remains the same. Time and place and condition make little difference; the real man within is sure to assert himself at some time or other by throwing off the disguise.
Was Bessie, the spoilt, pampered child of fashion with her soft, white body, any more fit for a life lived close to nature than Blanch who was naturally strong, sinuous and supple, though so softened by luxury and the overrefinements of civilization? To all appearances, no. And yet, the very things which seemed to pass by Blanch unheeded, began imperceptibly to impress themselves upon Bessie. Possibly because Blanch was so strong and individualized that, having once givenherself up wholly to the present life, she was enslaved irrevocably by it—held fast by it with a power that had grown with her strength day by day—so that while a weaker woman might slip through the meshes and escape, she was held irresistibly bound through her own force and strength of character.
The spell and magic of the land seemed to hold like an unseen hand all things as in the grip of a vice, and were no less potent in the present than they were in the past. The plaintive notes of the wood-dove found a response within Bessie's soul. The winds seemed laden with new voices and unconsciously interrupted the train of her thoughts and caused her to pause and listen and wonder. The wild, forbidding landscape from which her stronger companion involuntarily shrank, for some unknown reason attracted her. The broad expanse of heaven and earth, the far horizon, the hazy, mysterious silhouetted peaks of distant mountains aroused vague longings within her—emotions which she did not understand and concerning which she failed in her attempts to analyze.
Had she been at home, she would have regarded these new sensations as sentimental enthusiasm and laughed at them, denying them a permanent place in her nature. But here, it was different. They seemed to have a hold upon one and were as irresistible as those vague longings that come with the awakening of spring. There was music everywhere in the world about her. Flowers of the imagination sprang from the desert on every hand. Voices and hands called and beckoned to her from out the unseen. The quickening and awakeningwithin her gave promise of a new life, and her feet became light as sunbeams. The fact of being alive and the increasing desire to live filled her with a new joy and vigor that darted through her soul like tongues of flame, causing her blood to surge and tingle as never before since the days of childhood.
A genuine interest in the new life and the lives of those about her, took the place of the apathy and indifference with which she regarded the sated pleasures of that jaded world from which she had departed so recently. She had come to be bored—fully resigned for Blanch's sake to endure theennuiof mere vegetation until the prodigal Jack had been safely gathered within the fold once more. After the rude shock of first impressions had passed and she had found time to pause and breathe, she began to cast her eyes about her for something more real and tangible than the memories of the world she had left behind her, but had failed to find anything of interest until the occurrence of that unfortunate episode with Dick.
His arms still clung to her in spite of the persistent efforts she made to shake them off. And stranger still, no amount of scrubbing seemed to remove the sting of those burning kisses he had impressed upon her hand. That unpardonable piece of impudence was unprecedented. Men had made love to her, adored her, and completely lost their heads over her; and one man in particular, as she well knew, was scouring the ends of the earth in an effort to obtain news of her present whereabouts. Much to her astonishment, however, and contrary to her preconceived notions concerning men,she found that she had suddenly lost interest in this particular man for another.
But why? What was the cause of this newly awakened interest in Dick? Was it because he was so different from the men she had known, or was it that strong touch of the feminine in him which certain sensitive masculine natures possess; that rare, distinguishing characteristic which is so attractive to men and women alike? Did any real affinity exist between them? How could it, considering the different conditions and environment in which they had been reared and the width of the gulf that divided them? What then was the cause of this attraction which in spite of her efforts to check it, was beginning to become a source of vexation to a woman of the world who had always prided herself on being able to keep herself well in hand?
That it might be love, or even the dawning of love, she refused to admit. She shuddered at the mere thought of such a catastrophe. The thing, however, was becoming annoying. Like any thought which we hold too long in our minds, it was bound to absorb all others in time, and she resolved to make an end of it. She would play with him. One could not maintain a serious interest in that which one treated as a jest—held up to ridicule. She would play with him like an expert angler plays with a fish, and when landed, would walk over him rough-shod—trample him back into the dust of that coarser clay from which he sprang.
Ah, yes, the country was not so dull after all! It would be a royal lark; a holiday long to be remembered. They were so far from the great world that, when itwas all over, not even the slightest rumor or breath of scandal would remain to remind her of the flirtation upon which she had decided to embark.
With these thoughts running through her mind, the fascinating, violet-eyed daughter of Colonel Van Ashton lightly dipped the tips of her dainty fingers into a rouge-pot, glanced into the mirror and drew them across her lips, and then deliberately attired herself in one of her smartest gowns preparatory to flinging the first bones of condescension to the rustic Yankton; the preliminaries of a series of expectations and hopes deferred that were intended to reduce him to a state of submission suitable to receive the final kick which was to leave Mr. Yankton a wiser but a sadder man.
Blanchstood before a long mirror that adorned one of the walls of her room, trying the effect of a new tea-gown.
The mirror was an ancient piece of furniture consisting of a faded gilt frame and six separate rows of large, unevenly fitting squares of glass; the style that was in vogue two centuries ago. As she regarded herself in it, she saw herself reflected in sections, probably with much the same effect as Marie Antoinette saw her reflection at Versailles.
"Coronada must have brought this mirror with him on his first expedition," she remarked to Bessie who lounged on the sofa on the opposite side of the room amid a heap of florid cushions. "I feel as though I had a personal grudge against that man," she continued, vainly endeavoring to catch an unbroken outline of herself in the glass.
"It's stunning, Blanch!" broke in Bessie from the sofa. "What is it—a Worth?"
"No—a Doucet. Isn't it absurd that I should array myself in these gorgeous gowns to compete with that Indian in her few flimsy calicoes and silks? The contrast is out of all proportion. It's the sublime and the ridiculous. And yet she looks well in anything!Dress her in rags and she is picturesque; robe her in silks and she is fascinating."
"That's just what I can't understand," said Bessie. "We couldn't wear her clothes, but she can wear ours. Why is it?"
"It's quite simple. We have been handicapped from the start because we have been forced to compete with them on their own ground. They are perfectly natural; they have nothing and aspire to nothing, while we are wholly artificial—have everything and aspire to more."
"Why, to hear you, one would think that Jack was talking!" exclaimed Bessie in genuine surprise.
"Oh! I don't pretend to agree with his views, but as regards us, he's about right. I was never able to see ourselves as some others see us until we came here. And I have come to the conclusion that our views of life are about as distorted as the cracked reflection of myself in the mirror yonder. We have unconsciously lived a life antagonistic to nature and consequently find ourselves ridiculous in our simplest endeavors to be natural. Of course," she added, "they would appear the same if things were reversed and we had them on our ground.
"With us," she went on, "marriage is more a game of intrigue than love; here it is purely one of sentiment. Aside from my intrinsic value, what weapon have I to employ against this Indian woman? The things which count for so much with us, fall flat here.
"Why, I'm not even in a position to make Jack jealous! If I were at home, I would have a dozenmen at my feet and as many more as I wished to play off against him, not to mention the thousand opportunities for neglect. In fact, all the weapons which we women are so fond of employing against men. Whereas, here I am at the feet of my Lord Jack—his indifference is insufferable! Oh! I'll pay him back for this!" she cried, pale with anger.
"Men are brutes—all of them!" remarked Bessie laconically, rising to a sitting posture on the sofa.
"I hate him—hate him!" continued Blanch in a fresh paroxysm of passion. "To think that he of all men should have been the one chosen to show me myself—the only one of us who was strong enough to break away! Why was I not able to hold him? Why am I not able to come to him now? There is something wrong somewhere. We seem to have lost our grip on things. I can't understand it!" Just then the old, gilt French clock on the white marble mantelpiece slowly chimed the hour of five. The sound of the clock caused Blanch to pause. "Five o'clock," she said, calming herself. "Don Felipe will be waiting for us in the garden."
"That's so," answered Bessie, rising from the sofa and crossing the room to the window which looked out over thepatiointo the garden. "There he is now, pacing back and forth beneath the trees. What a restless man he is!"
"After the first cup, you might disappear, Bess," said Blanch. "I want to try to find out if he still cares for that Indian?"
"That was the most romantic thing I ever heard!" exclaimed Bessie.
"I wonder he ever returned," answered Blanch, opening the door and leading the way across thepatioin the direction of the garden. The tinkle of a guitar attracted their attention to a group ofpeonsand women squatted on their heels on one side of the court, in the shade of the arcades, smoking and chatting. A little beyond them, in the shadow of the doorway, stood the major-domo, Juan Ramon and the pretty housekeeper, Rosita.
"Dios!but she ismagnifico—the tall one!" whispered Juan to Rosita as the girls passed them, nodding and smiling in response to Juan's deep salutation and Rosita's courtesy.
"And the little one," said Rosita in turn. "Is she not like a half-blown pink rose?"
"Aye! 'tis a feast for the eyes to look at them!" answered Juan. "There has not been so much life in the place since the old days when the Master was alive."
"If Don Felipe doesn't marry one of them he's a fool," added Rosita.
"That's just what I have been saying to myself," returned Juan.
"What else can he be doing here if he doesn't intend to take one of them back to hishaciendawith him?" continued Rosita. "I've noticed that he and the tall one spend much time together."
"Aye!" ejaculated Juan. "It must be lonely at the oldranchowithout a woman to keep him company."
"The tall Señorita would be just the one for the place!" exclaimed Rosita enthusiastically.
"Rositamia," began Juan confidentially after a short silence, during which his gaze rested pensively on the retreating figures of the girls, "I've just been thinking that there is no happiness for a man, still less for a woman, in a single life. What say you, Rositamia," he went on, patting her familiarly on the cheek.
"Juan Ramon," interrupted Rosita with an angry flush, "if you don't want to get your face slapped, you had better behave like aCaballero!"
"Caramba!what a little spitfire!" returned Juan, pulling the end of his thin mustache, yet not in the least disconcerted by her show of temper. "But supposing, my pearl of a housekeeper, that I bought a neat littlerancheria—do you know of any one who might care to look after it?"
"Bah! First pay your gambling debts, Juan Ramon. There will then be time enough to look for some one who will allow herself to be beaten on feast-days when you have drunk morepulquethan is good for you. ButDios!why am I wasting words with you? The Señoritas will begin to wonder what has become of their chocolate andtortillasif I don't hurry."
"Ungrateful woman," responded Juan, assuming an injured tone. "Would you leave me without a kiss?"
"Holy Mother! what has come over you, Juan Ramon—has the sunshine gone to your head? A kiss, indeed!" and she tossed her head. "Go to Petronita, the cook! She is old; doubtless she will give you a plenty!" and laughing, she hurried into the dining-room in searchof a tray with which to serve the ladies. The mere mention of the ancient, withered Petronita, with the parchment-like face, caused Juan's mouth to pucker as though he had bitten into an unripe persimmon.
"Diablos!if the luck would only change!" he muttered. "Rosita would be the very one—" The sound of light footsteps and the tinkle of spurs caused Juan to turn.
"Ah!buenas dias, Señorita!" he exclaimed, lifting his hat and bowing before Chiquita, who had entered thepatiofrom the opposite side of the house. Her riding-habit, her boots and gloves and gray felt hat beneath which were twisted her thick braids of hair, were covered with thin white particles of dust.
"Where is your mistress, Doña Fernandez, Juan?" she asked.
"I will call her, Señorita," answered Juan, replacing his hat on his head and starting for the hallway.
"Never mind, Juan," called Chiquita, catching sight of Blanch and Bessie in the distance. "I will first speak with the Señoritas," and she turned toward the garden.
Juan's beady black eyes followed her tall figure as she moved toward the girls. Ever since the arrival of the Americans there had been much discussion in the household as to which was the more beautiful, Blanch or Chiquita. The Señora's dislike for the latter was well known, but in spite of this prejudice, opinion was pretty evenly divided concerning the merits of the two. It was a vexing question, and the opportunity of comparing the two women as they met in the garden was tootempting to be missed. So, with one end of hiszerapeslung carelessly over his shoulder, Juan strolled casually past the little group of women in the direction of the corrals, where he could observe them at his leisure from the recesses of the garden without attracting attention.
Notwithstanding the fact that the dark woman was at a disadvantage in her dust-covered riding-habit, he could not for the life of him tell which was the more beautiful of the two as he passed behind a thicket of lilac bushes, and seated himself on a rustic bench and began rolling acigarillobetween his long slim fingers.
Juan was a born gambler, and like all of his tribe, was usually in want of money. To-day he needed it more than ever, for that very morning his mistress had taunted him and threatened to leave him if he did not pay for the new dresses she had recently purchased, and for which she was now being dunned by her creditors. Never had he had such a run of bad luck. During the great week of theFiestahe had tried everything from roulette to monte, but fortune's wheel had turned steadily against him. It was truly the devil's own luck and no mistake. If only the luck would turn, he would quit the game of chance forever—cast off the ungrateful Dolores, and.... He drew a much-worn pack of cards from his breast pocket and began cutting them with a dexterity acquired through long years of practice.
Like all of his race, and the majority of mankind for that matter, he was intensely superstitious. Three times in succession he cut and dealt the cards, and three timesthe ace of hearts, the luckiest card in the pack, turned face upwards on the bench.
"Santa Maria!'tis a miracle—the luck has changed at last!" he muttered excitedly, as with dilated eyes and trembling hands he gathered up the cards and replaced them carefully in his pocket. His dream of thehaciendaand the fair Rosita might yet come true. But how? The cards were too fickle to trust for long. Just then the rich, deep voice of Chiquita fell upon his ears. Without knowing why, yet intuitively he seemed to connect her with the turn in his fortune—and it set him thinking.
Ever since theFiesta, curiosity had prompted him to learn something concerning Chiquita's motive for dancing; and whenever the opportunity presented itself, he had shadowed her. His patience was soon rewarded by learning that she made frequent visits to the Indianpueblo, Onava, often riding there in the late evening under cover of the dusk. On one occasion he saw an Indian ride forth from the village and meet her on the plain where she awaited him. They engaged in long and earnest conversation, at the end of which he fancied he saw Chiquita draw nearer to her companion and hand him something, and then the darkness shut them from view. He did not dare follow her farther or enter the village, for fear of attracting suspicion to himself; but surely this was a clew to something, to the mystery, perhaps.
At this juncture, Juan rolled a freshcigarilloas he listened to the voices of the women, his eyes resting on Captain Forest's horse in the corral beyond the garden.The animal fascinated him; never had he laid eyes on such a superb creature. Each day he visited the corral for a look at him, and each time the Chestnut would rush at him with ears laid flat on his neck and mouth wide open, displaying his formidable teeth.
"Caramba!what an animal to stock aranchowith, if only—" Juan sighed, and for some moments roundly cursed the past run of cards. The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm, and the shade sleep inviting. He threw the burnt end of hiscigarilloon the ground, and, drawing up his feet, stretched himself at full length on the bench—the upper half of his fox-like face appearing just above the edge of hiszerape.
Dios!was it not better to sleep and even dream bad dreams, than waking, meditate upon the misfortunes of life?
WhenChiquita entered the garden, she had just returned from an Indian Mission School for girls, some ten miles distant from Santa Fé, whither she rode once a week to instruct its pupils in the art of blanket and basket weaving; an art which she had practiced from her earliest days.
Her affair with Don Felipe was bad enough, and though she had been generally condemned for it, her woman's prerogative was recognized nevertheless. But for a lady, and ward of a priest, to dance in public and for money, was a thing unheard of; and gossip was fast giving her an unenviable reputation. This latest escapade, as it was generally termed, had nearly cost her her position in the school. When, however, it was taken into consideration that her services were gratuitous and that it would be impossible to replace her by any one else half as competent, the directors of the institution discreetly demurred, deciding that it would be better to humor the caprices of this fair barbarian who ruled supreme in her department.
The greeting which took place between her and Blanch was cordial enough to all outward appearances. Considering the tension and delicacy of the situation, the volcanic nature of the two and the intense longing of each to fly at the other and settle their differences thenand there, the self-control of the two was commendable in the extreme.
"Do you ride much, Señorita?" asked Blanch, eyeing critically her riding-skirt and wondering how it was that such an antiquated cut could sit her so well.
"I don't think I could live without a horse," replied Chiquita. "I often think I must have been born on one; at least, I can't remember the day when I first learned to ride. It was good to get back here after my six years at school for the sake of riding, if for nothing else. I don't believe either of you know what the real joys of riding are," she went on, pulling the glove from her right hand and sipping the chocolate which Bessie had handed her.
"Not until one has passed weeks and months in the saddle at a time does one thoroughly realize what riding means, or appreciate the worth and companionship of a horse." She paused, and a look of longing came into her large, lustrous eyes, as the memory of her early life came back to her, when she, with her people, roamed free through the land.
"Dios!but I have been unhappy ever since you came, Señorita," she resumed, changing the subject abruptly and addressing Blanch. "The knowledge that you are constantly near him almost drives me mad at times. And your dresses—they haunt me in my dreams! I never before imagined that dress was of so much importance in this world." She was so outspoken and withal so natural, that both Blanch and Bessie burst into a peal of good-natured laughter in which Chiquita joined.
"We women," she continued, taking another sip of chocolate, "have nothing to fall back upon except our old antiquated Spanish costumes—you can imagine what we would look like in the modern clothes we procured here. I have never been placed in such a ridiculous position before, and if I only knew that you were as miserable as I am, I think I might begin to enjoy the humor of the situation." Again all three laughed.
"Ah, love, what a thing is love!" she sighed, placing her slender gloved hand over her heart. "It makes one as miserable as it does happy." Then suddenly turning to Blanch, she asked: "Have you always dressed like that?"
"I have always tried to live up to a certain standard," replied Blanch.
"And how long have you known him?"
"Oh! as long as I can remember—twenty years, perhaps."
"Twenty years, and always looked like that and not married to him? Sweet Mother of God!" she cried in the quaintest tone imaginable, sinking back in her chair. "Had I known him as many weeks I had either married him or killed myself!"
"Nobody takes love so seriously as that!" laughed Blanch.
"Ah! you have never loved him!" she said, after a short silence.
"Why do you suppose I am here?" returned Blanch.
"Then how could you have lived near him all these years without marrying him?"
"It was a mistake, I admit," answered Blanch good-humoredly. "But you must understand that we don't regard love in quite the same light as you do. We don't make a great fuss about it and talk of killing ourselves, and that sort of thing. We get married when we find it convenient."
"Ah, yes, I know," answered Chiquita, "but I'm sure you can never be as much to him as I can. What have you endured, what have you suffered to make you feel and realize the full significance of love?"
"Do you imagine," asked Blanch in surprise, "that there is any less of the woman in me because I have been spared the things which you perhaps have been forced to endure, or that one must first suffer before one is capable of loving?"
"No, I don't think that, for love is a thing like sleep, it comes upon us unawares. But it seems to me I am better fitted for him than you are; that my love, tempered by my life's experience, must be fuller and deeper and richer than that which you have to offer him. What," she continued, "do you really know of life? Not the social side of it, of which your life has been so full, but life as it really is? Were you born under the open heavens? Have you slept on the hard, cold ground, exposed to the weather, or nearly perished of hunger and thirst? Could you feed and clothe yourself from the naked earth without the assistance of others? Have you seen men, women and children starve, or ruthlessly struck down by your side, or nursed them through some terrible scourge like the smallpox?
"All your life you have been protected and cared for,while all my life I have been obliged to face the reality of things, forced to work, to procure the simple necessities of life. I have carried wood and water, cooked, and fed and clothed myself and others with the materials provided by my own hands. And yet, when I look back upon my life, I would not surrender one hour of the true happiness the day's work brought with it could I thereby have escaped the suffering and bitterness it often entailed. Barren though my life may appear from your point of view, I know it to be infinitely rich in comparison to yours, for, as I have said, you have never known what life really means—never experienced its hardships, never beheld the bright face of danger, nor tasted the joys of the great free life in the open, the simple daily life devoid of the cares of civilized men, without which the life of a man can never be complete, be he what he may.
"'Where the foot rests, that is home,' is a saying among my people; a truth, that so far as my experience goes, has never been gainsaid."
In spite of themselves and the fact that they could not wholly comprehend the weight and significance of her words, they were fascinated by her discourse, emphasized and illustrated as it was by the dramatic intensity of her gestures and expression.
"Señorita," said Blanch at last, breaking the silence that ensued, "I believe you are still at heart the savage, or better, the nomad you were when you lived in the wilderness."
"When I lived in the Garden of Eden, in God's world, not man's, is what you mean," she replied.
"Do you never have a desire to return to it?" asked Bessie.
"The old days can never be effaced," answered Chiquita. "My thoughts continually revert to them when, as a little girl, I used to set meat and drink before my father and his guests as they sat in a circle about the fire in the center of his lodge or in our house and smoked the long red clay pipes, or, after the crops were harvested, roamed through the land during the hunting season; sometimes afoot, at other times in canoes or on horseback. There are times when such an insatiable longing for the old life seizes me that I become almost unmanageable. I long to throw myself down in the open—lie close in the embrace of Mother Earth, and breathe the smoke of the camp-fire. My unrest is like that of the birds when the spell of the spring and the autumn comes upon them and the migratory instinct seizes them, or like that of the great herds of reindeer in the North which travel each year to the sea to drink of its salty waters, and which, if prevented, die."
"Do you know," said Bessie to Blanch a little later, when they were alone in their room, "she's fascinating when she talks like that."
"Ah! that's just where the danger lies," answered Blanch. "Think of what might happen if she starts talking like that to Jack—it's just what he's waiting to hear."
Juanmust have fallen asleep. As he lay stretched upon the bench, he was awakened suddenly by the sound of vehement, passionate words.
Peering cautiously through the bushes, he beheld Chiquita and Don Felipe standing facing one another in the same spot where the three women had been but a short time before. He was not near enough to overhear the conversation, but judging from the vehemence of their gestures and high-pitched voices, he rightly conjectured that their meeting was anything but an amicable one.
On seeing Chiquita with Blanch and Bessie, Don Felipe had discreetly refrained from joining them as he had promised; he would make his apologies to them in the evening. The opportunity for which he had been waiting since his return had come—he must see Chiquita alone. So he withdrew to a far corner of the garden, where he could observe the women without being seen, and when Blanch and Bessie returned to the house, he intercepted her. Although she had hourly expected to meet him ever since she had been apprised of his return, his appearance was so sudden she was taken unawares. She had reseated herself after Blanch and Bessie left and sat leaning with one elbow on the table and her head resting in her hand, lost in thought. She didnot hear his approach from behind, but at the first sound of his voice she started to her feet, turning like a flash and facing him. Her movement was so sudden and unexpected that he too was taken aback.
"You evidently did not expect to see me this afternoon," he began with some hesitancy.
"I did not," she replied coldly. "I should have thought," she continued, looking him full in the eyes, "that the manhood in you would have forever prevented your return." Felipe winced under her words. A dark flush of anger suffused his face, and his lips quivered in an effort to frame the hot words he was about to utter in reply, but he checked himself.
"One is sometimes forced to follow the bidding of an instinct or desire even against one's will," he said, controlling himself with difficulty. She drew her glove on her right hand without replying and took a step in the direction of thepatio, as though to depart.
"Chiquita!" he exclaimed, stepping quickly in front of her and barring her way, "I have tried my best to remain away, but in spite of myself, I've been drawn irresistibly back to you—I could not help it. Besides," he added, "you must realize what it costs me."
"Better had you spared yourself the humiliation, Don Felipe," she answered.
"Listen, Chiquita, to what I have to say!"
"Spare yourself the pain, Don Felipe Ramirez. Nothing you can say can alter my attitude toward you," she interrupted.
"You must hear what I have to say!" he cried passionately, without heeding her impatience. "Ever sincewe parted, I have done nothing but travel, travel, over the face of the earth, in the vain hope of forgetting you. And if, during that time, I have committed excesses, it was the love of you that drove me to it in order that I might efface you from my memory forever. But, as you see, I cannot do it, and—I have come back again." It was easy to read the agony in his heart, divine the suffering which his humiliation caused him, and yet his words did not move her; not an atom of pity did they arouse within her, knowing as she did the arrogant, selfish being that he was.
"Chiquita, I love you still!" he burst forth.
"How dare you speak of love to me?" she cried. "Have you forgotten Pepita Delaguerra, whom you ruined, for whose death you are responsible? You laughed and went on your way; she was only a flower to be broken and tossed aside. Well, I've not forgotten the day on which I found her alone and deserted, nor the hour of her death."
"Chiquita," he interrupted, "if suffering can atone for that misdeed—"
"Ah! not so fast, Don Felipe Ramirez," she answered, cutting him short. "Let us understand one another once and for all! She forgave you with her dying breath, but as I knelt over her dead body, I vowed that if ever you crossed my path and made advances to me that, as sure as there's a God in heaven, I would encourage you, lead you on until you were mad, and then fling you from me like the dog that you are in order that you, too, might learn what it is to live without the one you love!"
Had she spat in his face, she could not have aroused the tiger in him more effectually.
"Chiquita!" he cried, gasping, his face livid with rage, "you're a devil!"
"No, I'm only a woman who had the courage to avenge another woman's wrong," she answered quietly. "Don't imagine that a wrong committed can ever be atoned for. It may be condoned by the world, or even forgiven by the one who was wronged, but that is all; the deed stands forever written against one." She watched him as he paced back and forth with clenched hands and teeth, his face ashen, his lips quivering, his whole being convulsed with emotion and remorse. For some minutes he was quite unable to speak, the longing to scream and seize her by the throat and throttle her was so overpowering.
"I understand," he said at length, in the calmest tone he could command, "you love Captain Forest; you think to marry him."
"That's no concern of yours!" she retorted, hotly.
"Listen, Chiquita," he said, fiercely. "The cold blood that flows in his veins can never satisfy the warm passion of the South—a woman of your nature. I am richer than he is; I can strew your path with gold. I will make amends for the past; I was young, then. My one desire in life will be to fulfill your slightest wish, to live for your happiness only. Any sacrifice you name, I will make. I will make over my entire fortune to you if you will consent to our marriage."
"It makes me sick to hear you talk of love and marriage," she answered. "Your idea of love is solely thatof possession. What sort of love could one like you give me in comparison to his?"
"Ah! you do love him! But you will never marry him," he retorted furiously. "If I do not possess you, no one else shall!"
"Ah! you will kill me, perhaps?" she said, divining his thought. "Well, then, be it so! What greater felicity could there be for me than to die in the knowledge that he loves me—perhaps in his arms?" She drew back a pace and placing both hands on her breast, said: "Strike, Don Felipe, when and where the moment pleases you best!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed. "How could you take me to be so simple, so foolish? Oh, no, Señorita, not until the hour that you have exchanged vows and, intoxicated by love's first kiss, he presses you to his heart, then—then, Señorita, will I lay him dead at your feet in order that you also may realize what it is to live without the one you love," he said with a sneer, a faint smile wreathing his cruel lips as he watched the effect his words had upon her. There was a malicious gleam of exultation in his eyes as he saw her draw herself together suddenly and shudder as though struck by a knife.
"What say you to that, Señorita?" and he laughed in her face.
"What, dead at my feet? Such a one as you come between me and my happiness?" The rich red bronze of her face faded to a livid hue, almost white in its intensity. A strange, terrible light came into her eyes and, as she glided close up to him, he recoiled fromher in terror as though from a panther about to spring. Don Felipe had never stood so near to death before. She halted and raised her right hand as if to strike him across the face, then paused and lowered it.
"Don Felipe Ramirez," she hissed in an almost inaudible voice, "if you so much as harm a hair of his head, I'll tear you limb from limb!"
"Bah!" he replied, recovering his equilibrium. "Do you think I fear a woman?"
"Don Felipe," she began slowly, controlling with effort the violent emotions that swept over her, "it is no idle boast if I remind you that no one in Chihuahua shoots better than I do."
"Ha!" he laughed, snapping his fingers. "You think to kill me?"
"And if I did," she replied slowly, her voice vibrant with passion, "you would not be the first man I have killed, Don Felipe Ramirez. And what's more, if it comes to a question of you or him, I'll kill you as I would a snake or sage-rabbit." He started. He began to see her in a new light. With her subtle wit, her grace and alluring beauty, she was far more dangerous than a man; but he was not intimidated. Craven though his soul might be, he could not be accused of cowardice in the face of danger. Besides, what had he to live for? Better be dead than forced to live without her.
"Hearken, Don Felipe Ramirez," she continued calmly, her eyes riveted on his face. "I have ridden many times in battle by the side of my father before his death. The last time came very near being my end; it was when the Government sent troops against mypeople, and we were surrounded in the hills. That day my horse was killed under me twice. All day long we fought and charged the enemy's lines, but to no avail—we could not break them. The young officer in command of the Government's troops not only outgeneraled all our maneuvers, but his life seemed charmed, for, fire at him as often as we liked, we could not hit him. Finally realizing that there was no hope of escape so long as he remained in command, I rode forth alone between the lines and challenged him to single combat. He accepted the challenge, but when he drew near and saw that I was a woman, he refused to fight, for he was gallant as he was brave. But I was too quick for him; I forced him to fight. His bullet went through my shoulder, mine through his heart." She paused for an instant, then resumed. "So, just as we that day passed over that brave young officer's body, so shall I pass over yours, Don Felipe Ramirez, if you persist in standing in my way."
For the first time he saw her in her true light—the Amazon, the woman who had been trained to fight as men fight, and who had fought shoulder to shoulder with men. He was silent. Never had she appeared so beautiful, so terrible, so alluring and irresistible as during her recital. The hour had come; the circle of death had closed about them, and he knew now for a certainty that it meant either his life or hers; that there was no longer any hope of a reconciliation, no longer room for them both in this life.
"Do you imagine that I fear the threats of a woman?" he said at last, in the same sneering tone asbefore, in which she, too, read his unmistakable answer.
"You have been warned," she answered quietly, and giving him a last searching look, she turned and left him abruptly. Had ever mortal drunk deeper of the cup of humiliation than he? The sound of her footsteps and tinkle of her spurs died away along the pathway as she disappeared around the corner of the house. He noted that she carried herself as erect as ever; every movement bespoke the unconquerable pride of her race. God! how he hated her! What would he not give to break that pride—that pride which seemed to enable her to surmount every obstacle. It was not enough to kill Captain Forest. No, she must be broken completely, humiliated in the eyes of the world, humbled to the dust as he had been humbled; nothing short of that could satisfy him now. But how, how was her ruin to be accomplished? he asked himself as he paced back and forth, almost suffocating with rage. Suddenly an idea flashed through his mind, causing him to stop short.
"Ah!" he cried aloud, "why did she dance; why has she concealed her motive so carefully from the world? It must be the clew to some mystery in her life! God! if I could but learn the reason—"
"What would Don Felipe Ramirez give to know?" came a voice from behind him, causing him to start and turn around just in time to see Juan emerge from the lilac bushes.
"Juan Ramon!" he exclaimed.
"Aye,Caballero!" replied Juan lightly, raising hissombreroas he advanced.
"What do you know?" asked Felipe, half contemptuously, regarding him with keen, searching eyes.
"Don't worry about what I know; leave that to me for the present," answered Juan, his peculiarly cold smile lighting up his face. "But what will you give to know, Don Felipe Ramirez?" he continued, with the keen air of the tradesman who beholds a sure customer before him and is determined to drive a sharp bargain.
"What will I give?" repeated Felipe, slowly, relapsing into thought. For some time he was silent, during which he regarded Juan's features intently, as if to assure himself of the latter's good faith. Then suddenly and impetuously he cried: "I'll tell you, Juan Ramon! I'll give you gold enough to keep you drunk and your mistress clothed in silks and satins for the rest of your days! Aye, the finest pair of horses in all Mexico shall draw your carriage, and you shall have money to gamble."
"Then have patience for but a little while longer, Don Felipe Ramirez," replied Juan, rubbing the palms of his long, slim hands together, as though he already felt the magic touch of the gold and heard its musical clink in his ears.
"I hear that fortune has played you false of late, Juan Ramon," said Felipe.
"'Tis the very devil, Señor!" answered Juan with an oath.
"Here, take this," continued Felipe, handing him a roll of bank notes which he drew from his pocket. "You shall have as many men and horses to assist you in the work as you want," he added.
"Horses I will need, but no men, Don Felipe," replied Juan, jubilant over the return of fortune. The bargain was better than he had anticipated.
Dick Yanktonhad taken on a new lease of life. He no longer walked—he flew. Like Hermes of old his feet seemed to have become suddenly endowed with wings, with the result that his head was coming into dangerous proximity to the clouds.
"Dios!what had come over Señor Dick, who was on the best of terms with every man, woman and child and dog in Santa Fé?" So potent was the draught which he had imbibed, that he appeared to have been stricken suddenly with blindness and the loss of memory at one and the same instant. The salutations of his friends and acquaintances who greeted him when he walked abroad were left unnoticed; his gaze fixed dreamily on space before him. What had happened? Had he come into possession of a new mine, or was he engaged in locating one through means of that psychic sense or inner vision of the seer which he seemed to possess? Had the real cause of his perturbation been guessed—that a woman's smile had suddenly opened heaven's gates to him, a ripple of laughter would have gone the rounds of Santa Fé. The mere suggestion that the Señor Dick could be seriously in love was too absurd; his friends were too well acquainted with the flirtatious side of his nature ever to credit such a possibility. And yet, when Anita, his Indian housekeeper and wife of his overseerand general factotum, Concho, saw the amazing quantities of flowers, still wet with the morning's dew, that were daily transported to thePosada, her suspicions became aroused. She began to question Concho concerning them, and when he finally admitted that a woman was the recipient of them, she raised her eyebrows with the knowing look of a woman who has guessed the truth.
"I thought so," she answered quietly, a peculiar smile illumining her dark countenance as she seated herself in the doorway of the refectory which opened on thepatio, and disposed herself comfortably, preparatory to the interesting bit of gossip which she intended to screw out of her husband.
She was of medium height, of the spare, slender type, and must have been attractive in her youth, for even now, in spite of middle age, she was comely to look upon. She wore a red rose in her black hair, while a partially drooping eyelid gave a piquant, coquettish expression to her face.
"Holy Virgin! but this is interesting!" she went on after a pause. "The Señor in love, really in love!" and she laughed quietly to herself, while she took a pinch of tobacco and a leaf of brown paper from the pocket of her apron and began rolling a cigarette.
"Bah!" said Concho, accompanying the exclamation with a shrug of the shoulders. "You women are always imagining things which do not exist. Have we not often seen the Señor like this before? Has he not completely spoiled the Señoritas of the town with his flowers? He's bored. He's trying to amuse himself, that's all."
"And didst thou not say," continued Anita, without heeding his remarks, regarding him out of the corners of her eyes while lighting her cigarette, "that she is not quite so tall as the other one, but equally beautiful in her way; that she is pink and white at one and the same moment, just like a half-blown rose, and soft and satiny as the down on a swan's neck?"
"It is all true, Anitamia, she is even that and more!" responded Concho with warmth. "She is worth a journey to thePosadato see, but then, what is that—what are a few wisps of flowers?"
"Wisps? Armfuls, thou meanest, Concho! When did the Señor ever lavish so many flowers upon one woman before? He told me they were for the hospital," she chuckled, "but I have always been able to tell whether the Señor was speaking the truth or not. Thou knowest the way he has of saying the opposite to that which he means," and she blew a ring of smoke into the still air and watched it as it floated upwards.
"Concho," she said after some moments' reflection, "thou art a fool! I always said thou wert, and now I know it. The hospital—bah! How could he have ever thought me so simple?" she exclaimed in a tone of mingled sarcasm and disgust. "I tell thee, Concho, all women are the same either on this side of the world or the other. The one thou hast just described to me is the most dangerous of all women for a man like the Señor to meet. That is, if she is clever," she added. "But have we not all heard how clever and beautiful theAmericanaSeñoritas are?"
"Aye, there is nothing to compare with them in thewhole land, with the exception of the Chiquita, of course," replied Concho.
"Exactly; just what I have been saying, Conchomio," Anita went on, surveying her spouse with a look of pitying superiority. "Why, only yesterday, when he was here, I knew instantly by his air of distraction that something unusual had happened. Never has he been so particular before. He went all over the place, inspecting everything to the minutest detail, just like a woman. Nothing pleased him; and when he came to the flowers, which everybody knows are the finest in all Chihuahua, he declared they were not fit for a dog to sniff at, and rated the gardeners soundly for their negligence.
"Ah!" she sighed, the expression of her countenance softening, "the place needs a mistress badly—it is the one thing it lacks. There was a time when I hoped it might be the Chiquita, but since fate has ordained that it should be otherwise, let us pray that it may be this one. In fact," she exclaimed, looking up and emphasizing her words, "from what thou hast told me of her, I know it will be she or none, and may heaven grant that it please the Saints either to give her to him or protect him from her, for the Señor is a man who can really love but once. Take a woman's word for it, Concho, these are the true symptoms of love." Having delivered herself thus forcibly, she tossed aside the end of her cigarette and rose from the doorsill.
"Thou wert always a fool, Concho," she added, regarding him compassionately with a smile and patting him on the cheek. Then turning, she disappeared in thehouse, leaving Concho to marvel at her astuteness, a thing he had never suspected.
Meanwhile, the subject under discussion was pacing the floor of his room in thePosadalike a caged lion. For one whole week Bessie Van Ashton had seemingly thrown wide the portals of her heart and bade him enter, a privilege of which he was not slow to avail himself. Never had woman flirted to better advantage or succeeded more effectually in turning a man's head in so short a time as had this distracting, fair-haired witch. The only regret experienced by Mr. Yankton during these hours of unalloyed happiness, was the thought of the days he had lost—days which might have been spent in her society had he only known. How blind he had been not to have recognized her the instant he had set eyes on her, instead of compelling the Almighty to remind him that she was the woman that had been reserved for him by dropping her down out of a clear sky into his arms! How stupid of him, and how patient Providence was with some of us at times!
During the few short days which followed that happy accident—days that seemed like so many swift, fleeting seconds, Dick floated on a summer sea whose surface was unmarred by shadow or ripple. All the world had changed. He felt as though he had only just begun to live, and he spun a golden web of fancies out of the reality of things which, for one so deeply versed in the game of life, was a marvel of beauty, fair as a poet's dream, yet more substantial. And why not? Had not his life been one replete with adventure and romance from the cradle? His meeting with Bessie was no moreremarkable than many other things that had occurred during his lifetime. It was now perfectly clear to him why he had built thehaciendain the face of adverse judgment. It was for her, of course. A place in which to enshrine and worship her during the years to come; for what else could it be?
That insane notion of a white-haired patriarch enjoying the solitude of the place was too absurd—a morbid fancy born of loneliness and melancholy. The walk back to thePosadaon the day of their startling encounter and the hours spent in Bessie's society since then—strolling and chatting in the garden, or going for long rides over the plains together, had convinced him it was not intended that man should live alone. He had taken good care that she should learn nothing of the existence of thehaciendaor of his wealth, and as little as possible concerning himself, except that he was an agreeable young man with fair prospects; and thus far, thanks to the Captain's silence and her ignorance of Spanish, he had succeeded admirably.
Fair prospects! The secret was almost too good to keep, and he laughed softly to himself as he mused upon it. It was truly an inspiration; just the sort of thing to hand out to one of Newport's smart-set. Although he had not yet proposed to her, he regarded their marriage as a foregone conclusion; an event of the near future. She certainly had led him to infer as much, and the plan he had conceived regarding it was highly ingenious—one worthy of his fertile imagination. Directly they were married, they would spend the first fortnight of their honeymoon camping in the mountainsin a style worthy of a grand Mogul, after which he would suggest that they pass the night at a near-byranchobelonging to a friend, and in this wise introduce her to her future home.
The rapture of the picture fairly dazzled him, and he lay awake whole nights contemplating it—thepatiopalely illumined by the moonlight, the murmur of the fountain in its center, the perfume of flowers, the melodious voices of the dark-skinned Indian attendants, bearing flaming torches, and chanting the time-honored welcome to their new mistress, and her insistent demands to be introduced to their host; and then the delightful dénouement, the surprise she must experience when the truth finally dawned upon her. Truly poet never dreamed a fairer dream. It had taken him a whole week to conceive the idea in detail, and on the morning of the seventh day on which he had decided to ask her to become his wife, he stood with the horses before thePosadaexpectantly awaiting her appearance to take the ride they had agreed upon the night before. At the end of an hour, during which he fretted over the undue delay with the same impatience as did the horses, Rosita appeared and informed him that the Señorita Van Ashton would not ride that morning; she was not feeling well. A wild alarm seized him. The thought that she might have been stricken suddenly with some serious illness, quite unnerved him for the moment. "Caramba!" he cried, quite forgetting his English. "What has happened? Is it serious? Is anything being done?" But all inquiries concerning the actual state of the Señorita's health proving fruitless, he was left to passthe remainder of the day wandering aimlessly about the garden in the vain hope of finding something to divert his mind. Had he been in possession of his usual calm, he might have noticed the amused expression on Rosita's face, but the extent of one's concern being the measure of one's love for a person, he saw only the vivid mental picture of his consuming passion, Bessie, suffering Bessie!
It was the first jarring note in that state of uninterrupted bliss which he had been enjoying, and as the day wore painfully on he began to realize how much she had become to him. He was haunted by misgivings, and finally, late in the afternoon, having convinced himself that he had exhausted the resources of the garden, he decided to pass the time until the dinner hour upon the veranda on the other side of the house. Thither he repaired, but oddly enough and greatly to his astonishment, as he stepped out upon the veranda, he came face to face with Miss Van Ashton returning from a walk in the town. She was charmingly gowned in a soft, clinging creation of pale lavender and white lace, with long white suède gloves and low lavender shoes and silk stockings, an inch or so of which she flashed before his eyes, proclaiming the society belle's prerogative. She carried a parasol of the same color and material as her dress, while her head was crowned with a sweeping, rakishly plumed Rembrandtesque hat worn at a killing angle. The gold in her hair and the exquisite pink and white of her throat and cheeks blended perfectly with a color scheme, the attractiveness of which was greatly enhanced by her natural charmand the delicate scent of lavender and rose leaves which emanated from her person, the combined effects of which were not lost upon an over-wrought imagination.
To use the current vernacular of the times, so familiar to the world in which she moved, Miss Van Ashton's appearance was decidedly fetching, and strongly suggestive of the things of which poets, in their madness, are continually harping—flower gardens flooded with moonlight and the song of nightingales. Although not modeled on heroic lines, she nevertheless possessed the qualifications which most men seek in women and therefore became quite as formidable as Delilah when she chose to assert herself. To say that Mr. Yankton was dazzled but mildly expresses his feelings; he was ravished, though in no mood for banter. Had their meeting occurred under more auspicious circumstances, he undoubtedly would have complimented her on her charming appearance; but for one who had been eating his heart out during eight consecutive hours solely on her account, it was hardly to be expected. The sight of her, though a relief to his mind, gave rise to thoughts the nature of which he found it difficult to conceal.
"What!" he cried, furious and aghast, scarcely believing his eyes as the truth slowly began to dawn upon him. "They told me you were ill—that you couldn't appear to-day!"
"Ill? How very strange!" she answered in feigned surprise, with a far away, vacant look in her eyes, as though she had just met him for the first time, rendering him quite speechless. "Really, Mr. Yankton," shecontinued in the coldest, most distant manner she could command, "I never felt better in my life!" And without allowing him time to catch his breath, she passed by him and slammed the door in his face, from the other side of which he fancied he heard her silvery, rippling laughter, the nature of which sounded suspiciously like a titter.
Woman never delivered a more crushing blow. In that instant Mr. Yankton saw more stars than the firmament contains. It was like being thrown suddenly into a river on a cold morning. Miss Van Ashton's methods might be regarded as somewhat harsh by certain persons, but realizing that heroic measures were the only cure for the dangerous distemper that threatened her peace of mind, she had acted without hesitancy. Besides, was she not in a measure justified in wishing to even up their scores?
Oh, the fickleness of woman! How cleverly she had deceived him, and what an ass he had been! She had been playing with him all the while, and as he paced the floor, revolving what course to pursue, he wondered how he could have been so simple. True, she was different from any woman he had ever met, but dazed though he was by her sudden change of front, he was not disheartened. On the contrary, she had become more attractive than ever. His blood fairly boiled at the thought of his defeat, but he would profit by the experience—change his tactics completely. The more she avoided him, the more persistent he would become. If she did not see him, she would be kept a prisoner in the house. He would give her no peace, dayor night. He would dog her footsteps, confront her at every turn, pursue her with the most reckless and relentless ardor and utter disregard of what the world might think; treat her as he would an unbroken horse—give her no rest, but keep her on the jump until he had worn her out, and then close with her.