The Girl of the Golden West Page 2

  II.

  Not until a turn of the road hid the stage from sight did the strangerfix his gaze elsewhere. Even then it was not easy for him, and there hadbeen a moment when he was ready to throw everything to the winds andfollow it. But when on the point of doing so there suddenly flashedthrough his mind the thought of the summons that he had received. Andso, not unlike one who had come to the conclusion that it was indeed afarewell, he waved his hand resignedly in the direction that the stagehad taken and, calling to his _vaquero_, he gave his horse a thrust ofthe long rowel of his spur and galloped off towards the foothills of theSierras.

  For some miles the riders travelled a road which wound through beautifulgreen fields; but master and man were wholly indifferent, seeing neitherthe wild flowers lining each side of the road nor the sycamores and liveoaks which were shining overhead from the recent rains. In the case ofthe young man every foot of the way to his father's rancho was familiar.All hours of the day and night he had made the trip to the highway, forwith the exception of the few years that had been given to his educationin foreign lands, his whole life had been passed on the rancho. Scarcelyless acquainted with the road than his young master was the _vaquero_,so neither gave a glance at the country through which they were passing,but side by side took the miles in silence.

  An hour passed with the young man still wrapt in thought. The truth was,though he was scarcely ready to admit it, he had been hard hit. In moreways than one the Girl had made a deep impression on him. Not only hadher appearance awakened his interest to the point of enthusiasm, butthere was something irresistibly attractive to him in her lack ofaffectation and audacious frankness. Over and over again he thoughtof her happy face, her straightforward way of looking at things and,last but not least, her evident pleasure in meeting him. And when hereflected on the hopelessness of their ever meeting again, a feeling ofdepression seized him. But his nature--always a buoyant one--did notpermit him to remain downcast very long.

  By this time they were nearing the foothills. A little while longer andthe road that they were travelling became nothing more than a bridlepath. Indeed, so dense did the _chaparral_ presently become that itwould have been utterly impossible for one unacquainted with the way tokeep on it. Animal life was to be seen everywhere. At the approach ofthe riders innumerable rabbits scurried away; quail whirred from bushto bush; and, occasionally, a deer broke from the thickets.

  At the end of another hour of hard riding they were forced to slackentheir pace. In front of them the ground could be seen, in the light of afast disappearing moon, to be gradually rising. Another mile or two andvertical walls of rock rose on each side of them; while great ravines,holding mountain torrents, necessitated their making a short detour forthe purpose of finding a place where the stream could be safely forded.Even then it was not an easy task on account of the boulder-enclosingwhirlpools whose waters were whipped into foam by the wind that sweptthrough the forest.

  At a point of the road where there was a break in the _chaparral_, avoice suddenly cried out in Spanish:

  "Who comes?"

  "Follow us!" was the quick answer without drawing rein; and, instantly,on recognition of the young master's voice, a mounted sentinel spurredhis horse out from behind an overhanging rock and closed in behindthem. And as they were challenged thus several times, it happened thatpresently there was quite a little band of men pushing ahead in thedarkness that had fallen.

  And so another hour passed. Then, suddenly, there sprung into viewthe dark outlines of a low structure which proved to be a corral, andfinally they made their way through a gate and came upon a long adobehouse, situated in a large clearing and having a kind of courtyard infront of it.

  In the centre of this courtyard was what evidently had once been afountain, though it had long since dried up. Around it squatted a groupof _vaqueros_, all smoking cigarettes and some of them lazily twistinglariats out of horsehair. Close at hand a dozen or more wiry littlemustangs stood saddled and bridled and ready for any emergency. Incolour, one or two were of a peculiar cream and had silver white manes,but the rest were greys and chestnuts. It was evident that they hadgreat speed and bottom. All in all, what with the fierce and savagefaces of the men scattered about the courtyard, the remoteness of theadobe, and the care taken to guard against surprise, old Bartolini's_hacienda_ was an establishment not unlike that of the feudal baronsor a nest of banditti according to the point of view.

  At the sound of the fast galloping horses, every man on the groundsprang to his feet and ran to his horse. For a second only they stoodstill and listened intently; then, satisfied that all was well and thatthe persons approaching belonged to the rancho, they returned to theirformer position by the fountain--all save an Indian servant, who caughtthe bridle thrown to him by the young man as he swung himself out ofthe saddle. And while this one led his horse noiselessly away, anotherof the same race preceded him along a corridor until he came to the_Maestro's_ room.

  Old Ramerrez Bartolini, or Ramerrez, as he was known to his followers,was dying. His hair, pure white and curly, was still as luxuriant aswhen he was a young man. Beneath the curls was a patrician, Spanishface, straight nose and brilliant, piercing, black eyes. His giganticframe lay on a heap of stretched rawhides which raised him a few inchesfrom the floor. This simple couch was not necessarily an indication ofpoverty, though his property had dwindled to almost nothing, for in mostSpanish adobes of that time, even in some dwellings of the very rich,there were no beds. Over him, as well as under him, were blankets. Oneach side of his head, fixed on the wall, two candles were burning, andalmost within reach of his hand there stood a rough altar, with crucifixand candles, where a padre was making preparations to administer theLast Sacraments.

  In the low-studded room the only evidence remaining of prosperitywere some fragments of rich and costly goods that once had been piledup there. In former times the old Spaniard had possessed these inprofusion, but little was left now. Indeed, whatever property he had atthe present time was wholly in cattle and horses, and even these werecomparatively few.

  There had been a period, not so very long ago at that, when old Ramerrezwas a power in the land. In all matters pertaining to the province ofAlta California his advice was eagerly sought, and his opinion carriedgreat weight in the councils of the Spaniards. Later, under the Mexicanregime, the respect in which his name was held was scarcely less; butwith the advent of the _Americanos_ all this was changed. Little bylittle he lost his influence, and nothing could exceed the hatred whichhe felt for the race that he deemed to be responsible for his downfall.

  It was odd, in a way, too, for he had married an American girl, thedaughter of a sea captain who had visited the coast, and for many yearshe had held her memory sacred. And, curiously enough, it was because ofthis enmity, if indirectly, that much of his fortune had been wasted.

  Fully resolved that England--even France or Russia, so long as Spainwas out of the question--should be given an opportunity to extend aprotectorate over his beloved land, he had sent emissaries to Europeand supplied them with moneys--far more than he could afford--to givea series of lavish entertainments at which the wonderful richness andfertility of California could be exploited. At one time it seemed asif his efforts in that direction would meet with success. His plan hadmet with such favour from the authorities in the City of Mexico thatGovernor Pico had been instructed by them to issue a grant for severalmillion of acres. But the United States Government was quick to perceivethe hidden meaning in the extravagances of these envoys in London, andin the end all that was accomplished was the hastening of the inevitableAmerican occupation.

  From that time on it is most difficult to imagine the zeal with which heendorsed the scheme of the native Californians for a republic of theirown. He was a leader when the latter made their attack on the Americansin Sonoma County and were repulsed with the loss of several killed.One of these was Ramerrez' only brother, who was the last, with theexception of himself and son, of a proud, old, Spanish family. It was ate
rrible blow, and increased, if possible, his hatred for the Americans.Later the old man took part in the battle of San Pasquale and the Mesa.In the last engagement he was badly wounded, but even in that conditionhe announced his intention of fighting on and bitterly denounced hisfellow-officers for agreeing to surrender. As a matter of fact, heescaped that ignominy. For, taking advantage of his great knowledge ofthe country, he contrived to make his way through the American lineswith his few followers, and from that time may be said to have takenmatters into his own hand.

  Old Ramerrez was conscious that his end was merely a matter of hours, ifnot minutes. Over and over again he had had himself propped up by hisattendants with the expectation that his command to bring his son hadbeen obeyed. No one knew better than he how impossible it would be toresist another spasm like that which had seized him a little while afterhis son had ridden off the rancho early that morning. Yet he relied oncemore on his iron constitution, and absolutely refused to die until hehad laid upon his next of kin what he thoroughly believed to be a sternduty. Deep down in heart, it is true, he was vaguely conscious of afeeling of dread lest his cherished revenge should meet with opposition;but he refused to harbour the thought, believing, not unnaturally, that,after having imposed his will upon others for nearly seventy years, itwas extremely unlikely that his dying command should be disobeyed byhis son. And it was in the midst of these death-bed reflections that heheard hurried footsteps and knew that his boy had come at last.

  When the latter entered the room his face wore an agonised expression,for he feared that he had arrived too late. It was a relief, therefore,to see his father, who had lain still, husbanding his little remainingstrength, open his eyes and make a sign, which included the padre aswell as the attendants, that he wished to be left alone with his son.

  "Art thou here at last, my son?" said the old man the moment they werealone.

  "Ay, father, I came as soon as I received your message."

  "Come nearer, then, I have much to say to you, and I have not long tolive. Have I been a good father to you, my lad?"

  The young man knelt beside the couch and kissed his father's hand, whilehe murmured an assent.

  At the touch of his son's lips a chill struck the old man's heart. Ittortured him to think how little the boy guessed of the recent historyof the man he was bending over with loving concern; how little hedivined of the revelation that must presently be made to him. For amoment the dying man felt that, after all, perhaps it were better torenounce his vengeance, for it had been suddenly borne in upon him thatthe boy might suffer acutely in the life that he intended him to live;but in another moment he had taken himself to task for a weakness thathe considered must have been induced by his dying condition, and hesternly banished the thought from his mind.

  "My lad," he began, "you promise to carry out my wishes after I amgone?"

  "Ay, father, you know that I will. What do you wish me to do?"

  The old man pointed to the crucifix.

  "You swear it?"

  "I swear it."

  No sooner had the son uttered the wished-for words than his father fellback on the couch and closed his eyes. The effort and excitement lefthim as white as a sheet. It seemed to the boy as if his father might besinking into the last stupor, but after a while he opened his eyes andcalled for a glass of _aguardiente_.

  With difficulty he gulped it down; then he said feebly:

  "My boy, the only American that ever was good was your mother. She wasan angel. All the rest of these cursed gringos are pigs;" and his voicegrowing stronger, he repeated: "Ay, pigs, hogs, swine!"

  The son made no reply; his father went on:

  "What have not these devils done to our country ever since they camehere? At first we received them most hospitably; everything they wantedwas gladly supplied to them. And what did they do in return for ourkindness? Where now are our extensive ranchos--our large herds ofcattle? They have managed to rob us of our lands through clever lawsthat we of California cannot understand; they have stolen from ourpeople thousands and thousands of cattle! There is no infamy that--"

  The young man hastened to interrupt him.

  "You must not excite yourself, father," he said with solicitude. "Theyare unscrupulous--many of them, but all are not so."

  "Bah!" ejaculated the old man; "the gringos are all alike. I hate themall, I--" The old man was unable to finish. He gasped for breath. Butdespite his son's entreaties to be calm, he presently cried out:

  "Do you know who you are?" And not waiting for a reply he went on with:"Our name is one of the proudest in Spain--none better! The curse of along line of ancestors will be upon you if you tamely submit--not makethese Americans suffer for their seizure of this, our rightful land--ourbeautiful California!"

  More anxiously than ever now the son regarded his father. His inspectionleft no doubt in his mind that the end could not be far off. With greatearnestness he implored him to lie down; but the dying man shook hishead and continued to grow more and more excited.

  "Do you know who I am?" he demanded. "No--you think you do, but youdon't. There was a time when I had plenty of money. It pleased megreatly to pay all your expenses--to see that you received the besteducation possible both at home and abroad. Then the gringos came.Little by little these cursed _Americanos_ have taken all that I hadfrom me. But as they have sown so shall they reap. I have taken myrevenge, and you shall take more!" He paused to get his breath; then ina terrible voice he cried: "Yes, I have robbed--robbed! For the lastthree years, almost, your father has been a bandit!"

  The son sprang to his feet.

  "A bandit? You, father, a Ramerrez, a bandit?"

  "Ay, a bandit, an outlaw, as you also will be when I am no more, androb, rob, rob, these _Americanos_. It is my command and--you--have--sworn . . ."

  The son's eyes were rivetted upon his father's face as the old man fellback, completely exhausted, upon his couch of rawhides. With a strangeconflict of emotions, the young man remained standing in silence fora few brief seconds that seemed like hours, while the pallor of deathcrept over the face before him, leaving no doubt that, in the solemnityof the moment his father had spoken nothing but the literal truth.It was a hideous avowal to hear from the dying lips of one whom fromearliest childhood he had been taught to revere as the pattern ofSpanish honour and nobility. And yet the thought now uppermost in youngRamerrez's mind was that oddly enough he had not been taken by surprise.Never by a single word had any one of his father's followers given hima hint of the truth. So absolute, so feudal was the old man's masteryover his men that not a whisper of his occupation had ever reached hisson's ears. Nevertheless, he now told himself that in some curious,instinctive way, he had _known_,--or rather, had refused to know,putting off the hour of open avowal, shutting his eyes to theaccumulating facts that day by day had silently spoken of lawlessnessand peril. Three years, his father had just said; well, that explainedhow it was that no suspicions had ever awakened until after he hadcompleted his education and returned home from his travels. But sincethen a child must have noted that something was wrong: the grim,sinister faces of the men, constantly on guard, as though the old_hacienda_ were in a state of siege; the altered disposition of hisfather, always given to gloomy moods, but lately doubly silent andsaturnine, full of strange savagery and smouldering fire. Yes, somewherein the back of his mind he had known the whole, shameful truth; hadknown the purpose of those silent, stealthy excursions, and equallysilent returns,--and more than once the broken heads and bandaged armsthat coincided so oddly with some new tale of a daring hold-up thathe was sure to hear of, the next time that he chanced to ride intoMonterey. For three years, young Ramerrez had known that sooner or laterhe would be facing such a moment as this, called upon to make the choicethat should make or mar him for life. And now, for the first time herealised why he had never voiced his suspicions, never questioned, neverhastened the time of decision,--it was because even now he did not knowwhich way he wished to decide! He knew only that he was torn and racke
dby terrible emotions, that on one side was a mighty impulse to disregardthe oath he had blindly taken and refuse to do his father's bidding;and on the other, some new and unguessed craving for excitement anddanger, some inherited lawlessness in his blood, something akin to theintoxication of the arena, when the thunder of the bull's hoofs rang inhis ears. And so, when the old man's lips opened once more, and shaped,almost inaudibly, the solemn words:

  "You have sworn,--" the scales were turned and the son bowed his head insilence.

  A moment later and the room was filled with men who fell on their knees.On every face, save one, there was an expression of overwhelming griefand despair; but on that one, ashen grey as it was with the agony ofapproaching death, there was a look of contentment as he made a sign tothe padre that he was now ready for him to administer the last rites ofhis church.