The second morning after this ride, while he was labouring over a note to
the girl, he was amazed to get one from her postmarked at Lorietta, a
station a hundred miles north of town at the foot of the Mora Mountains,
in which many of the town people spent their summer vacations. It was a
small square missive, exhaling a faint scent of lavender, and was simple
and direct as a telegram.
“We have gone to the Valley Ranch for a month,” she wrote. “We had not
intended to go until August, but there was a sudden change of plans.
Somebody saw you and me yesterday. I had an awful time. Please don’t try
to see me or write to me while we’re here. It will be best for us. I’ll be
back soon. I love you.”
He sat glumly thinking over this letter for a long time. The
disappointment of learning that he would not see her for a month was bad
enough, but it was not the worst thing about this sudden development. For
this made him realize what alert and active opposition he faced on the
part of her mother and brother. Their dislike for him had been made
manifest again and again, but he had supposed that Julia was successfully
deceiving them as to his true relations with her. He had thought that he
was regarded merely as an undesirable acquaintance; but if they were
changing their plans because of him, taking the girl out of his reach,
they must have guessed the true state of affairs. And for all that he
knew, they might leave the country at any time. His heart seemed to give a
sharp twist in his body at this thought. He must take her as soon as she
returned to town. He could not afford to miss another chance. And meantime
his affairs must be gotten in order.
He had been neglecting his new responsibilities, and there was an
astonishing number of things to be done—debts to be paid, tax assessments
to be protested, men to be hired for the sheep-shearing. His uncle had
left his affairs at loose ends, and on all hands were men bent on taking
advantage of the fact. But he knew the law; he had known from childhood
the business of raising sheep on the open range which was the backbone of
his fortune; and he was held in a straight course by the determination to
keep his resources together so that they would strengthen him in his
purpose.
A few weeks before, he had sent Cortez to Arriba County to attend to some
minor matters there, and incidentally to learn if possible what MacDougall
was doing. Cortez had spent a large part of his time talking with the
Mexicans in the San Antonio Valley, eavesdropping on conversations in
little country stores, making friends, and asking discreet questions at
_bailes_ and _fiestas_.
“Well; how goes it up there?” Ramon asked him when he came to the office
to make his report.
“It looks bad enough,” Cortez replied lighting with evident satisfaction
the big cigar his patron had given him. “MacDougall has men working there
all the time. He bought a small ranch on the edge of the valley just the
other day. He is not making very fast progress, but he’ll own the valley
in time if we don’t stop him.”
“But who is doing the work? Who is his agent?” Ramon enquired.
“Old Solomon Alfego, for one. He’s boss of the county, you know. He hates
a gringo as much as any man alive, but he loves a dollar, too, and
MacDougall has bought him, I’m afraid. I think MacDougall is lending money
through him, getting mortgages on ranches that way.”
“Well; what do you think we had better do?” Ramon enquired. The situation
looked bad on its face, but he could see that Cortez had a plan.
“Just one thing I thought of,” the little man answered slowly. “We have
got to get Alfego on our side. If we can do that, we can keep out
MacDougall and everybody else … buy when we get ready. We couldn’t pay
Alfego much, but we could let him in on the railroad deal … something
MacDougall won’t do. And Alfego, you know, is a _penitente_. He’s _hermano
mayor_ (chief brother) up there. And all those little _rancheros_ are
_penitentes_. It’s the strongest _penitente_ county in the State, and you
know none of the _penitentes_ like gringos. None of those fellows like
MacDougall; they’re all afraid of him. All they like is his money. You
haven’t so much money, but you could spend some. You could give a few
_bailes_. You are Mexican; your family is well-known. If you were a
_penitente_, too.…”
Cortez left his sentence hanging in the air. He nodded his head slowly,
his cigar cocked at a knowing angle, looking at Ramon through narrowed
lids.
Ramon sat looking straight before him for a moment. He saw in imagination
a procession of men trudging half-naked in the raw March weather, their
backs gashed so that blood ran down to their heels, beating themselves and
each other.… The _penitentes_! Other men, even gringos, had risen to power
by joining the order. Why not he? It would give him just the prestige and
standing he needed in that country. He would lose a little blood. He would
win … everything!
“You are right, _amigo_,” he told Cortez. “But do you think it can be
arranged?”
“I have talked to Alfego about it,” Cortez admitted. “I think it can be
arranged.”