A TALE OF YORE
As they sat there in the dusk of the verandah, Jim would have liked to
ask his host to relate some of his experiences in southern California
for he felt sure that the Senor Valdez had known something of adventure
not only because those early days were full of marvels of interest, but
there was something in the bearing of the old Spaniard that spoke of
former days of romance and of stirring incidents.
Then, too, there was something in the after-dinner content and quiet,
following the perilous adventure which they had been through that
predisposed the boys to listen to a good story of adventure. Their
friend, the Senor Sebastian, seemed to divine what was passing through
Jim's mind, for he suddenly spoke, breaking the meditative spell that
had fallen upon the group on the piazza.
"It just occurred to me, Senor Valdez, that our friends here might like
to hear something of the early days in this part of the country, for you
of all men know it thoroughly and I am sure it would interest them."
"Indeed, it would, Senor," cried Jim enthusiastically, "it was in my
mind to ask Senor Valdez to tell us of the early days but I was afraid
to impose upon him."
"I feel greatly honored to think that you young men would care to hear
anything my poor tongue could relate. It would hardly be worth your
distinguished attention." Jim made due allowance for the courteous
exaggeration characteristic of the Spaniard.
"Try us, Senor," he said briefly, "we would want nothing better."
"I will have the coffee brought first," replied the Senor, "that may
serve to stimulate my dull imagination."
In a short time a softly moving servant brought out a tray of coffee
cups, and placed one before each guest on a small wicker table. Jim
noticed these cups with immediate interest. They were certainly
beautiful and he had never seen anything like them before. They were of
a wonderful blue, each one, and had a coat of arms in gold with raised
figures on it; a scroll above with a Latin motto, and beneath the
representation of a wild animal couchant. The Senor Valdez was quick to
see Jim's interest and respond to it. "That is the coat of arms of my
family," he explained.
"I am not a scholar, Senor," said Jim, "and all I can make of the motto
is that it has something to do with a lion."
"You are quite right," the ghost of a smile hovered around the
white-fringed lips of the Spaniard, at Jim's innate boyishness.
"That figure does not look exactly like a lion," remarked Jo frankly.
"Not like an African lion certainly," replied the Spaniard, "but a lion
nevertheless, such as one finds yet in the mountain fastnesses of Spain,
something like a panther only larger and much more fierce."
"The lion seems to have a rope or chain around his neck," commented Jim,
"and fastened to a collar."
"Quite so," responded the Spaniard, "likewise the motto translated
reads, 'Gentle as a Lion.'"
"Rather strange way of putting it," said Jim curiously.
"I will explain, for you would naturally be puzzled by the phrase,
'Gentle as a Lion,' as it seems to contradict common knowledge," said
Senor Valdez. "You see my family has the distinction, if such it can be
called, in these modern days, the distinction of being old. This
coat-of-arms dates back to the eleventh century."
Jo was about to give a prolonged whistle of surprise when Jim gripped
his knee to enforce silence, for though Jo might mean all right, the
Spaniard might not understand.
"The founder of the family who flourished at that time was a rather
rugged character, and I am afraid would regard the family
representatives of this day as very puny and unworthy specimens. This
Rodriquez de Valdez had his castle in a rugged mountainous part of
Spain, where there were plenty of wild animals and of wilder and fiercer
men, bandits and free-booters without number.
"His castle was a very powerful one, not only in construction but
likewise in location, as it was built on a shelf of rock above a deep
chasm, with precipitous cliffs behind it. However, Rodriquez de Valdez
spent but very little time behind the protection of its powerful walls.
It would take the forces of some strong Duke from the lowland to cause
him to seek the shelter of his castle and to raise his war banner of
crimson with a blue cross upon it, above the turret.
"He spent his days hunting among the mountains for wild beasts or for
marauding bands of lawless men. Rodriquez was a man of wonderful
strength, even for those days, when there were giants in the land. In
stature six feet five and powerful in proportion and likewise very fleet
of foot. If I should tell you of some of the legends of his strength and
swiftness, you would probably laugh.
"But the one that has to do with the coat-of-arms of my family I will
tell you. It chanced one day that he was out in the wilds of the
mountains and quite alone. Intent upon the trail of a deer that he was
following along a shelving mountain side, he did not see a lion half
grown, but nevertheless very dangerous, which was crouching on the
branch of a tree ready to spring upon him when he got beneath it.
"When he had passed by under the tree a pace or two, the lion sprang
with distended claws. Some instinct of danger made Rodriquez turn and he
was just in time to grapple with the brute, clutching it by the throat.
The lion had some advantage in weight but not a great deal, for my brave
ancestor was probably three hundred pounds of sinew, bone and muscle. So
that the struggle was not such an unequal one, but it was terrific while
it did last. Finally, though torn and bleeding, the man subdued the
beast, and had it in abject fear of him.
"Then instead of killing the lion as one would naturally expect,
Rodriquez took a strange humorous notion into his head. He would make a
pet of this same lion and it should be his dog to follow obediently at
its master's heels wherever he went. This idea he carried out and he
even had a heavy brass collar placed upon its neck, and it followed him
on all his trips, slouching with padded tread at his heel, or behind his
war horse as he rode abroad, like a powerful yellow dog.
"I do not imagine that the beast ever had any great amount of affection
for his master, but he no doubt was in great fear of him, which seemed
to answer the purpose quite as well. So, my friends, you have a full and
complete explanation of the coat-of-arms of my family. My only fear is
that I have wearied you with what could not have the same interest for
you as it does for me."
"Indeed, you have not wearied us, Senor," exclaimed Jo enthusiastically.
"That is one of the most interesting accounts that I have ever listened
to," said Jim. "I only wish I could have lived in those days when there
was plenty of adventure."
"I do not think that you have any reason to complain," remarked the
Spaniard laughingly. "Perhaps your descendants in future years will be
pointing out your daring deeds as emblazoned on their coat-of-arms."
"No danger of that, I guess," laughed Jim, "though they might have a
picture of Jo and me tied to a mule. That was the way old Captain Broom
treated us." The Spaniard joined in the merriment at this unheroic
representation of Jo and Jim.
"Now, Senor Valdez, you have told us a tale of old Spain, tell us
something of new Spain here in California," urged Jo.
"It seems to me that it is now someone else's turn," said the Senor. "I
would not do all the talking. A host should sometimes listen. Perhaps
Senor Darlington will tell us of some of his experiences. They will be
much more stirring than any musty tales of mine." But Jim shook his head
firmly, not to say obstinately.
"I would not think of telling our adventures," he replied. "Perhaps
after we have travelled more, we will have something worth while
relating."
"That's right," said Jo, "we would much rather listen to you, Senor."
The Senor Valdez sipped slowly at his coffee, looking out into the
semi-darkness beyond the verandah, where over the plain below stretched
the gray blanket of the fog-clouds. Then he rolled another cigarette,
lit it and took a few meditative puffs. The Senor now began his next
story at a peculiar angle, and did not commence with the stereotyped
form of "once upon a time," so dear to the days of one's childhood.
"I see you do not take cream in your coffee," he said addressing Jim.
"No, but I like some sugar, not too much."
"It has seemed to me," said the Spaniard, "that the seasoning of coffee
is in a way an indication of character."
"Where the party uses milk in his coffee that indicates weakness, does
it not, Senor?" inquired Jim with a sly look at Jo, but the subtle
Spaniard was not to be trapped.
"Not necessarily," he replied, "only mildness."
"And when it is taken straight and black that means a strong character,"
remarked Jo.
"You have stated it," replied the Spaniard.
"But I would like to know how I would be sized up?" questioned Jim, "you
see I use a little sugar."
"My friend," said the Spaniard with playful earnestness, putting his
hand lightly on Jim's knee, "that shows a character of great strength,
tempered with mercy and human kindness. All of which leads one to speak
of a man who was once famous in this part of the country, but not
popular. He always had the reputation for taking a strong liquor in his
coffee, Fernet, if I remember right. His name was Alverado, but I judge
that you are not acquainted with it."
"No," replied Jim, "but I should say that he was a very fierce
character."
"He was. He was a bandit."
"I thought so," agreed Jim.
"This Don Alverado came from a well known Spanish family, of ancient
lineage, but impoverished fortune. He was such a wild and unruly blade
that his family were decidedly relieved when he left Spain and came to
the new world to mend his fortune, if not his ways. He landed first in
Mexico, and after a series of more or less remarkable adventures, he
came to this part of California. I knew him, or rather I knew of his
family in Spain, and for their sake I made him welcome here at my home.
"He was really a charming fellow in manner and appearance, tall, slight,
with dark eyes and hair, a typical cavalier. But the graces of his
manner did not reach down to his heart, and after a disagreeable episode
which I need not revive here, he left my rancho never to return except
as an enemy. I heard nothing further of him after his departure for
some six months. My next introduction to him was an unpleasant one.
"It consisted in the loss of a band of horses and a herd of cattle which
were driven off by a gang of raiders, thirteen in number, at the head of
which was this fellow Alverado. His depredations went on for years among
the ranchmen in this part of California. So resourceful and crafty was
this desperado that he evaded trap after trap laid for his capture.
"He had several very close calls and there were numerous battles between
the outlaws and the ranch owners, but though some of his men were shot,
he seemed to bear a charmed life. I remember one running fight over the
plain yonder, when, believing me to be absent from home, as I had been,
but returned unexpectedly from the north, this Alverado and his gang
made a bold dash to capture some horses from a field directly below the
house.
"It did not take long to get my men together and I gave the bandits a
surprise indeed. Nothing but the speed of Alverado's horse, a splendid
black stallion, saved him from capture. We got several of his men
however. At last there came the turning of the lane. Through the
treachery of one of the band we found that their rendezvous was at the
head of a small canyon in a range of foot-hills several miles south of
here.
"You will go through it tomorrow on your way south, if you carry out
your speed schedule, which with your remarkable horses you ought to be
able to. We came upon the gang about noon, where they were resting after
a long chase. In a corral near by were a number of stolen stock. They
were not expecting trouble of any kind. Some were playing cards, a few
cooking, most, however, were enjoying the siesta, their leader among the
number lay under the shadow of a tree, his head resting on a saddle,
sound asleep.
"There were fifty of us, and we had them surrounded, so that there was
no chance of escape. Alverado himself made a desperate dash, but the
cordon was too strong. The rest surrendered. That afternoon we took the
bunch to the lower end of the canyon, where there was a giant sycamore
tree. There we hanged the whole thirteen, and by them no more were
troubled not even by their ghosts."
Jim and Jo expressed their appreciation of their host's kindness in
entertaining them as he truly had done in relating his tales. Then they
said good night and went to their room.
That night the boys slept in a comfortable bed in a quaint old bedroom
with roses nodding in at the half open casement windows. By the light of
the candles they could see the strange old and carved furniture and
tired as they were how they did sleep.
The next morning they started hours before daylight. "I will be prepared
to welcome more of you in a few days," said the Senor Valdez, and the
boys thanked him heartily. Promising to return soon they galloped away
through the darkness.
All day they rode, hardly drawing rein at all. At first through the
foot-hills and then over the wide plains. Jo had a fresh horse, a
powerful black, as his other mount could not stand the strain of the
long trip that meant three score and ten of miles before evening.
Early in the afternoon they left the plain and rode into the deep and
rugged gorges of a mountain chain, running East and West. Thence into a
broad valley leading South-easterly, and about four P. M. they turned
directly South entering a Pass in the Southern side of the valley, from
which they emerged on a plain. Where the trail left the Pass stood a
large sycamore tree, when they reached it, the Indian messenger rose
from its shelter.