Eight delicious weeks passed--the most delightful that Clarence and
Mercedes had ever lived. The first of September had dawned, and on the
16th they would be married. With the first rays of the coming morn,
Clarence arose and went to the west window of his chamber, which looked
towards the Alamar House. As he peeped through the closed shutters,
thinking it would seem foolish to open them so early, he saw the
shutters of one window--in that well known row where Mercedes' room was
located, and which looked to the east--pushed open, and a white hand and
part of a white arm came out and fastened it back. His heart told him
whose white arm that was, and of course he could not think of going back
to bed. He began to dress himself, deliberating whether he should or not
go to town that day and telegraph to Hubert to do as he thought best
about selling another cargo of ores, or say to wait for him, that he
would be at San Francisco on the 20th. When he was dressed, he sat by
the west window and tried to read, but that white arm would come across
the page and that white hand would cover the letters, so that he threw
the book down and began to walk, trying to think about that business of
selling the ore to the Austrian house, of which Hubert had been writing
to him. Yes, he thought, the best thing would be to go to town that same
day and ask Hubert couldn't the matter wait until the 20th. But should
Hubert be coming, or should it be necessary to wait for telegrams, he
might not be back until the following day in the evening. He would go
immediately after breakfast to tell Mercedes that he could not see her
that evening.
Mercedes and Dona Josefa were on the front piazza when he arrived, and
Gabriel was talking to George in quite an excited manner, for him, as he
was always so calm and self-contained. As soon as Clarence came up the
piazza steps, George began to tell him that some of the last lot of
cattle which had been sent off to the mountains, had got away from the
herders and returned to the rancho on the previous day, and that morning
a couple of cows of a very choice breed were found shot through the
body, in a dying condition. The poor brutes had to be shot dead by
Gabriel himself, to save them from further suffering. No one knew who
had fired on the poor dumb animals, but circumstantial evidence clearly
pointed to Old Mathews.
Clarence was very angry, of course. He reflected in silence for a few
moments, then said to Gabriel:
"I think if Don Mariano would make now, to-day, a deed of sale of _all_
his cattle and horses to me, they would have a better chance of being
spared. Not that Mathews, or Gasbang, or Miller like me any better, but
they are not so anxious to annoy me."
"I think Clarence's idea is a good one," George said.
"I think so, too, and have thought so for some time," Gabriel replied.
"We are going to drive off the last lot to-day. Father and Tano are down
in the valley. I'll tell him what you say as soon as I go down. I think
we will return by to-morrow night, and he can draw up the deed then."
"Tell him that I shall consider that the cattle are mine _now_, and will
let our friends, the settlers, know it, so that they can have the
satisfaction of killing _my cattle_."
"Do you really mean it?" Dona Josefa asked.
"Certainly. Don Mariano can buy all the cattle he wants to restock his
rancho after he gets rid of the two-legged animals," Clarence replied.
"That is, if he wants to restock it. He was talking with George and me
last night, and he said if the Texas Pacific is built, he will have all
his land surveyed to sell it in farming lots, and will not put cattle in
it. But if the railroad is not built, then the best use he can make of
the rancho will be to make it a cattle rancho again, after the squatters
go away," Gabriel said, adding that he must be going to join his father.
He then went into the hall to go to the court-yard, where his saddled
horse and his _vaquero_ waited for him. Clarence and George followed to
bid him good-by. Clarence said:
"I wrote to Hubert about procuring for you a place at a bank, to get
broken into the banking business, and he replied that he can, and will
get you a place. Would you like to try it, now that you will have less
to do here, when there will be no cattle at the rancho? I am going to
write and telegraph to Hubert to-day--or he might be down in to-morrow's
steamer--so that I can tell him about what time you might go up."
"I think you had better go about the time Clarence and Mercedes get
married, as they will immediately go to their house in San Francisco,"
George suggested.
"Yes, I think that will be the best time," Gabriel said.
"Very well; I'll write to Hubert that we will be up by the 20th of this
month," Clarence said.
"Gabriel can take his place on the 1st of October. That will do
splendidly, as Lizzie and Mercedes will be together," George said.
"But we must live in the hope that we will all come down to make our
homes here," Gabriel added.
"Of course. That is understood," Clarence replied.
"Though at times I feel discouraged, still, I can't well see how the
Texas Pacific is to be defeated permanently. That would be too
outrageous. Let us hope that by next year our banking scheme will be
carried out," George said.
"I hope so, and as I have made more money than I had when we first
talked about it we can put in more capital. We can, if you advise it,
put in a whole million now," Clarence said.
"So much the better," George said, and both shook hands with Gabriel,
who quickly jumped on his horse and was off at a gallop, followed by his
_vaquero_.
It was the hour when the babies got their morning bath. George had great
pleasure in seeing his boy enjoy the sensation of floating in the water;
so he let Clarence return to the porch where Mercedes was now alone, and
he went to watch the bathing of his boy.
Clarence sat close to Mercedes and said: "Does the sweetest thing that
God created realize that this day is the first day of September?"
"If you mean me, though you make me feel very foolish with your
exaggerated praise, I must say that I do realize that to-day is the
first of September," she replied, smiling.
"And does the loveliest rosebud and the prettiest hummingbird remember
that in two weeks more she is to be mine, mine forever?"
"Hush, Clarence, some one might hear you," she said, putting her hand
over his lips, blushing and looking around, alarmed. He took that hand
and kissed the palm of it, then turned it over and kissed the back of it
most ardently, and held it in his own, saying:
"I have a piece of information that is going to make your dear heart
glad. What will you give for it?"
"What is it? Do tell me. Is it about papa?"
"No, but it is about Gabriel and Lizzie."
"What?"
"That Gabriel will get a place at a San Francisco bank to learn the
banking business, and they will live with us, so you and Lizzie will be
together."
"Oh! Clarence, is that so? Oh! you make me so glad! How can I ever thank
you?"
"Haven't you said that you love me? Haven't you promised to marry me,
and thus make me the happiest man upon the entire face of all this
earth? That is enough for thanks. But for telling you the news I want to
be paid _extra_."
Mercedes blushed crimson.
"I am going to town now, to be away a long time; won't you give me one
single kiss to say good-by?"
"Must you go? Why don't you write your letters or telegrams and send
them from here?"
"Because I may have to answer some dispatches immediately. Or it is
possible that Hubert might have run down to see me for a few hours.
To-morrow is steamer day."
"Then this will be a good chance to send up your photograph I want to
have enlarged and painted."
"Yes; give it to me; I'll send it up."
"I'll bring it," she said, going to the parlor. He followed her. He
closed the door, saying:
"Now, one sweet kiss to give me good luck and bring me back all safe.
P-l-e-a-s-e don't refuse it."
"Oh, Clarence! Mamma don't approve of such things, and I don't either.
You are not my husband yet," she pleaded, but in vain, for he had put
his arm around her and was holding her close to his heart.
"I am not your husband yet? Yes I am. In intention I have been ever
since January, 1872. More than two years, and, in fact, I shall be in
two weeks. So you see how cruel it is to be so distant."
"Do you call this distant, holding me so close?" For sole answer he
looked into her eyes, kissed her forehead and blushing cheeks, then he
kissed the heavily fringed eyelids, kept partly closed, afraid to meet
the radiant gaze of his expressive eyes. Then he put his lips to hers
and held them there in a long kiss of the purest, truest love. "My
darling! My wife! My own for ever! The sweetest, loveliest angel of my
soul!"
No doubt he would have been willing to hold her thus close to his heart
for hours, but she disengaged herself from his embrace with gentle
firmness. Such warm caresses she intuitively felt must be improper in
the highest degree, even on the eve of marriage. No lady could allow
them without surrendering her dignity. That was the effect of Dona
Josefa's doctrines, which she had carefully inculcated into the minds of
her daughters.
"Well, I hope that at last you have kissed me enough," said Mercedes,
rather resentfully.
"Never enough, but I hope sufficiently to give me good luck," answered
the happy Clarence.
"Oh, Clarence, that reminds me of my horrible dream of last night. I
dreamed that papa went to look for you in the midst of a snow storm and
never came back. You returned, but he never did."
"You must not believe in dreams, dearest."
"I do not, but this seemed prophetic to me."
"Prophetic of a snow storm in San Diego?"
"The snow was symbolic of bereavement, perhaps."
She rested her head on his shoulder and seemed lost in thought, and he
held the little hand, so soft and white and well shaped, and thought of
her beauty and lovely qualities and his coming happiness. He was
thinking that he would have been content to pass the day thus, when she
raised her eyes to his, saying:
"I must not keep you if you must go. Remember how superstitious my dream
has made me. I wish you could wait until to-morrow."
"I would, but Hubert might come to-morrow."
"I had forgotten that." One more long kiss and they parted, her heart
sinking under a load of undefined terrors.
From the seventh heaven Clarence had to come down again to prosaic
earth; and after bidding adieu to Mercedes, he drove back home to speak
to his father. The old man was sitting in his easy chair on the porch,
smoking his pipe, alone, behind the curtain of honeysuckle, white
jasmine and roses, so carefully trained over the porch by Mrs. Darrell
and Alice. Seeing his son driving back towards the front steps, he
walked down to meet him. Clarence was glad that he seemed in a better
humor. He at once said:
"Father, I came back to ask a favor of you."
"A favor? You alarm me. You never did that in all your life," he said,
smiling.
"You mean I never did anything else. I know it. But this is a very
especial one, and a business favor."
"Let us hear it. Of course I'll do anything I can for you or any other
of my children."
"Thanks, father. The favor is this. That in talking with the
settlers--especially those who have been most ready to shoot the Don's
cattle--that you tell them I have bought all his stock and all will be
driven to the Colorado river just as soon as cold weather sets in. I
don't think many of the settlers like me any better than they like the
Don, but if they think they might displease _you_ by killing your son's
cattle they might spare the poor animals."
"I'll do it. I expect Mathews and Miller now. They sent me word they are
coming to bring me some special news as soon as Gasbang returns from
town. But have you really and truly bought the stock? or is it only
to--"
"I have made a bona fide purchase; five hundred head are already at the
mine, and as soon as the hot weather is over, the others will follow. I
must buy cattle somewhere, for we have to feed five hundred men now at
work, and as the Don is losing his all the time, I proposed to him to
sell all to me."
"But what is he to do with his land? Queer that he should sell his
cattle when he gets his land. Doesn't he believe he'll get rid of
us--the _squatters_?"
"O yes, but he figures thus: If the Texas Pacific is built, it will pay
better to sell his land in farming lots; if not, he can restock it when
he gets rid of his troublesome neighbors."
"He has more sense than I gave him credit for. I guess you put him up to
that dodge."
"No indeed. He thought it himself, but it seems that Gabriel and George
thought the same thing at the same time, and as I was thinking where I
could get cattle for my mines, it struck me I might buy his and suit us
both."
"All right. I'll speak to the settlers, but of course I cannot promise
that they will do what I ask."
"I understand that. Many thanks. Good-by."
"When will you return?"
"To-morrow," and he was off at a tearing speed for his horses were tired
of waiting, and longed to be on the road.
There was a little _arroyo_ which passed about 500 yards on the west of
Don Mariano's house and marked the west line of Darrell's land; as
Clarence approached this dried brook, he saw Gasbang and Roper coming
down from the opposite hill, evidently unable to check their horses.
Roper was so intoxicated that he could with difficulty keep his seat,
and as Gasbang seemed much frightened, Clarence took his phaeton well
off the road and waited so as to lend his assistance, if it should be
required. But "the kind Providence which takes care of drunken sailors,
children and the United States," was watchful of Roper, and though he
swayed and swung beyond possible equilibrium, he stuck to his seat with
drunken gravity.
"Going to invest in more real estate?" Gasbang shouted as soon as he
felt reassured by passing the great danger of sand and pebbles which his
cowardice had magnified to him into a precipice. Roper laughed heartily,
but Clarence, not understanding the allusion, made no answer and drove
on without looking at them. If a kind fairy could have whispered to him
what was the errand of these two men, he most assuredly would have
turned back. There being no fairy but the blue-eyed one who had already
told her dreams and fears, which he had not believed, he went on to
town, and Gasbang took Roper to his house, carefully putting him to bed
to take a nap that would sober him before he spoke with Darrell; for it
was to speak with Darrell that he came.
While Roper slept, Gasbang went to see Mathews, Miller and Hughes, and
together they held a consultation, at the end of which it was decided
that, as Roper was too intoxicated yet, and Darrell disliked drunkards,
they would go and have a preliminary talk with him themselves, and Roper
would be pressed into service, if advisable, in the morning, when he
would be sober.
Darrell had got tired of waiting for Mathews; so, after thinking of what
Clarence had said, he decided that it would be better to have a talk
with Hancock and Pitikin, who were about the most reliable of all the
settlers. They perhaps knew what it was that Mathews had to say. He told
Webster to saddle a horse and bring it around; he would go on horseback,
as the wagon road to Hancock's was very long, around the fields.
But now when Webster had brought the saddled horse to the front steps,
Darrell saw Mathews, Gasbang, Miller and Hughes coming in a two-seated
wagon, and all seemed to be talking very excitedly.
"Tie the horse there. I'll wait for those men," said Darrell, sitting
down again. Webster did as he was told, and then walked straight
up-stairs to his mother's room. Everett and Alice were with her.
"Mother, if I were you, I would go and sit in the parlor and do my
sewing there by the windows on the piazza, while those bad men are
talking to father," Webster said.
"Why, Webster, go and listen unseen!" Mrs. Darrell exclaimed.
"Certainly, and do it quickly, for those old imps mean mischief to
Clarence."
"To Clarence!" exclaimed Alice and her mother at the same time.
"Yes, mother, Web. might be right. You might just be in time to unmask
some lie against Clary," Everett suggested.
"One thing is sure, that those men already have too much influence over
father, and we have done nothing to oppose it," Alice said. Mrs. Darrell
was silent, then, looking at her children, said:
"You might be right, my children, but that would not justify my
listening at the keyhole." Everett shrugged his shoulders, saying:
"All right, mother. Come on, Web." And both boys left the room. When
they were out, Everett said: "Web, get a horse saddled and tie him at
the back porch for me. I am going to listen from Jane's room; one of her
windows is right over those men. If what I hear makes it necessary for
me to see Clarence, I shall go to town. Get a horse saddled immediately
and come to me."