That very day Coronado made a second call on Clara and her Aunt Maria, to
retract, contradict, and disprove all that he had said in favor of the
isthmus and against the overland route.
Although his visit was timed early in the evening, he found Lieutenant
Thurstane already with the ladies. Instead of scowling at him, or
crouching in conscious guilt before him, he made a cordial rush for his
hand, smiled sweetly in his face, and offered him incense of gratitude.
"My dear Lieutenant, you are perfectly right," he said, in his fluent
English. "The journey by the isthmus is not to be thought of. I have just
seen a friend who has made it. Poisonous serpents in myriads. The most
deadly climate in the world. Nearly everybody had the _vomito_; one-fifth
died of it. You eat a little fruit; down you go on your back--dead in four
hours. Then there are constant fights between the emigrants and the
sullen, ferocious Indians of the isthmus. My poor friend never slept with
his revolver out of his hand. I said to him, 'My dear fellow, it is cruel
to rejoice in your misfortunes, but I am heartily glad that I have heard
of them. You have saved the life of the most remarkable woman that I ever
knew, and of a cousin of mine who is the star of her sex.'"
Here Coronado made one bow to Mrs. Stanley and another to Clara, at the
same time kissing his sallow hand enthusiastically to all creation. Aunt
Maria tried to look stern at the compliment, but eventually thawed into a
smile over it. Clara acknowledged it with a little wave of the hand, as
if, coming from Coronado, it meant nothing more than good-morning, which
indeed was just about his measure of it.
"Moreover," continued the Mexican, "overland route? Why, it is overland
route both ways. If you go by the isthmus, you must traverse all Texas and
Louisiana, at the very least. You might as well go at once to San Diego.
In short, the route by the isthmus is not to be thought of."
"And what of the overland route?" asked Mrs. Stanley.
"The overland route is the _other_," laughed Coronado.
"Yes, I know. We must take it, I suppose. But what is the last news about
it? You spoke this morning of Indians, I believe. Not that I suppose they
are very formidable."
"The overland route does not lead directly through paradise, my dear Mrs.
Stanley," admitted Coronado with insinuating candor. "But it is not as bad
as has been represented. I have never tried it. I must rely upon the
report of others. Well, on learning that the isthmus would not do for you,
I rushed off immediately to inquire about the overland. I questioned
Garcia's teamsters. I catechized some newly-arrived travellers. I pumped
dry every source of information. The result is that the overland route
will do. No suffering; absolutely none; not a bit. And no danger worth
mentioning. The Apaches are under a cloud. Our American conquerors and
fellow-citizens" (here he gently patted Thurstane on the shoulder-strap),
"our Romans of the nineteenth century, they tranquillize the Apaches. A
child might walk from here to Fort Yuma without risking its little scalp."
All this was said in the most light-hearted and airy manner conceivable.
Coronado waved and floated on zephyrs of fancy and fluency. A butterfly or
a humming-bird could not have talked more cheerily about flying over a
parterre of flowers than he about traversing the North American desert.
And, with all this frivolous, imponderable grace, what an accent of verity
he had! He spoke of the teamsters as if he had actually conversed with
them, and of the overland route as if he had been studiously gathering
information concerning it.
"I believe that what you say about the Apaches is true," observed
Thurstane, a bit awkwardly.
Coronado smiled, tossed him a little bow, and murmured in the most
cordial, genial way, "And the rest?"
"I beg pardon," said the Lieutenant, reddening. "I didn't mean to cast
doubt upon any of your statements, sir."
Thurstane had the army tone; he meant to be punctiliously polite; perhaps
he was a little stiff in his politeness. But he was young, had had small
practice in society, was somewhat hampered by modesty, and so sometimes
made a blunder. Such things annoyed him excessively; a breach of etiquette
seemed something like a breach of orders; hadn't meant to charge Coronado
with drawing the long bow; couldn't help coloring about it. Didn't think
much of Coronado, but stood somewhat in awe of him, as being four years
older in time and a dozen years older in the ways of the world.
"I only meant to say," he continued, "that I have information concerning
the Apaches which coincides with yours, sir. They are quiet, at least for
the present. Indeed, I understand that Red Sleeve, or Manga Colorada, as
you call him, is coming in with his band to make a treaty."
"Admirable!" cried Coronado. "Why not hire him to guarantee our safety?
Set a thief to catch a thief. Why does not your Government do that sort of
thing? Let the Apaches protect the emigrants, and the United States pay
the Apaches. They would be the cheapest military force possible. That is
the way the Turks manage the desert Arabs."
"Mr. Coronado, you ought to be Governor of New Mexico," said Aunt Maria,
stricken with admiration at this project.
Thurstane looked at the two as if he considered them a couple of fools,
each bigger than the other. Coronado advanced to Mrs. Stanley, took her
hand, bowed over it, and murmured, "Let me have your influence at
Washington, my dear Madame." The remarkable woman squirmed a little,
fearing lest he should kiss her ringers, but nevertheless gave him a
gracious smile.
"It strikes me, however," she said, "that the isthmus route is better. We
know by experience that the journey from here to Bent's Fort is safe and
easy. From there down the Arkansas and Missouri to St. Louis it is mostly
water carriage; and from St. Louis you can sail anywhere."
Coronado was alarmed. He must put a stopper on this project. He called up
all his resources.
"My dear Mrs. Stanley, allow me. Remember that emigrants move westward,
and not eastward. Coming from Bent's Fort you had protection and company;
but going towards it would be different. And then think what you would
lose. The great American desert, as it is absurdly styled, is one of the
most interesting regions on earth. Mrs. Stanley, did you ever hear of the
Casas Grandes, the Casas de Montezuma, the ruined cities of New Mexico? In
this so-called desert there was once an immense population. There was a
civilization which rose, flourished, decayed, and disappeared without a
historian. Nothing remains of it but the walls of its fortresses and
palaces. Those you will see. They are wonderful. They are worth ten times
the labor and danger which we shall encounter. Buildings eight hundred
feet long by two hundred and fifty feet deep, Mrs. Stanley. The
resting-places and wayside strongholds of the Aztecs on their route from
the frozen North to found the Empire of the Montezumas! This whole region
is strewn, and cumbered, and glorified with ruins. If we should go by the
way of the San Juan--"
"The San Juan!" protested Thurstane. "Nobody goes by the way of the San
Juan."
Coronado stopped, bowed, smiled, waited to see if Thurstane had finished,
and then proceeded.
"Along the San Juan every hilltop is crowned with these monuments of
antiquity. It is like the castled Rhine. Ruins looking in the faces of
ruins. It is a tragedy in stone. It is like Niobe and her daughters.
Moreover, if we take this route we shall pass the Moquis. The independent
Moquis are a fragment of the ancient ruling race of New Mexico. They live
in stone-built cities on lofty eminences. They weave blankets of exquisite
patterns and colors, and produce a species of pottery which almost
deserves the name of porcelain."
"Really, you ought to write all this," exclaimed Aunt Maria, her
imagination fired to a white heat.
"I ought," said Coronado, impressively. "I owe it to these people to
celebrate them in history. I owe them that much because of the name I
bear. Did you ever hear of Coronado, the conqueror of New Mexico, the
stormer of the seven cities of Cibola? It was he who gave the final shock
to this antique civilization. He was the Cortes of this portion of the
continent. I bear his name, and his blood runs in my veins."
He held down his head as if he were painfully oppressed by the sense of
his crimes and responsibilities as a descendant of the waster of
aboriginal New Mexico. Mrs. Stanley, delighted with his emotion, slily
grasped and pressed his hand.
"Oh, man! man!" she groaned. "What evils has that creature man wrought in
this beautiful world! Ah, Mr. Coronado, it would have been a very
different planet had woman had her rightful share in the management of its
affairs."
"Undoubtedly," sighed Coronado. He had already obtained an insight into
this remarkable person's views on the woman question, the superiority of
her own sex, the stolidity and infamy of the other. It was worth his while
to humor her on this point, for the sake of gaining an influence over her,
and so over Clara. Cheered by the success of his history, he now launched
into pure poetry.
"Woman has done something," he said. "There is every reason to believe
that the cities of the San Juan were ruled by queens, and that some of
them were inhabited by a race of Amazons."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Aunt Maria, flushing and rustling with
interest.
"It is the opinion of the best antiquarians. It is my opinion. Nothing
else can account for the exquisite earthenware which is found there.
Women, you are aware, far surpass men in the arts of beauty. Moreover, the
inscriptions on hieroglyphic rocks in these abandoned cities evidently
refer to Amazons. There you see them doing the work of men--carrying on
war, ruling conquered regions, founding cities. It is a picture of a
golden age, Mrs. Stanley."
Aunt Maria meant to go by way of the San Juan, if she had to scalp
Apaches herself in doing it.
"Lieutenant Thurstane, what do you say?" she asked, turning her sparkling
eyes upon the officer.
"I must confess that I never heard of all these things," replied
Thurstane, with an air which added, "And I don't believe in most of them."
"As for the San Juan route," he continued, "it is two hundred miles at
least out of our way. The country is a desert and almost unexplored. I
don't fancy the plan--I beg your pardon, Mr. Coronado--but I don't fancy
it at all."
Aunt Maria despised him and almost hated him for his stupid, practical,
unpoetic common sense.
"I must say that I quite fancy the San Juan route," she responded, with
proper firmness.
"I venture to agree with you," said Coronado, as meekly as if her fancy
were not of his own making. "Only a hundred miles off the straight line
(begging your pardon, my dear Lieutenant), and through a country which is
naturally fertile--witness the immense population which it once supported.
As for its being unexplored, I have explored it myself; and I shall go
with you."
"Shall you!" cried Aunt Maria, as if that made all safe and delightful.
"Yes. My excellent Uncle Garcia (good, kind-hearted old man) takes the
strongest interest in this affair. He is resolved that his charming little
relative here, La Señorita Clara, shall cross the continent in safety and
comfort. He offers a special wagon train for the purpose, and insists that
I shall accompany it. Of course I am only too delighted to obey him."
"Garcia is very good, and so are you, Coronado," said Clara, very thankful
and profoundly astonished. "How can I ever repay you both? I shall always
be your debtor."
"My dear cousin!" protested Coronado, bowing and smiling. "Well, it is
settled. We will start as soon as may be. The train will be ready in a day
or two."
"I have no money," stammered Clara. "The estate is not settled."
"Our good old Garcia has thought of everything. He will advance you what
you want, and take your draft on the executors."
"Your uncle is one of nature's noblemen," affirmed Aunt Maria. "I must
call on him and thank him for his goodness and generosity."
"Oh, never!" said Coronado. "He only waits your permission to visit you
and pay you his humble respects. Absence has prevented him from attending
to that delightful duty heretofore. He has but just returned from
Albuquerque."
"Tell him I shall be glad to see him," smiled Aunt Maria. "But what does
he say of the San Juan route?"
"He advises it. He has been in the overland trade for thirty years. He is
tenderly interested in his relative Clara; and he advises her to go by way
of the San Juan."
"Then so it shall be," declared Aunt Maria.
"And how do you go, Lieutenant?" asked Coronado, turning to Thurstane.
"I had thought of travelling with you," was the answer, delivered with a
grave and troubled air, as if now he must give up his project.
Coronado was delighted. He had urged the northern and circuitous route
mainly to get rid of the officer, taking it for granted that the latter
must join his new command as soon as possible. He did not want him
courting Clara all across the continent; and he, did not want him saving
her from being lost, if it should become necessary to lose her.
"I earnestly hope that we shall not be deprived of your company," he said.
Thurstane, in profound thought, simply bowed his acknowledgments. A few
minutes later, as he rose to return to his quarters, he said, with an air
of solemn resolution, "If I can possibly go with you, I _will_."
All the next day and evening Coronado was in and out of the Van Diemen
house. Had there been a mail for the ladies, he would have brought it to
them; had it contained a letter from California, he would have abstracted
and burnt it. He helped them pack for the journey; he made an inventory of
the furniture and found storeroom for it; he was a valet and a spy in one.
Meantime Garcia hurried up his train, and hired suitable muleteers for the
animals and suitable assassins for the travellers. Thurstane was also
busy, working all day and half of the night over his government accounts,
so that he might if possible get off with Clara.
Coronado thought of making interest with the post-commandant to have
Thurstane kept a few days in Santa Fé. But the post-commandant was a grim
and taciturn old major, who looked him through and through with a pair of
icy gray eyes, and returned brief answers to his musical commonplaces.
Coronado did not see how he could humbug him, and concluded not to try it.
The attempt might excite suspicion; the major might say, "How is this your
business?" So, after a little unimportant tattle, Coronado made his best
bow to the old fellow, and hurried off to oversee his so-called cousin.
In the evening he brought Garcia to call on the ladies. Aunt Maria was
rather surprised and shocked to see such an excellent man look so much
like an infamous scoundrel. "But good people are always plain," she
reasoned; and so she was as cordial to him as one can be in English to a
saint who understands nothing but Spanish. Garcia, instructed by Coronado,
could not bow low enough nor smile greasily enough at Aunt Maria. His dull
commonplaces moreover, were translated by his nephew into flowering
compliments for the lady herself, and enthusiastic professions of faith in
the superior intelligence and moral worth of all women. So the two got
along famously, although neither ever knew what the other had really said.
When Clara appeared, Garcia bowed humbly without lifting his eyes to her
face, and received her kiss without returning it, as one might receive the
kiss of a corpse.
"Contemptible coward!" thought Coronado. Then, turning to Mrs. Stanley, he
whispered, "My uncle is almost broken down with this parting."
"Excellent creature!" murmured Aunt Maria, surveying the old toad with
warm sympathy. "What a pity he has lost one eye! It quite injures the
benevolent expression of his face."
Although Garcia was very distantly connected with Clara, she gave him the
title of uncle.
"How is this, my uncle?" she said, gaily. "You send your merchandise
trains through Bernalillo, and you send me through Santa Anna and Rio
Arriba."
Garcia, cowed and confounded, made no reply that was comprehensible.
"It is a newly discovered route," put in Coronado, "lately found to be
easier and safer than the old one. Two hundred and fifty years in learning
the fact, Mrs. Stanley! Just as we were two hundred and fifty years
without discovering the gold of California."
"Ah!" said Clara. Absent since her childhood from New Mexico, she knew
little about its geography, and could be easily deceived.
After a while Thurstane entered, out of breath and red with haste. He had
stolen ten minutes from his accounts and stores to bring Miss Van Diemen a
piece of information which was to him important and distressing.
"I fear that I shall not be able to go with you," he said. "I have
received orders to wait for a sergeant and three recruits who have been
assigned to my company. The messenger reports that they are on the march
from Fort Bent with an emigrant train, and will not be here for a week. It
annoys me horribly, Miss Van Diemen. I thought I saw my way clear to be of
your party. I assure you I earnestly desired it. This route--I am afraid
of it--I wanted to be with you."
"To protect me?" queried Clara, her face lighting up with a grateful
smile, so innocent and frank was she. Then she turned grave, again, and
added, "I am sorry."
Thankful for these last words, but nevertheless quite miserable, the
youngster worshipped her and trembled for her.
This conversation had been carried on in a quiet tone, so that the others
of the party had not overheard it, not even the watchful Coronado.
"It is too unfortunate," said Clara, turning to them, "Lieutenant
Thurstane cannot go with us."
Garcia and Coronado exchanged a look which said, "Thank--the devil!"