RODEO TIME
In those days of large leisure and cyclonic bursts of excitement and
activity; of midday siestas and moonlight serenades--and a duel,
perchance, at sunrise--the spring rodeo was one of the year's events, to
be looked forward to all winter by the vaqueros; and when it was over,
to be talked of afterwards for months. A mark from which to measure the
passing of time, it was; a date for the fixing of incidents in the
memory of men.
In the valley of Santa Clara, rodeo time really began when the Picardo
vaqueros cinched saddles upon restive mustangs some misty morning, and
with shouts and laughter and sombreros waving high over black heads in
adieu to those who remained behind, swept down the slope like a charge
of gayly caparisoned cavalry, driving the loose saddle horses before
them. Past the stone and adobe wall of the home pasture, past the fences
where the rails were held to their posts with rawhide thongs, which the
coyotes sometimes chewed to pulp and so made extra work for the peons,
they raced, exultant with life. Slim young Spaniards they were, clothed
picturesquely in velvet and braid and gay sashes; with cumbersome, hairy
chaparejos, high-crowned sombreros and big-roweled, silver spurs to mark
their calling; caballeros to flutter the heart of a languorous-eyed
señorita, and to tingle the pulse of the man who could command and see
them ride gallantly to do his bidding.
Fairly in the midst of them, quite as gaudy to look upon and every whit
as reckless in their horsemanship, rode Dade and Jack. If their hearts
were not as light, their faces gave no sign; and their tongues flung
back the good-humored jibes of their fellows in Spanish as fluent as any
they heard.
When they left the highway and rode straight down the valley through the
mustard that swept the chests of their plunging horses with dainty
yellow and green, the two fell behind and slowing their horses to an
easy lope, separated themselves from their exuberant fellows.
"I wish you were going along," Dade observed tritely. "If José Pacheco
changes his mind and stays at home, I'll send you word and you can come
on, if you want to."
"Thanks." Jack's tone, however, did not sound thankful. "If I wanted to
go, do you think I'd hang back because he's going?"
"No, I don't. I think the prospect of a fine, large row would be a
temptation; and I must say I'm kinda surprised that you've been able to
resist it. Still, I realize there's compensations."
"Sure, there are. I never denied it, did I?"
"Never. I reckon you've sent by Bill Wilson for a trumpet to proclaim--"
"Oh, shut up. I think," Jack decided suddenly and without any visible
cause, "I'll turn off here and ride around by Jerry Simpson's. Adios,
old man, and heaps of good luck to you." He swung abruptly off to the
right and galloped away, looking back over his shoulder when he had
ridden a hundred paces, to wave his sombrero and shout a last word or
two of farewell.
"Truly, José will be disappointed when he does not see Señor Jack
amongst us," smiled Valencia, reining in beside Dade and looking after
the departing horseman with friendly eyes. "Though if he had good sense,
he would be thankful. Me, I should not like to have trouble with that
friend of yours, Señor. In San Francisco they talk yet of that day when
he fired three times from a galloping horse and killed three men. Dios!
That was pretty shooting. I would have given much to see it. There will
be few men so bold now as to make war with that blue-eyed hombre; but
José is a fool, when his will is crossed. Me, I fight--yes, and love the
heat of fighting in my blood; but I do not bellow threats before, as
José has been doing. Carramba! To hear him, one would think he believed
that men may die of curses; if they did, the Señor Jack would be lying
now with candles burning at his head and his feet! Truly, love takes the
sense out of a man quicker than wine."
Dade agreed with him, though his lips did not open to form any words
upon the subject.
Their first stopping place was José's ranch down near Santa Clara, and
he wondered just how far José's hatred of him would interfere with the
traditions of hospitality. It was not likely that José's vaqueros would
be ready to start that day; and although he carried his own camp
equipment on pack-horses, and, guided by Valencia, ordered the camp set
up in its accustomed place beside a little stream half a mile from the
house, he sent many a questioning glance that way.
If he feared a hostile reception, he was soon reassured. José and Manuel
speedily appeared, galloping side-by-side through the lush yellow and
green. José's manner was irreproachable, his speech carefully
considered. If his eyes lacked their usual warm glow of friendliness,
it was because he could not bring that look at will to beam upon the
guest whom his heart failed to welcome. He invited Dade to dinner with
him; and Dade, hoping to establish a better understanding between them,
accepted.
Dade had not lived half his life amongst the dark-skinned race for
nothing. He sipped the home-made wine with José, talked of many things
in his soft, easy-natured drawl, and by letting his inner friendliness
with the whole world look out of his eyes when they dwelt upon his host,
went José one better in courtesy. And José, sauntering afterward across
the patio to the porch, met Manuel face to face and paid tribute to Don
Andres' new majordomo in a single sentence.
"If all gringos were like this Señor Hunter, one could tolerate their
coming to live amongst us," he said frankly.
"Sí," grudged Manuel. "But then, he is not all gringo. Many years he
dwelt with our people in Texas, so that he has the Spanish ways; but me,
I want none of him."
José laughed without much mirth to lighten the sound. "The blue-eyed
one--did you find from the vaqueros why he did not come? He need not
have been afraid of me--not if his fame was earned honestly." If his
tone were patronizing, José perhaps had some excuse, since Fame had not
altogether passed him by with face averted.
"Part of the way he came, and turned back. The vaqueros do not know why,
except Valencia. And Valencia--he is growing a gringo heart, like the
patron. He will speak nothing but boasts of what that blue-eyed one can
do. Me, I came near fighting with Valencia; only he would not do
anything but smile foolishly, when I told him what I think of traitors
like himself."
"Let him smile," advised José, "while he may." Which was not a threat,
in spite of its resemblance to one, but rather a vague reference to the
specter of trouble that stalks all men as a fox stalks a quail, and
might some day wipe that broad smile from the face of Valencia, as it
had swept all the gladness from his own.
He went back and smoked a final cigarette in Dade's company; and if he
said little, his silences held no hint of antagonism. It was not until
Dade rose to return to camp for the night that José put the question
that had tickled the tongue of him ever since the arrival on his ranch
of the Picardo vaqueros.
"Your friend, the Señor Allen--he is to join you later, perhaps?"
"Jack was left to look after the ranch." Dade's eyes were level in
their glance, his voice quiet with the convincing ring of truth. "He
won't be on rodeo at all."
José went paler than he had been two weeks before with his hurt, but a
simple word of polite surprise held all his answer. For Jack to stay at
home, to be near Teresita every day, to have nothing in the way of his
love-making--nothing, since those doting two, her parents, would but
smile at whatever she might choose to do--there was acid enough in that
thought to eat away all the warmth, all the generosity José possessed.
He let Dade go without even the perfunctory phrases of regret, which
custom had made almost compulsory; and Manuel, sitting in silent wrath
upon the porch, listened to the steady footfalls moving up and down the
room behind him until the moon, that had been shining in his smoldering
eyes, slipped over the red tiles of the roof and left all but the
tree-tops in black shade.
"Dios! There will be one gringo the less when those two meet," he
muttered, staring at the tiny glow of his cigarette; and afterward
folded his arms tightly over a chest that heaved with the impatience
within. When those two met, Manuel meant to be there also to see. "Me, I
should like to drag him to death with the six-strand riata he despised!"
was the beautiful thought he took to bed with him.
Sunshine was lifting the morning fog high above the tree-tops when the
old, gray mare, whose every movement tinkled the bell hung around her
neck, shook her rough coat vigorously to free it from the moisture which
the fog had left; and so jangled a peremptory summons to the herd of
saddle horses that bore the brand of Don Andres Picardo upon their right
thighs. At the camp upon the bank of the Guadalupe, the embaladors were
shouting curses, commands, jokes, and civilities to one another while
they brought orderly packs out of the chaos of camp-equipment that
littered the ground.
The vaqueros were saddling their mounts and fairly bubbling with a
purely animal joy in the open; and Dade, his cigarette sending up a tiny
ribbon of aromatic smoke as if he were burning incense before the altar
of the soul of him that looked steadfastly out of his eyes, walked among
them with that intangible air of good-fellowship which is so hard to
describe, but which carries more weight among men than any degree of
imperious superiority. Valencia looked up and flashed him a smile as he
came near; and Pancho, the lean vaquero with the high beak and the
tender heart, turned to see what Valencia was smiling at and gave
instant glimpse of his own white teeth when he saw Dade behind him.
"To-day will be hot, Señor," he said. "Me, I wish we were already at
Tres Pinos."
"No, you don't," grinned Dade, "for then you would not have the Sunal
rancho before you, to build hopes upon, but behind you--and hope, they
say, is sweeter than memory, Pancho."
Pancho, being ugly to look upon, liked to be rallied upon the one
señorita in the valley whose eyes brightened at sight of him. He grinned
gratifiedly and said no more.
A faint medley of sounds blended by distance turned heads towards the
east; and presently, breasting the mustard field that lay level and
yellow to the hills, came José's squad of vaqueros, with José himself
leading the group at a pace that was recklessly headlong, his crimson
sash floating like a pennant in the breeze he stirred to life as he
charged down upon them.
"Only for the silver trimmings, you looked like a band of warlike Injuns
coming down on us with the sun at your back," laughed Dade, as José
swung down near him. "They're riders--the Indians back there on the
plains; and when they pop over a ridge and come down on you like a tidal
wave, your backbone squirms a little in spite of you. The way your
vaqueros parted and galloped around our camp was a pretty good imitation
of their preliminary flourishes."
"Still, I do not come in war," José returned, and looked full at the
other. "I hope that we shall have peace, Señor Hunter; though one day I
shall meet that friend of yours in war, if the saints permit. And may
the day come soon."
"Whatever quarrel you may have with Jack, I hope it will not hinder us
from working together without bad feeling between us." Dade threw away
his cigarette and took a step nearer, so that the vaqueros could not
hear.
"Don José, I know you don't like a gringo major domo to lead Don Andres'
vaqueros on rodeo. I don't blame you Californians for being prejudiced
against Americans, because you've been treated pretty shabbily by a
certain class of them. But you're not so narrow you can't see that we're
not all alike. I'd like to be friends, if you will, but I'm not going to
apologize for being a gringo, nor for being here in charge of this camp.
I didn't choose my nationality, and I didn't ask for my job. I'll give
you a square deal, and I want you to know that if there's any grudge
between us, it's all on your side."
José's fingers fumbled the little corn-husk wrapping for the cigarette
he meant to make. "Señor, I repeat what I said to Manuel last night," he
said, after a pause. "If all gringos were like you, we Californians
would like the name better. But I thought you would stand by your
friend--"
"And so I will, to the last--" Not being of a theatrical temperament,
Dade balked at protestations of his loyalty. "Jack and I have worked and
fought and played elbow to elbow for a long time, Don José. But I don't
mix into his personal quarrels, unless I see him getting a crooked deal.
I believe you'll fight fair. The rest lies between you two."
"But is it not your boast that the Señor Allen is the supreme caballero
of California?" José was frank, at least, and Dade liked him the better
for it. "For three years I have held the medalla oro [gold medal] for
riding and for riata throwing; if it is true that you boast--"
Dade, as was the way of him when disgust or chagrin seized him, flung
out both hands impatiently. "I did say he couldn't be beat. I said it to
Manuel, when Manuel was sneering that Jack didn't know a good riata from
a bad one. I won't take it back. I haven't seen your work in the saddle,
Don José. I have seen Jack's, and I never saw any better. So, until I
do, I can believe he's the best, can't I?"
"Sí." José smiled without effort. "You are honest, Señor Hunter, and
that pleases me well. I do not like you less because you are loyal to
your friend; but that friend I hope one day to kill." He looked at the
other questioningly. "Now I am honest also," his eyes said plainly.
"That's your affair and Jack's, as long as you don't try to get him when
he isn't looking."
"I am not an assassin, Señor Hunter," José retorted stiffly.
"Then we understand each other, I guess. Let's get these fellows
started. It's going to be hot, they say, and the horses are soft yet--at
least, ours are. We took them off pasture yesterday, most of them."
"Mine are the same, Señor. But to-day's marcha will be an easy one. To
Sunal Rancho is not far." He turned to remount and give the signal for
starting. And with a little of the pride that had impelled Jack to show
off his skill that day when the Captain of the Committee commanded him
to mount the buckskin, José also vaulted into the saddle without
deigning to touch the stirrup.
There was doubt in the señor's mind about his horsemanship being the
best in all California? Very good. The señor would have the opportunity
to judge for himself. Still, José had put to sleep most of his
antagonism towards Dade, and his attitude of friendliness was not so
deliberately forced as Manuel, watching eagerly for the first sign of a
clash, believed it to be.