THE DUEL OF RIATAS
"They're riding the last bull," announced Dade, coming into the room
again where Jack was dressing for the supreme test of the day. "I've got
your plan for the ground explained to Valencia and Pancho, and Diego's
shining Surry up till you can see your face in him. You ought to be
thankful there's somebody on the lookout as faithful as that Injun. I
just discovered he hasn't had a bite to eat since last night, because he
wouldn't leave Surry long enough to get anything. I hope you're
grateful."
"I am," said Jack shortly. "But I've no business to be. Right now I
don't believe much in the sloppy whine of gratitude or the limber-backed
prayer for mercy. Thankful or not, we get what we get. Fate hands it out
to us; and we may as well take it and keep our mouths shut."
"That's the result of cooping yourself in here all day, just thinking
and smoking cigarettes," grumbled Dade, himself worried to the point of
nervous petulance. If he could have taken his own riata and fought
also, he would have been much nearer his usual calm, humorous self.
"Say, I told José the rules you suggested, and he agreed to every one
like a gentleman. He just came, and Manuel with him leading the horse
José means to use; a big, black brute with a chest on him like a lion.
His crowd stood on their hind legs and yelled themselves purple when
they saw him come riding up."
"Well, that's what they've come for--to yell over José." Jack held three
new neckties to the light, trying to choose the one he would wear.
"Say--" Dade hesitated, looking doubtfully at the other.
"Well? Say it." Jack chose a deep crimson and flung the loop over his
head as if he were arraying himself for a ball.
"It may be some advantage to know ... I've watched José lasso cattle; he
always uses--"
"Step right there!" Jack swung to face him. "I don't want to know how
José works with his riata. He don't know any of my little kinks, don't
you see? I never," he added, after a little silence, "started out with
the deliberate intention of killing a man, before. I can't take any
advantage, Dade; you know that, just as well as I do." He tried to
smile, to soften the rebuff--and he failed.
Dade went up and laid a contrite hand upon his shoulder. "You're a
better man than I am, Jack," he asserted humbly. "But it's hell for me
to stand back and let you go into this thing alone. I've got piles of
confidence in you, old boy--but José never got that medal by saying
'pretty, please' and holding out his hand. The best lassoer in
California means something. And he means to kill you--"
"If I'll let him," put in Jack, stretching his lips in what passed for a
grin.
"I know--but you've been off the range for two years, just about; and
you've had a little over three weeks to make up for that lost practice."
His eyes caught their two reflections in the glass, and something in
Jack's made him smile ruefully. "Kick me good," he advised. "I need it.
I've got nerves worse than any old woman. I know you'll come out on top.
You always do. But--what'n hell made you say riatas?"
"What'n hell made you brag about me to Manuel?" Jack came back
instantly, and was sorry for it when he saw how Dade winced. "Honest,
I'm not a bit scared. I know what I can do, and I'm not worrying."
"You are. I never saw you so queer as you have been since I came back.
You're no more like yourself than--"
"Well--but it ain't the duel altogether." Jack hesitated. "Say, Dade!
Did--er--did Teresita take in all the sports? Bull fight and all?"
"Yes. She and that friend of hers from the Mission were in the front row
having the time of their lives. Is that talk true about--" Dade eyed him
sharply.
"You go on and get things ready. In five minutes I'll expect to make my
little bow to Fate."
Outside in the sunshine, men waited and clamored greedily for more
excitement. All day they had waited for the duel, at most merely
appeased by the other sports; and now, with José actually among them,
and with the wine they had drunk to heat their blood and the
mob-psychology working its will of them, they were scarce human, but
rather a tremendous battle beast personified by dark, eager faces and
tongues that wagged continually and with prejudice.
A group of spur-jingling vaqueros, chosen because of their well-broken
mounts, rode out in front of the adobe corral and the expectant
audience, halted and dispersed to their various stations as directed by
Dade, clear-voiced, steady of glance, unemotional, as if he were in
charge of a bit of work from habit gone stale.
He might confess to "nerves" in private; in public, there were men who
marveled at his calm.
Riatas uncoiled and with each end fastened to a saddle horn, the
vaqueros filed out from the corral in two straight lines, with Dade and
Valencia to lead the way. When they were placed to Dade's liking, the
riatas fenced in a rectangle two hundred yards long, and one-third that
distance across. At each riata length, all down the line, a vaquero sat
quiet upon his horse, a living fence-post holding the riata fence tight
and straight. Down the middle of the arena thus formed easily with
definite boundaries, peons were stretching, upon forked stakes, a rope
spliced to reach the whole six hundred feet--save that a space of fifty
feet was left open at each end so that the combatants might, upon
occasion, change sides easily.
Twice Dade paced the width of the area to make sure that the dividing
line marked the exact center. When the last stake was driven deep and
the rope was knotted securely in place, he rode straight to the corral
and pulled up before the judges' stand for his final announcement.
It was a quiet crowd now that he faced. A mass of men and women, tense,
silent, ears and eyes strained to miss no smallest detail. He had no
need to lift his hand for their attention; he had it--had it to the
extent that every man there was unconscious of his neighbor. That roped
area was something new, something they had not been expecting. Also the
thing Dade told them sounded strange to these hot-blooded ones, who had
looked forward to a whirlwind battle, with dust and swirling riatas and
no law except the law of chance and superior skill and cunning.
"The two who will fight with riatas for the medalla oro and for the
prize which Don Andres offers to the victor," he began, "have agreed
upon certain rules which each has promised to observe faithfully, that
skill rather than luck may be the chief factor in the fight. These are
the rules of the contest:
"None but those two, Don José Pacheco and Señor Allen, will be permitted
within the square we have marked off for them after the first signal
shot is fired. They will toss a coin for first position and will start
from opposite ends of the ground. At the signal, which will be a pistol
shot, they will mount and ride with the center rope between them. Upon
meeting"--he stopped long enough for a quick smile--"they will try what
they can do. If both miss, they will coil their riatas and hang them
from the horn, and ride on to the end; there they will dismount and wait
for the second signal for starting.
"They will repeat these maneuvers until the contest is decided, one way
or the other, but at no time will they start before the signal is given.
"Remember, no one else will be permitted inside the line, at any time;
also, neither of the contestants may pass the dividing line unless he
has the other at his mercy--when--he may cross if he chooses." It cost
Dade something, that last sentence, but he said it firmly; repeated the
rules more briefly in English and rode out of the square, a vaquero
slackening the first riata of the line to leave a space for him to pass.
And as he went, there was nothing in his manner to show how ticklish he
felt the situation to be.
Only, when he came upon Jack, just riding out from the stable upon
Surry, his lips drew tight and thin. But he merely waved his hand and
went on to tell José that he wanted Manuel to give the signals, for then
all would be sure that there would be no unfairness.
He was gone perhaps two minutes; yet when he returned with Manuel
glowering beside him, that fenced area was lined four deep with horsemen
all around; and so had they segregated themselves instinctively, friend
with friend, that the northern side was a mass of bright colors to show
that there stood the Spanish caballeros; and opposite them, a more
motley showing and yet a more sinister one, stood the Americanos, with
Bill Wilson pressed against the rope half-way down the line, and beside
him big Jerry Simpson, lounging upon Moll, his black mule.
Instinctively, Dade rode around to them, beckoning Manuel to follow; and
placed him between Jerry and Bill; explained that Manuel was to fire the
starting signals, and smiled his thanks when Jerry promptly produced one
of his "twins" and placed it in Manuel's hands.
"P'int her nose in the air, mister, when you turn her loose," he advised
solemnly. "She's loaded fur b'ar!"
"Keep your eyes open," Dade warned Bill Wilson when he turned to ride
back; and Bill nodded understandingly. Bill, for that matter, usually
did keep his eyes open, and to such purpose that nothing escaped them.
Back at the corral, Dade saw Jack waiting upon Surry in the shade of the
adobe wall until the moment came for entering the arena. Near to him,
José calmed his big, black horse and waited also, cold hauteur the
keynote of his whole attitude. Dade waved his hand to them, and they
followed him into the empty rectangle. From the crowd came a rustle as
of a gust of wind through tree-tops; then they were still again, watching
and waiting and listening.
Those for whom they had watched all day at last stood side by side
before them; and the picture they made must have pleased the most
exacting eye that looked down upon them.
For José was all black and silver, from the tasseled, silver cord upon
his embroidered sombrero to the great silver rowels of his spurs. Black
velvet jacket, black velvet breeches with silver braid glistening in
heavy, intricate pattern; black hair, black eyes--and a black frown,
withal, and for good reason, perhaps. For, thinking to win a smile from
her who had sent the glove and the message, José looked towards the
nearest and most comfortable seat, where Teresita sat, smiling and
resplendent, between her mother and Rosa. He had looked, had José, and
had seen her smile; but he saw that it was not at him she smiled, but at
Jack. It is true, the smile may have been merely scornful; but José was
in no mood for nice analysis, and the hurt was keen enough because she
smiled at all, and it made his mood a savage one.
Jack was all white and red save for the saddle, which was black with
silver trimmings; and Surry, milk white from ears to heel, served to
complete the picture satisfyingly. Diego must have put an extra crimp in
mane and tail, for the waves were beautiful to behold; he had surely
polished the hoofs so that they shone; and nature had done the rest,
when she made Surry the proud, gentle, high-stepping animal he was. Jack
wore breeches and jacket of soft, white leather--and none but Bill
Wilson knew what they had cost in time, trouble, and money. A red, silk
sash was knotted about his middle; the flaming, crimson tie fluttered
under his chin; and he was bareheaded, so that his coppery hair lifted
from his untanned forehead in the breeze, and made many a señorita's
pulse quicken admiringly. For Jack, think what you will of him
otherwise, was extremely good to look upon.
"Heads for Don José!" A Mexican dollar, spun high in air from Dade's
fingers, glittered and fell straight. Three heads bent to see which side
came uppermost, and thousands of necks craned futilely.
"Don José will choose his starting-point," Dade called out. "But first
the two will lead their horses over the ground, so that they may make
sure that there are no holes or stones to trip them."
Even in that preliminary, they showed how differently two persons will
go about doing the same thing. José, trailing immense, silver
spur-rowels, walked with the bridle reins looped over his arm, his eyes
examining critically every foot of the ground as he passed.
Jack, loosening his riata as he dismounted, caught the loop over the
high horn and let the rope drop to the ground. He wore no spurs; and as
for Surry, he had no bridle and bit, but a hackamore instead.
Jack threw the reins over the neck of the horse. "Come, old fellow," he
said, quite as if he were speaking to a person, and started off. And
Surry, his neck arched, his ears perked knowingly, stepped out after him
with that peculiar, springy gait that speaks eloquently of perfect
muscles and a body fairly vibrating with energy; the riata trailed after
him, every little tendency towards a kink taken out of it.
"Dios! What a caballo is that white one!" Dade heard a Salinas man
exclaim, and flushed at the praise.
Back they came, Jack and Surry, with Jack ten feet in advance of the
horse; for José had chosen to remain at the southern end, with the sun
at his left shoulder. Jack, for all his eagerness to begin, found time
to shake hands with Bill and say a word to some others as he passed--and
those eyes up there that watched did not miss one single movement.
"Look, you! The gringo is telling his friends adios while he may!" some
one shouted loudly from across the arena; and a great laugh roared from
the throats that were dark, and handclapping at the witticism made the
speaker a self-conscious caballero indeed.
At the corral, which was his starting-point, Jack took up the dragging
riata, and with his handkerchief wiped off the dust while he coiled it
again; hung it over the saddle horn and waited for the signal.
He was scowling now at certain remarks that came to his ears from the
seats, with titters and chuckles to point their wit. But he sent a
cheering eye-signal to Dade, whose face was strained and noticeably
white under the tan.
Half-way down the line, among the Americans, there was a little stir,
and then a pistol barked with that loud crash which black powder makes.
Jack, on the instant when the smoke curled up in a little, balloon-like
puff, turned and leaped into the saddle. The duel of riatas was begun.