ALONG THE HIGHWAY
The table was cleared save for three fresh cups newly filled by the
Indian, one at the elbow of each man. Sergeant Cassara lurched across
the room pulling at his belt, and the corporal and soldiers followed at
a respectful distance, and slowly, trying not to show so much interest
in the proceeding that there would be a rebuke from the ensign.
The mule’s owner was chuckling to himself; the caballero sat at the
other end of the table grim and determined.
“I do not pretend to interest myself too much in the business of either
of you gentlemen,” the ensign announced, “yet it seems to me a day or
two at Santa Barbara would not be amiss. Within two days I can get an
excellent horse and you two may take the remainder of your journey
together.”
“I must depart at the earliest possible moment,” the caballero replied.
“And I also,” said the owner of the mule.
“You are determined to play?” queried the ensign. “Then one, I suppose,
will depart as soon as the game is over, and the other remain here
until I can procure a good steed?”
“That is the situation,” his guests agreed.
“Riding the mule, you scarcely can reach another mission by fall of
night.”
“If I am successful in leaving on the mule, I’ll not stop until I reach
the pueblo at Reina de Los Angeles,” the caballero said. “I’ll get food
and drink where and how I can. My business is urgent.”
“There may be more bandits.”
“There are more bullets in my pistols and more thrusts in my sword-arm,
_señor_. I dislike to appear a boaster, but I am inclined to believe I
can care for myself.”
He met the eyes of the mule’s owner, as if there was some special
significance in the words, and for the moment the chuckling of the
latter stopped.
“And you, _señor_?” asked the ensign, turning toward the other end of
the table.
“My plans are similar to those of the caballero, officer. Let us play.”
He began chuckling again; he seemed to be enjoying a rare joke that
the others did not know. Very carefully he turned back the lace of his
cuffs and pulled the sleeves of his jacket a few inches up his arms.
His long, tapering fingers worked for a moment, then he clasped his
hands and waited. The caballero turned back his cuffs also, and put his
hands on the table before him. He never took his eyes from the other
man; he was as calm, apparently, as when duelling with the sergeant.
“Well?” the ensign asked. “What is the game? What are the stakes to
be?”
“Whatever the _señor_ considers the value of his mule,” the caballero
said.
“It seems that mules have risen in demand, and so in value, yet I
will do the fair thing. I stake the beast, saddle and bridle, even my
guitar, also the chance to be the one to proceed along the highway
immediately. And do you, _señor_, put out your gold, piece by piece,
until I have cried enough.”
“It is a fair plan,” the caballero said. He took a purse from his
bosom, opened the mouth of it, and began taking out gold coins, piece
by piece, piling them before him on the table, while the mule’s owner
counted under his breath and the ensign pretended not to be interested,
and the sergeant and the soldiers bent forward, their eyes bulging. Bit
by bit the pile of gold grew, yet the caballero did not hesitate, and
the tenth piece was placed on the table as quickly as the first.
“Hold!” called the mule’s owner, presently. “It is agreeable, _señor_?”
“I am satisfied. As you say, mules have risen in demand and price.”
“Then we play!” He reached to his belt, and drew a pack of cards from
behind it and tossed them on the table. He took dice forth, and placed
them beside the cards.
“Your choice, _señor_?” he asked.
“Let it be cards,” the caballero answered.
“Ah! Cards it is!” He picked up the dice and returned them to his
pocket, and then reached for the pack, and his long fingers shuffled
the bits of pasteboard with a skill born of experience.
“But not that pack of cards, _señor_!” There was a certain ring in the
caballero’s voice that caused the ensign to glance at him sharply and
made the mule’s owner flush. The smile left the latter’s face and his
chuckling ceased again.
“You have objections to this particular pack of cards?” he asked.
“I have indeed, _señor_. This is to be a game of chance, not one of
skill.”
“Just what do you mean by that, _señor_?”
“We are playing for high stakes, perhaps--possibly for more than a mule
and guitar. Suppose we use some deck of cards procured by our good
friend, the sergeant. There will be no question then of--er--undue
familiarity with a certain pack.”
“You mean to insinuate, _señor_, that I would cheat at cards?”
“Would you use my private deck, _señor_, had I one with me?”
“Possibly not.”
“You see? Let us use the sergeant’s cards. I assure you that I have not
touched one of them.”
“So be it!” The mule’s owner shrugged his shoulders. His teeth did not
flash in a smile again. His fists were clenched until the knuckles were
white.
Sergeant Cassara fetched the cards and threw them on the table, then
stood back.
“We will allow the ensign to shuffle them and place them before us,”
the caballero said. “Each of us will then draw a card. The one who
draws the highest will ride away on the mule and take this heap of
gold with him. Is anything simpler?”
“As you say, it is very simple.”
“And you are agreed?”
“Certainly, _señor_.”
Ensign Sanchez drew a deep breath and shuffled the cards. He put the
pack in the middle of the table and looked at his two guests.
“Draw first, _señor_,” the caballero offered.
“Suppose we cut the pack in the middle and discard the top,” said the
other. “It is best to be careful.”
“You dare to insinuate--” began the ensign, starting to get up from his
stool.
“Softly, softly, officer. I insinuate nothing,” the mule’s owner
replied. “Our friend at the other end of the table began this
precaution, and it is no more than polite to continue it. You will cut
the cards and kill the top half of the deck?”
The ensign did as he was requested and sat down again. The mule’s owner
put out a hand and took the top card. He threw it face upward on the
table.
“The ten of diamonds!” he said. “It is my lucky card, _señor_.”
Without hesitation the caballero drew the next card and flipped it over.
“The king of diamonds!” he said. “’Tis by far the luckier card in this
instance, _señor_. I believe the mule is mine?”
“The mule is yours--guitar and all.”
The caballero arose and bowed.
“Then I must depart from this hospitable post as soon as the neophyte
fetches the beast to the door,” he said. “May I add, _señor_, that I
hope you are able to procure a horse within a short time?”
“Your solicitude for my welfare overwhelms me,” said the man who owned
the mule no longer. “I shall be in San Diego de Alcalá before you,
however.”
“Do you wish to make a wager concerning that?”
“A couple of pieces of gold, dear Claudio!”
“Done! It is only fair to say, however, that I shall exchange the mule
for a horse somewhere along the highway. And I shall have many hours
the start of you.”
“Travellers along the highway are stopped at times, my dear Claudio,
even when they carry his excellency’s pass.”
The caballero’s face darkened an instant as he looked at the other
man. Then he laughed nervously, and emptied his wine cup with a single
swallow, and arose. He picked up the guitar and struck a chord or two,
and laughed again, almost in the other’s face. It was bravado and
insolence mingled.
Sergeant Cassara was growling admiration of the caballero’s manner; the
ensign feared trouble between these two guests of his. To the ears of
those in the barracks-room came the tinklings of bells as a neophyte
led the mule to the door.
“I thank you for your hospitality, ensign,” the caballero said.
“Perhaps at some future day you may be my guest. Here are a couple
of pieces of gold--give your soldiers wine in my name. Perhaps the
neophyte will hand a piece to the padre at the mission for me? I have
not the time to stop.”
“I’ll see it done, _señor_,” the ensign replied.
“And do you continue your sword practice, sergeant,” he went on. “You
have the making of a fencer in you, I do believe.”
“Now, by the good saint----”
“As for you, _señor_,” he continued, fating the man who had owned the
mule, “I suppose we’ll meet in San Diego de Alcalá?”
“You may be sure of that, _señor_, if you live to reach the mission
there.”
“_Adios_, then, kind friends! I am none too familiar with the gaits of
a mule, yet no doubt I can make shift to travel. Ah, yes! My guitar!”
He threw the cord around his neck and swung the instrument to his back,
then walked briskly to the door. The others crowded after him, Sergeant
Cassara grinning from ear to ear as he watched the stormy face of the
man who had lost the mule.
The caballero put his own heavy saddle and bridle on the beast and
mounted. Once more he removed his sombrero and bowed to them; and then
he turned the mule’s head, swung the guitar before him, struck a chord,
began to sing, and started off down the slope toward El Camino Real.
Standing in the doorway, they watched until the beast’s hoofs began
kicking up clouds of the red dust. Once the caballero waved his hat at
them, then looked back at the presidio no more. He passed the mission
at a trot, failing to greet a fray who stood beside the wall. He made
a turning where trees shut Santa Barbara from his view, and then he
raked the beast’s sides with his spurs and urged it into a run.
Mile after mile he travelled beneath the burning sun, half choked with
the dust, his sombrero pulled low down over his eyes, always alert
where there was a chance for ambush, now and then stopping at the crest
of a hill to look far ahead on the highway.
Evening came, and he stopped beside a creek to drink and wash the
dust from his face and hands, and to water the mule. And then he went
on through the darkness, having difficulty at times keeping to the
highway, now and then stopping to listen as if for pursuit. The moon
rose, and he urged the mule to greater speed.
He approached San Buenaventura, the dogs howling when they caught the
sound of the mule’s hoofs. An Indian hailed him, but he did not stop.
On and on through the night he rode, mile after mile. Sixty miles from
San Buenaventura to San Fernando mission--a good day’s journey--and he
was determined to make it in half the time!
Day came, and the sun beat down into the valley, merciless alike to
man and beast. He saw a skulking gentile frequently, but always at a
distance, and he knew there was less possibility of bandits here. His
mule was fagged and seemed insensible to the spurs. The dust had caked
on the man’s face, his eyes were swollen, and he suffered from thirst.
Now the highway followed a dry watercourse, and now it ran along the
rim of a hill. On the crests he stopped the mule and looked ahead, but
never behind. It was interruption he feared now, not pursuit. He passed
a flock of sheep being driven toward the north, and the neophytes
herding them looked at him in astonishment when he refused to answer
their respectful salutations. Once more he stopped at a creek to bathe
his eyes and drink, allowing his beast to have but a small amount of
water and to nibble a few minutes at the green growth along the bank.
Noon came; he reached the crest of a hill to see the mission of San
Fernando glistening white in the distance. Urging the mule to greater
speed, he passed a rancho frequently, but did not stop for refreshment.
The mule was trotting with hanging head, negotiating the rough highway
with difficulty.
As he neared the mission the beast staggered and fell, and a neophyte
came running.
“The mule is yours if you can save him,” the caballero said. “Remove
saddle and bridle and bring them after me. Where is the padre?”
“In the storehouse, _señor_.”
The caballero hurried away. The padre had witnessed his arrival and was
walking slowly toward him. They met beside the wall.
“I have immediate need of a good horse, padre,” the caballero said. “I
have gold to pay for the beast.”
“I can get you one in a short time, _señor_. You are hurrying toward
the south?”
“On an urgent matter, padre.”
“These are turbulent times, I am told. If the sainted Serra were still
among the living, to guide us----”
“I have not said I am on business of state.”
“I beg your pardon, _señor_. I was not attempting to interfere in your
personal affairs.”
“I have been riding all night,” the caballero went on. “I came from
Santa Barbara on a mule and almost killed the beast. Get me a horse,
and blessings be upon your head! And food and wine, and a bit of water,
would not be amiss.”
The padre turned and led the way into the nearest building. He placed
food and wine upon a table there, and sent for a horse. A neophyte
entered and removed the caballero’s boots and bathed his feet; another
placed a stone basin of water on the table, so that the traveller could
bathe face and hands.
The horse came, was declared fit, and the heavy bridle and saddle put
on the animal. The caballero, refreshed, mounted and gathered up the
reins.
“A bottle of wine and a package of cold mutton, caballero,” the padre
said, offering them. “No matter how urgent a man’s business, he must
eat and drink to maintain his strength.”
“I thank you, padre. I would give you a piece of gold, if I did not
know you would refuse it. You have given me much--give me now your
blessing and let me go on my way. It is a score of miles to Reina de
Los Angeles, I understand, and I would reach that pueblo by nightfall.”
The padre gave his blessing, and stepped nearer the horse’s head,
seeming to look at the bridle.
“On the north side of the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles,” he said,
“there is a certain inn where some travellers would be none too safe.
As you know, these are turbulent times. On the south side, however,
just around the corner from the chapel, is a pretentious house of adobe
inhabited by a pious man known as Gonzales. In that house a traveller
of the right sort may sleep with reason to believe that his throat will
not be slit before he awakens.”
“I understand, and thank you.”
“You may say that Fray Felipe vouches for you as a gentleman of
honesty.”
“Thank you again, padre. But how can you vouch for me, never having
seen me before?”
“A good priest is able to read men as well as books, caballero. I once
knew a pirate who was at heart an honest man.”
“I am not sure that I gather your full meaning, but I take it for
granted, padre. If you will allow me, I may drop the hint that another
traveller will be along the highway before many hours, coming from the
north. If he is riding a horse to death, it would be a pious act to
delay him until the animal is refreshed.”
“Though you tell me this, having just done your best to slay a mule, I
am of your opinion in the matter. _Adios_, caballero!”
“_Adios_, padre! Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
The caballero put spurs to the horse’s flanks and dashed down the
highway. This was different from riding the mule, for the padre had
supplied him with a noble steed fresh from pasturage, an animal of
spirit eager to cover broad miles at a rapid gait.
He passed other riders now and then, the most of them bound for the
north. Frequently there were flocks of sheep; here and there herds of
cattle grazed beside the highway. Carts drawn by oxen rumbled toward
the mission, carrying loads of grain; lumbering carreta went by, in
which elderly _señoras_ rode, going from one rancho to another, and at
times a dimpled _señorita_ accompanied by a grim _duenna_.
Evening was descending as he neared Reina de Los Angeles. His body
ached, he scarcely could keep his eyes open. Without stopping his
horse, he drank the wine and ate the cold meat the padre had provided.
As he approached nearer the pueblo he forced himself to become alert
again and take stock of his surroundings. He slowed down his mount so
as not to attract undue attention. At the edge of the plaza he stopped
and looked about.
He saw the chapel, made out the inn regarding which Padre Felipe had
warned him, discerned the residence of Gonzales. Toward this he rode,
stopping at the rear and ordering an Indian to fetch out the master. A
few minutes passed and Gonzales stood before him.
“Well, caballero?” he asked.
“Fray Felipe of San Fernando says that you are an honest man, and
vouches for me being one, though he never set eyes on me until this
day.”
“The good padre seldom makes a mistake in estimating a man.”
“I believe he did say that once he knew a pirate with an honest heart.
I have ridden night and day without rest, _señor_. I do not wish for
food at present, yet I would have my horse cared for, and I would like
to sleep soundly until an hour before dawn. Fray Felipe assured me a
man could do that in your house without having his throat slit before
morning.”
“That is true, caballero,” Gonzales said, smiling a little. “The Indian
will care for your horse. Enter, and I will have your couch prepared,
and sit up myself to watch over you. You may trust me, caballero. I am
that pirate of whom the good padre spoke!”