A TRAGEDY
Señor Lopez turned from the window of the guest house and threw wide
his arms in a gesture meant to indicate that there was a finality to
his statement that would brook no reply.
“It is madness, Rojerio Rocha!” he exclaimed. “You are a wounded man!”
“Wounded? A scratch in the shoulder! My neophyte servant lost twice the
blood, and he is as active as ever this morning. Would you have me show
less endurance than an Indian cur?”
“You do not realise the state of the times, _señor_. You heard what the
_comandante_ said yesterday when he passed this way in pursuit of the
odious Captain Fly-by-Night? ‘’Tis a widespread revolt,’ he said, ‘and
may break out at any time. This Fly-by-Night heads it. He is here to
see the culmination of his plans.’ Would that you had run him through!”
“I would that I had, _señor_!”
“In the shadows of our mission walls he has met his gentiles and
conspired, no doubt. We do not know which of the natives here at the
mission are corrupted and which are loyal. Now that his conspiracy is
known and he has been driven to the hills, he may gather his horde of
savages and attack at any time. So I say it would be madness, Rojerio
Rocha, for you to go to the rancho this morning.”
The younger man stopped pacing the room and stood before the fireplace
in an attitude of determination.
“Rumours of Indian uprisings are as thick as buds on a pepper-tree,” he
said. “The rancho is only five miles from the mission. Señorita Anita
and Señora Vallejo can ride in a carreta while we ride horses. I am
anxious to see the rancho of which I have inherited the half. Things
may be going to ruin there.”
“Of course, there are the soldiers--” Lopez began.
“Let some of them accompany us. They are looking for this Captain
Fly-by-Night, and they are as like to find him in the neighbourhood of
the rancho as elsewhere. Your Indians will not attack if we have half a
dozen troopers along, and they will not attack in daytime at any rate.
If things do not look as they should we can return this evening. It is
but a journey of five miles.”
“Your argument is a good one, Rojerio Rocha, but I still think it would
be madness to make the trip.”
“I wish it. I am tired of the mission already. Was it not the intention
for me to take over the rancho immediately and wed Señorita Anita after
a proper interval? If you hope to be continued in the post of manager,
Señor Lopez, do not begin our acquaintance by opposing everything I
wish.”
Lopez turned away at that and walked to the window again, although he
did not like the tone of this Rojerio Rocha and imagined there were
unpleasant times ahead. And now the mild Señora Vallejo crossed the
room to rest a hand on the younger man’s arm.
“Perhaps it would be better, Señor Rocha, to take the advice of Señor
Lopez,” she said, in her soft voice.
“You are a very good woman, _señora_,” he replied, “but a poor
contributor to a council of men’s intentions.”
The _señora_, her face flushing, went quickly back to the fireplace.
“And I do not fancy the trip,” Señorita Anita put in, with more spirit
than Señora Vallejo had shown. “I think, Señor Rocha----”
He whirled upon her, and she ceased speaking.
“_Señorita_,” he said, “I am proud to know you, and allow me to say I
am quite sure you were taught not to interfere in any arrangements the
head of the family might see fit to make.”
“Allow me to say that you are not the head of the family yet,” the girl
returned, half angrily.
“I am, however, half owner of the rancho, I believe, through your
father’s will, and I think you may trust me, _señorita_, to handle
these affairs.”
“As to that, you have shown no credentials yet,” the girl burst out.
“Anita!” Señora Vallejo cried.
“Well, he has not!”
“You doubt me?” the young man wished to know. “I shall show my
credentials, prove my name and station, at the proper time, _señorita_,
but certainly not here at the mission. I regret we have had this
little unpleasantness, for I would win your good favour, but I am firm
in my determination to go to the rancho this morning. Perhaps my wound
has made me sensitive.”
The girl crossed the room toward him, all apology, and when she spoke
her voice was softer than it had been before.
“I ask you to pardon me, Rojerio Rocha,” she said. “I had forgotten
that you were wounded in defence of my good name. Since I hope to carry
out the wishes of my dear, dead father, I would be friendly with you,
and I hope that true affection comes. And perhaps I did wrong to voice
my opinion in this matter, being but a girl. It shall be as you wish,
_señor_. We go to the rancho.”
“Excellent, _señorita_! Señor Lopez, you will see that a carreta is
prepared? Have saddles and bridles put on the horses, too, and I’ll
send my neophyte to get his mule. We should start within half an hour.”
Señor Lopez bowed and hurried from the guest house, trying to keep from
showing his anger, giving orders about the carreta and horses. The
wounded neophyte, who had been waiting outside the door, went to get
his mule, staggering slightly and walking slowly because of the blood
he had lost, but expressing lively satisfaction in his face. The animal
was picketed down by the creek, and after putting on bridle and saddle
the Indian led it back toward the plaza to wait until the others should
be ready.
And there he heard a quick step behind him, and a heavy hand descended
on his shoulder and grasped it so that he cried out with the pain as he
whirled around. His eyes blazed for an instant, and then the fire in
them died out and a look of fear came into his face, and he shook like
a culprit, trembling.
“Ah!” rumbled a deep voice he had reason to dread. “So we find our
runaway neophyte here at San Diego de Alcalá, eh? You prefer it to the
Santa Barbara presidio, I take it. What have you to say when I suggest
that I fasten you to a post and give you the beating you deserve?”
The neophyte did not answer, and neither did he attempt an escape, but
his body seemed to shrink and he could not meet Sergeant Cassara’s eyes.
“Like a thief in the night you ran away!” the sergeant went on.
“Without asking permission you left Santa Barbara, where you got good
food for the little shiftless work you did, and received a beating only
every day or so to keep you in order. What are you doing here, dog? It
has been guessed by me these many days that you are disloyal. You would
conspire to slay your betters, eh? Answer me!”
“Par----”
“Do not say it! You must be a pretty rogue with a heavy conscience to
cry for pardon eternally.”
“_Señor!_ You hurt my shoulder!”
“Why do you flinch?”
“There is a sword-thrust through it.”
“And how got you that, cur?”
“Captain Fly-by-Night gave it me yesterday.”
“Never did I expect to call blessings down on the head of that rogue,
but I do so now. And curses also that his blade did not find your black
heart. Ran you through, eh? Well, you are not punished enough. You
shall have a beating yet!”
The sergeant started to walk toward the end of the plaza, not releasing
his grip on the Indian’s shoulder, dragging the unfortunate after him.
Other Indians stopped their work to look, some of them muttering. A
fray hurried toward them. But before he reached the sergeant’s side to
protest Cassara felt his own shoulder gripped and whirled about with a
snarl, letting go of the neophyte and starting to reach for his sword.
“By what right do you man-handle my servant?” were the words dinned
into his ears.
“Your servant? Ah, ’tis the young gentleman who lost the mule at Santa
Barbara in a game of cards, eh? You finally reached San Diego de
Alcalá, then? And what mean you about a servant? This Indian dog is a
runaway neophyte from the Santa Barbara presidio, as you know, having
seen him there, and I am about to render punishment.”
“Runaway he may be, but he also is my servant, and I’ll thank you to
release him.”
“Then you are not in proper company, _señor_. This cur, as I happen to
know, is disloyal. He may cut your throat while you sleep and open the
gates to a savage horde. But if you would have him for servant, take
him, and watch and beat him well. There will be time for me to attend
to him later; at present there are other duties to be performed. Where,
may I ask, can I find a man known as Rojerio Rocha?”
“I am so known, sergeant.”
“Ah! You don’t mind telling your name now, eh? This is different than
it was at Santa Barbara? So you are Rojerio Rocha? I have been told it
might profit me to watch you.”
“What do you mean by that?” the other demanded angrily.
“The meaning is not clear to me. I have but received a warning,
_señor_, and, being a good soldier and these being turbulent times, I
never ignore a warning, no matter from what source it comes nor whom it
concerns. What is your business here?”
“I still retain the Governor’s pass, sergeant.”
“Captain Fly-by-Night has a Governor’s pass, if it comes to that, yet
he scarcely is a reputable person. I believe, in passing, that you had
the honour of crossing blades with him yesterday?”
“I did,” said the other, his white face flushing red.
“And the cause of your quarrel?”
“I do not recognise your right to question.”
“Since my _comandante_ is away in the hills chasing this Fly-by-Night
I am ranking officer here and do as I please, Señor Rocha. I ask the
cause of your quarrel because I would know the extent of enmity between
you and judge as to the value of the hint I have received.”
“You mean I have been denounced by this Fly-by-Night?”
“Precisely, _señor_.”
“Hah! And how did you receive the hint, as you call it? Is
communication open between you and Captain Fly-by-Night, regarding whom
there is an order to take, dead or alive?”
“There was a way of communication,” the sergeant admitted, chewing
vigorously at his moustache and his face flushing in turn.
“I scarcely think you need credit any warning concerning myself that
Fly-by-Night would give. He perhaps hopes to cause me annoyance. We
fought because of a boast he made regarding a certain young lady.”
“Over a woman, eh? If there is a woman in it I am inclined to wash
my hands of the matter. A saint can turn liar when there is a woman
concerned. You might inform me, however, to set my mind at rest,
regarding your business here.”
“I have inherited half of the Fernandez rancho, sergeant, and have come
to take possession.”
“The Fernandez rancho!” the sergeant gasped. “It is there, so this
Captain Fly-by-Night has informed me, that the hostiles are gathering.”
“That is nonsense. I am going out to the rancho immediately with some
ladies, and four soldiers as guards. Would I make the journey if there
was danger, especially with ladies along?”
“Perhaps you are well informed,” the sergeant retorted, “and perhaps,
again, you are not.”
“It appears you give considerable weight to the statements of this
Fly-by-Night.”
“There are times when a man is forced to do so, Señor Rocha,” the
sergeant replied, flushing again. “Does this runaway dog of an Indian
go with you?”
“He does, naturally, since he is my servant.”
“You may be walking into a trap. Yourself, four soldiers and some
ladies would be a great catch for the hostiles.”
“I’ll take care of myself, sergeant, thank you.”
“Um! Since I have a sort of roving commission at the present time, I
think I’ll ride along.”
“I have not asked for your escort, sergeant.”
“Nevertheless, I think I’ll ride along toward the rancho. Your four
soldiers will pay more attention to discipline with a sergeant along.
Besides, I wish to see this far-famed San Diego country; and, at least,
it may pay me to watch this Indian servant of yours. Yes--I believe
I’ll ride along!”
“You force me to say that you will not be welcome, sergeant Four
soldiers are enough.”
“As to that, I penetrate many places where there is no welcome. I am
not supersensitive, Señor Rocha, and my feelings cannot be injured
easily, I assure you. It will not be necessary for me to ride beside
the carreta I see you have ready. I can ride ahead, behind, to one
side.”
“This is almost past endurance.”
“You are a wounded man, and of course cannot endure much,” the sergeant
observed, whirling on his heel and walking toward the other end of the
plaza. Behind him he left a young man with angry face, who gurgled
imprecations.
Señorita Anita came from the guest house now, dressed for the journey,
and Señora Vallejo walked behind her, still muttering protests against
the trip to the rancho at this time. They got in the carreta, and it
started out along the road up the valley. Two soldiers rode ahead and
two behind.
On one side of the carreta Señor Lopez guided his horse and tried not
to show his displeasure; on the other side trotted a young man who
talked to the ladies half the time, and spent the other half glowering
at the mounted sergeant, who galloped about the country far to one
side, now disappearing behind a ledge of rock, now coming into view at
the crest of a hill, but always near.
Just behind the carreta rode the neophyte, a bundle of clothing across
the mule in front of him. There was frank fear in his face whenever one
of the troopers approached him, and always he glanced toward his master
as if expecting a signal or command.
The road followed an arroyo for a mile, and then emerged on a broad,
open space where cattle grazed, thousands of them dotting the
pasturage. Sheep were on the hillsides, and to the left were fields of
grain.
“Is it not a splendid inheritance, Señor Rocha?” Señora Vallejo
murmured.
“It is, indeed,” he replied, and he showed no great amount of
enthusiasm.
Señorita Anita frowned. On this rancho she had been born and reared;
here she had played as a child, and here the frailes from the mission
had come to teach her. In an enclosed space near the ranch-house her
mother was buried, and her father.
She remembered how her father had laboured through disappointments to
triumph to make this a profitable home; how seeds and bulbs had been
imported that there might be beauty there; how proud he had been when
the flocks and herds grew and new buildings were erected.
And now here was his half-heir scarcely giving the place a glance after
having manifested such eagerness to reach it. A little lump came into
Señorita Anita’s throat, and she would not look at the man who rode
beside the carreta, but glanced away toward the distant hills; and a
tear trickled down her cheek.
Now they had reached the top of the slope, and in the distance the
buildings of the rancho could be seen, white against the green
background. To one side were long, low adobe structures around which
many Indians were gathering.
“Too many of the men are inactive,” Señor Lopez growled, anxious for
the younger man to think he had the best interests of the rancho at
heart. “The overseers are not firm enough in handling them. At this
time of the day nearly all should be at work in the fields. It appears
that nine-tenths of them are about the buildings.”
He continued to frown as they neared the ranch-house, and finally rode
ahead at a gallop toward the adobe structures. The Indians did not make
a pretence of being busy as he approached. Some glowered at him as he
passed, others deliberately turned away as he would have spoken to
them in rebuke. He reined in his horse before one of the buildings and
glared down at a score of men sitting round the doorway and stretched
on the ground.
“What means this, dogs?” he demanded. “Why are you not at work?”
Not a voice answered him; some glanced up and then away again, while
others ignored his existence.
“Where are your overseers?” he demanded next. “Where is Antonio, José?
Answer, one of you!”
“We have seen neither this day, _señor_,” one of the men replied.
“Do not talk to me with a crooked tongue! Go to the fields, or I’ll
take the whip to you! As for Antonio and José, we’ll see whether they
can drink wine and waste time while I am away!”
Not an Indian moved to do his bidding. The carreta had stopped before
the ranch-house now, and two of the soldiers left it to ride toward
Lopez, sensing trouble.
“Rojerio Rocha!” Lopez called, but the man he addressed was assisting
Señorita Anita from the carreta, and did not answer.
“Are the dogs mutinous?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Uncivil beasts, all of them!” Lopez replied. “Get about your work
instantly, animals!”
He rode toward them as if to crush those nearest beneath the hoofs
of his horse. Angry mutterings came from the throng, and some of the
Indians sprang to their feet menacingly. An old man in the doorway
of the building shouted something Lopez did not understand, and the
mutterings ceased in an instant and the men scattered, some going
toward the fields, others into the buildings.
Lopez turned to call Rojerio Rocha again, and saw him disappearing
into the house with Señorita Anita and Señora Vallejo. The other two
troopers had dismounted, the carreta was rumbling away toward the
stables, and the neophyte servant was standing near his mule looking
back along the road, for in the distance Sergeant Cassara sat his
horse and contemplated the rancho.
Lopez started to ride slowly toward the house, the two troopers
following. Came a scream from a woman’s throat--then another--a man’s
voice raised in surprise! The two soldiers near the house ran in at
the door. Lopez and the others spurred their mounts and dashed to the
building, there to throw themselves from their saddles and rush inside.
They heard the troopers ahead of them running into the patio. A woman
was crying hysterically. And then they reached the patio themselves, to
stop beneath the arched veranda dumbfounded at the scene confronting
them.
Señora Vallejo was standing against the side of the building, her
face hidden in her hands, sobbing violently. Señorita Anita Fernandez
had fainted in Rojerio Rocha’s arms. And the two troopers stood near
the small fountain in the centre of the patio, where there were two
bodies stretched on the ground. Lopez gave a cry of consternation as he
hurried up to them.
Here were Antonio and José, the two overseers of the rancho, each
sprawled on his face with arms outstretched, each with the hilt of a
knife showing between his shoulder-blades!