PACIFYING A GHOST
"Say," asked Mr. Backus, as the pair rode out of the pueblo side by
side, "how're ye getting on with the silver-mine question? Had any new
developments?"
"No," replied the prospector, "I bounced them straight out about it last
night, and learned nothing. They just won't open their heads on the
subject at all. They simply swear there never was a mine, and I don't
believe it's any use to go on working at them."
"And what'll you do next?" queried the storekeeper.
"To tell you the truth," said Stephens simply, "I've not quite made up
my mind what I want to do, but I'm much inclined to chuck it up."
"Look at here," interjected Backus, "did ye ever think to try them
Navajos? They used to roam all over these mountains in the old days, and
they know 'em still just like a book. They know what silver is, too, for
you see all their high-u-muck-a-mucks wearing plates of it all over 'em.
How about them knowing where the mine is?"
"I doubt it," returned Stephens. "They'd have sold the secret of it to
the Mexicans long ago if they had known it."
"They're too suspicious of the Mexicans to do that," said the other;
"they don't trust 'em. They'd be afraid they'd cheat 'em; but mebbe they
might trust you or me enough to think we'd pay 'em if we promised to."
"They don't trust the Mexicans far, by all accounts," said Stephens, "I
allow that much. But say--I want to know more about this fuss between
Don Andrés and the Navajo. How was it?"
"Oh," said Backus, "the Navajo came to the sheep camp where Andrés was
with his two herders. The Navajo had his squaw along. And he and Andrés
got to playing cards by the firelight, and Andrés won all the money he
had, six dollars and a half. And then the Injun got mad and swore Andrés
had cheated him. And Andrés told him to go to Halifax! And then the
Injun got madder, and drawed his butcher-knife and went for Andrés right
there. But Andrés was too darn quick for him, and pulled his gun,--he
wears a mighty nice pistol, does Andrés, a Smith and Wesson
nickel-plated,--and he plugged him just under the heart and laid him
out. And then the squaw bawled and ran off into the woods, and Andrés
and the two sheep-herders were powerful frightened over what they'd
done, and they chucked the body on the camp-fire to burn it up, and they
packed their camp outfit and drove the sheep herd that night right away
to the Ojo Escondido. But when the squaw got back to the other Injuns
and told them, they just naturally knew their best plan was to come down
on old man Sanchez at oncet. That's why they're here. They got here this
morning, and Andrés come in only a few hours ahead of 'em, about
midnight last night."
"Well I'm sorry for Don Nepomuceno," said Stephens.
"And he's tarnation sorry for himself too, you bet," added the Texan.
"He's in an awful sweat over his flock of sheep. I never saw a man look
sicker. Why, if the Navajos was to run off his sheep it'd bust him wide
open. He's liable to have to make the original herd good to old man
Baca, you see."
"By George!" returned Stephens, "I don't wonder he's in a sweat. What
does he want to see me for, d'you know?"
"Wal'," replied Backus, "he reckons that as an American you might be
able to help him some. The Americans are running this Territory now, and
the Navajos have darned good reason to know it, and he thinks they'll
mind you. I left him and some of his compadres pow-wowing away with them
outside the house, but they hadn't come to no conclusion. Pretty Miss
Manuelita"--he looked knowingly at the prospector--"was just crying her
eyes out over her brother inside. She thinks he'll be killed, sure."
Stephens touched his mare with the spurs. "I'll gallop ahead, I think,"
he said, raising his reins, "but I'll be obliged to you if you'll bring
that mule along quietly and just put him in your stable till I can come
round for him. So long." He gave the mare her head, and in a moment she
was skimming like a swallow over the gentle undulations of the dusty
stretch of the Indian lands. Backus jogged along, watching the mare and
her rider grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
"You don't just know what you want yourself," said he, apostrophising
his late companion, "but I think I know about what you want, and I'll
make it my business, Mr. Stephens, to see that you don't get it." The
look in his eye as he spoke was not amiable.
It was not exactly a cheerful sight that greeted the American on his
arrival at San Remo. The palaver was in progress, and there against a
blank wall outside the Sanchez house squatted eleven very glum-faced
Navajos, while on the ground opposite to them in the strong morning
light sat Don Nepomuceno and three of his relations who had come to give
him their support.
The eleven Indians were the first Navajos Stephens had ever seen, and he
eyed them with no little curiosity. "Call these wild Indians?" he felt
like saying: "why they look as civilised as the Pueblos." This was
because of their dress mainly. They did not have their hair braided in
locks with beaver fur like the mountain Utes, or twisted up like any of
the plains Indians; each had a bright red kerchief bound turban-wise
round his snaky black locks, just like the Pueblo Indians, except that
he wore no "chungo," or pigtail, at the back. Neither was their colour
as dark as that of the Utes or the Sioux; they were distinctly lighter.
"Perhaps living further south they wash more," he thought, "and that may
account for it." Then, in lieu of buffalo robes and buckskins they were
clad in neat belted tunics and loose cotton breeches, and for a wrap or
mantle had gaily striped blankets of their own weaving. "Real tony their
blankets are," said he to himself, "and just as pretty as a painted
mule." A _pinto_, or piebald, mule is an extraordinary rarity, and it is
quoted in the Far West as the highest standard of picturesque beauty.
No; as far as dress went they did not look like wild Indians at all, at
least not like any he had ever seen. But when he came to look at their
faces he changed his mind. Not that they were all alike; on the contrary
the diversity of types was remarkable. There were lowbrowed,
thick-lipped, thick-nosed, heavy-jawed men among them, and there were
others with fine aquiline features and regular, well-shaped mouths. But
their bold, impudent, cunning eyes betrayed them. One and all they
looked thorough rascals. As Stephens ran his eye over them, his acute
glance rested on a big, hawk-faced man with a sullen expression, who sat
in the middle of them smoking a cigarette with an air of unconcern. His
broad leather belt was studded with great bosses of shining silver.
"How," said Stephens, dismounting and looking straight at this Indian
whom he took for the chief, but the latter gazed at him stolidly without
taking any notice. The Mexican rose and welcomed him warmly.
"Come round with me to the corral, Don Estevan," said Sanchez as he
dismounted; "let me put the mare up for you. Pedro, the peon, is keeping
the house door. My unlucky boy Andrés is inside. Ah, what a foolish boy
to go and gamble with an Indian! The storekeeper will have told you of
our trouble."
"Yes," said Stephens, "he told me that the Navajos were demanding your
whole flock of sheep."
"Oh, not really," replied the Mexican; "that is, they only threaten to
take them if I don't pay. But they positively and actually have the
impudence to demand that I should pay them a thousand dollars, silver
dollars, for one scrub Indian," he groaned.
"It sounds a good lot," said Stephens reflectively.
"Oh, it's ridiculous," said the disconsolate Mexican. "A thousand
dollars for one miserable, low-down Indian. I've offered them a hundred
and twenty-five, and that's more than he was worth to them twice over.
But they say he belonged to Ankitona's family." He busied himself
undoing the latigo strap of the hair cinch.
"But, look here," rejoined the American, to whom this exact
appraisement of the value of one "low-down Indian" was a novelty;
"according to the way Mr. Backus gave me the story as we rode down, I
can't see why you should have to pay anything to them at all. If Don
Andrés killed the Indian in self-defence, any court in this country
would clear him. Do they deny it? Do they say that he attacked the
Indian first?"
"Oh, no," said the Mexican, "you don't understand; his acting in
self-defence doesn't make any difference." He spread the saddle blanket
over the mare, tying it on with a cord surcingle. "She's hot," he
observed, "she'd best have it on till she's cool. No," he repeated, as
they turned back to the scene of the palaver, "it isn't a matter where
law courts count for anything. Our courts don't ever bind the Navajos.
The one thing that does count in our dealings with them is whether we
are at peace or at war. Now, if we were at war with them at present they
wouldn't come here to ask for pay. No, they'd go straight off and just
kill or carry away captive any Mexicans they could catch in revenge.
But, you see, we're at peace; so the rule is, if any Mexican kills a
Navajo he must pay. They think that if his family don't make the
Mexicans pay up for the dead man his ghost will haunt them. Their
religion, you see, binds them, if I don't pay, to kill my son, or else
maybe me, or some other member of my family; and very likely they'll cut
my sheep herd some night and run off a lot of the sheep besides. Oh,
I've got to pay." He groaned again.
"Well, Don Nepomuceno," said the American, "I'm real sorry to hear of
your ill-luck. I call it a very hard case. If there's anything I can do
to help you, you can count on me. All the same, if that Indian came at
Don Andrés with a knife I don't myself see what else he could do except
shoot, and I ain't the man to blame him for defending himself. Say, now,
before we go back to where the Navajos are, you just tell me what you
think I can do to be of assistance."
The strictly business footing, so to speak, on which Don Nepomuceno
dealt with the subject puzzled the prospector not a little, and he was
afraid lest by interfering ignorantly he might only make things worse.
"Well, Don Estevan, these Navajos think a deal of an American's opinion,
naturally; so, since you are so kind, I want you to use your influence
with them to make them take a more reasonable sum. A thousand dollars is
all nonsense. He was quite a poor scrub Indian. He had hardly any sheep
of his own, and no pony. They admit that he lived off the richer men of
his family, so I say that they're well rid of him. They're really richer
without him. He was, among them, like one of the poorest of our peons
here. I declare if I gave them fifty dollars for him it would be plenty.
But he was one of the family of Ankitona, and he's a very powerful
chief, with lots of relations. He's not here himself--not he. He has
sent his sister's son though, Mahletonkwa. He's that tall Indian with a
hooked nose and the big row of silver plates all round his belt. He's a
terribly bad Indian. He boasts that he never surrendered to the
Americans,--that they never could take him to the Pecos. I think he's
rather afraid of them all the same, though he says he isn't, and
swaggers about with his band of desperadoes. But he's quite the worst
Navajo going, and there hasn't been a piece of mischief done in the last
two years without him and his gang having a hand in it. They're the
terror of the whole country. There's another rascal there that's pretty
near as bad as he is. That's the one with two feathers in his
head-dress--Notalinkwa his name is. He's a villain too."
"I see," answered Stephens; "you want me to talk to this--what do you
call him--Mahletonkwa, and tell him that he's got to come down a bit in
his price. Do you think that'll do any good?"
The Mexican turned his eager eyes full on Stephens, and laid his hand on
his arm. "I think it will," he cried; "you are an American, and all the
Navajos think that it's their cue to keep on good terms with the
Americans. They are a good deal afraid of them since the time of their
defeat in the Cañon de Chelly, when they learned to fear the brave
Coronel Christophero Carson and that _valiente capitan_, Albert
Pfeiffer. That was several years ago, and after that they surrendered
and were taken away beyond Santa Fé and kept over on the Pecos. They did
hate that; they were nearly starved there, and lots of them died, and a
good job too. It is only a couple of years now since they have been
allowed to come back to their own country. But even those who never were
caught and taken to the Pecos heard the story of it, and they, too, fear
the Americans. Oh yes, they listen to their agent, Señor Morton, at
Cañon Bonito."
"Well, then," exclaimed Stephens, "there's our man. Of course the Indian
agent is the proper person to appeal to in a matter of this sort. Shall
I tell this Mahletonkwa, then, that the moment he goes to cutting up any
didoes on his own hook round here the agent will be down on him like a
knife? I'll just inquire what right Mr. Mahletonkwa has got to come here
anyhow--yes, or to be off his reservation at all. If Don Andrés had gone
on to their reservation and killed a Navajo there, then there might be
something to be said for their side of the argument, but if a Navajo
comes here among the Mexican sheep herds he's got to abide by the laws
of New Mexico, I say."
"Oh, Don Estevan, that's no use," answered the other sadly. "He don't
care two _reales_ about the laws. No, you tell him that Señor Morton
will make the soldiers come and shoot him if he or any of his family
kill my son; make him believe that, if you can, and you'll be doing some
good."
"I'll try," said the American doubtfully, "but I hardly expect he'll
mind much what I say."
The pair walked round the house to the south side, where the Navajos
were sitting, and squatted down on the dry, sandy soil opposite them,
alongside of the three Mexicans. Stephens got out his tobacco-bag and
passed it round before he filled his own pipe, and began to smoke with
calculated deliberation. He had at least learned one lesson, that it is
no use to hurry an Indian if you want to do business with him.
Having got his pipe thoroughly alight and returned his tobacco-bag to
his pocket, he looked at Mahletonkwa, and said, "You come from Fort
Defiance?"
The Agency at Fort Defiance, called by the Mexicans Cañon Bonito, is
just over the border line between New Mexico and Arizona, and well in
the middle of the Navajo country.
"No," said the Indian briefly; "more this side."
"You got leave from the agent to be off the reservation?" asked Stephens
sharply.
The Indian parried this question. "I come from my mother's brother,
Ankitona," he said. "He mucho bravo--very angry about this thing." He
indicated the killing by Don Andrés.
"Likely enough," said Stephens, "but that's no answer to my question.
What I want to know is if you've got leave."
"I don't ask anybody's leave," said Mahletonkwa defiantly. "I'm not the
slave of the Americans. I never went to Bosque Redondo." Bosque Redondo
was the scene of their captivity over on the Pecos River.
"Indeed!" retorted Stephens; "but, if you hear me talk, it might have
been better for you if you had. You might have had a chance to learn how
to behave yourself." If this audacious redskin was going to put on any
frills with him he proposed to check him up short right at the start.
Mahletonkwa chose to look very surly at this rebuff. Then he repeated
his previous assertion. "Ankitona very angry indeed about this."
"And quite right of him too," said Stephens. "He ought to be very angry
with your man who went and got himself killed. You've got no right to
say it's Don Andrés's fault, if he had to defend himself. The man who
drew the knife is to blame."
The Indian dissented by a gesture, but made no verbal reply.
Disregarding Sanchez's warning of the futility of this argument,
Stephens laboured to prove that killing done in self-defence was nothing
more than justifiable homicide. But his words seemed to take no effect
on the Indian, who smoked on stolidly till it was evident that all this
talk was to no purpose. In an undertone Don Nepomuceno hinted as much.
When at last the Navajo condescended to answer, his view of the affair
proved to be very much as the Mexican had prophesied. To him it did not
matter three straws, he explained, who struck the first blow or who was
to blame for the quarrel. His point was that the family had lost a
valuable asset in the shape of a warrior, for which they required a good
round sum in compensation, and not only that, but enough to enable them
to give their lost relative a number of gifts that would make him
comfortable in the next world. He would require a good deal to make him
comfortable, too, for not only had he been killed, but he had been sadly
disfigured; an undeniable fact, for of course the charred object that
had been partly destroyed with fire was a horrid sight. The dead
warrior's spirit was exceedingly angry, said Mahletonkwa, and required
to be appeased with liberal offerings, and if he wasn't properly
mollified he would take it out of his neglectful family by haunting
them. Under this spiritual compulsion it was clear that all the family
were bound to rise to the situation, he argued. There was no choice left
them; they were absolutely bound, by some means or other, to extract
satisfaction from the family of the slayer. He was very much in earnest.
It wasn't war by any means; no, it was a mere family affair, so to
speak. But there it was, and it would have to be arranged.
It took Stephens some time to become convinced that Don Nepomuceno was
right, and that the dead man's ghost was at the bottom of it all.
"You see, this is how it is, Don Estevan," said the Mexican, speaking to
him aside. "These Navajos have a sort of Purgatory of their own. Heaven
forgive me for comparing their heathen superstitions to our holy
religion, but I want to make you understand. You know when our friends
die we give the proper offerings to the priest to say masses to make
their stay in Purgatory shorter. Well, now you have heard Mahletonkwa
say that these Indians have their religion, which is all false, of
course, only they are obstinate and believe it, and according to that it
is necessary for the family to give presents to make the spirits of the
dead more happy. And they are very much afraid if they don't do it; oh
yes, they are grossly superstitious; but how can I help it? How can I
teach them better? These heathens are very expensive to deal with. If he
were a Christian it wouldn't cost me half so much, but I don't suppose
you could make him see how foolish he is."
He paused, as if a new idea had struck him. "Could you, do you
think"--he added eagerly--"could you show him the error of his ways?"
"Jerusalem, no!" cried Stephens, taken considerably aback, "I rather
guess not. I'm not a missionary by a long shot. No sir-ee, that's a
trade I never had a go at, but I'll tell you what we used to say up in
Montana: 'The best missionary is a gain-twist, hair-trigger rifle that
will convert a Sioux Indian at three hundred yards every pop.' That's
what we said there; but I'll admit that these southern Indians down here
are a very different sort of folk. The Sioux were pure, unadulterated
savages, but these Navajos seem to be part human. Still, I don't see my
way to wading in at Messrs. Mahletonkwa and Co. with a hymn-book." He
chuckled to himself at the naïveté of the Mexican's suggestion.
"Yes," said the latter regretfully, "I feared you couldn't do it. After
all, to be missionaries is the business of the padres and not of you or
me. But I like what you told me about the missionary rifle of the
Americans that converts an Indian at three hundred yards. You tell him
that; preach that to him; put it strong." He evidently had great faith
in the moral influence of the American over the Navajos from the mere
fact of his being an American.
"Very well," replied Stephens, with a certain pride of race in the
appeal thus made, "I'll see what I can do. Look here, Mahletonkwa," he
continued, addressing the chief, "I've heard your talk about this
unfortunate incident, and I quite see that you've got reason on your
side, looking at it from your point of view. Of course, our point of
view is quite different; but we'll waive that for the moment. Very well.
Here's Don Nepomuceno making you a very liberal offer of a hundred and
twenty-five dollars to settle the matter. Now that's a lot of money; and
if you're the wise man I take you for, you'll close with it and accept
his offer. That's my advice to you. You'll find it best in the end, much
better business than trying to fight the United States soldiers. The
soldiers have got repeating rifles, heap-shoot guns, mind you. If you
refuse, and go and take the law into your own hands, and attack Don
Andrés, or any of his family, you'll smart for it. I give you fair
warning. If you touch them I'll have the soldiers sent after you.
Captain Pfeiffer aint dead yet. You've heard of him, so don't you make
any mistake about that. You hear me talk; and what I say I'll do. My
tongue is straight. I have spoken."
His words carried weight and produced some effect, as two of the Navajos
at once began to urge something on their chief with great earnestness in
their own language, apparently wishing him to comply. Stephens had
adopted the crisp, pungent sentences that appeal most to the redskin's
taste. But Mahletonkwa was in no hurry to come to terms, and presently
replied to Stephens at some length, explaining that the offer was most
inadequate. More cash for themselves and gifts for the dead man were
indispensable, absolutely indispensable. His terms were still a thousand
dollars, neither more nor less.
"I believe that other chap--what d'you call him? Notalinkwa, looks as if
he was inclined to vote for taking your offer," said Stephens to Don
Nepomuceno. He had been observing the faces of the rest of the Indians
very closely while Mahletonkwa was speaking. "Look here. Let's leave him
and his friends to argue it out; I'm sure by their looks some of them
want him to give way. They'll talk better if we're not by. Come along to
the store or somewhere."
"Come into the house," said the Mexican, jumping up; "we can talk better
too when we are by ourselves," and he led the way to the great door
leading into the patio, now strongly barred and fastened. At the
master's summons the peon who was on guard hastened to unbar; the door
was partly opened and they slipped in, the master of the house quickly
assisting the peon to replace the wooden beams that secured it as soon
as they were inside, while Stephens shook hands with Don Andrés, a tall,
well-built young Mexican, who would have been very handsome had he not
been marked with smallpox.
"How do you do, Don Andrés?" he said heartily. "I'm sorry for this
trouble you've got into. However, let's hope it can be fixed up all
right."
"It's very unlucky," returned the young Mexican; "I didn't want to kill
him, but he would have it. I had to do something to defend my life."
"That's just what I say," assented Stephens; "I was putting it to
Mahletonkwa like that just now, only he wouldn't see it. He jumped the
track entirely, and went off into a rigmarole about ghosts and such like
stuff, where I couldn't follow him, nohow."
"You were an exasperating, foolish boy!" exclaimed Don Nepomuceno
testily to his son, as the door-beam was finally wedged into its place.
"It's all your fault," he broke out, with vexation and almost despair in
his voice. "What I shall do I don't know. You've gone and acted like an
idiot. I've told you to stop your gambling a thousand times, and then
you must go and gamble with an Indian, a scrub Indian! Yes, an idiot,
that's what you are. Come in, Don Estevan, come into the house," and he
led the way to the big living-room, Don Andrés following rather
sheepishly. Not a word did he venture to say in reply to his angry
father's tirade. "Honour thy father" is a commandment that is far from
being obsolete in New Mexico. If his father had taken a rod in his wrath
and beaten him, this tall young man would have dutifully submitted
himself.
"Sit down," said the master of the house hospitably, pointing to the
divan; "take a seat here, Don Estevan. Will you have something to eat?"
"Well, thank you, Don Nepomuceno," answered Stephens, "since you are so
kind, I think I will, if it isn't too much trouble. The fact is, I came
down without my breakfast."
"Ho, there, Juana!" cried the Mexican, running to the door, "and you, my
sister! Make haste, set breakfast for the señor. He is hungry. Be quick
now." A scurrying of feet was heard in the kitchen at the sound of his
commanding voice. "And make him tortillas of wheat flour," his loud
tones went on, "hot tortillas with fat, and coffee; see that you make
coffee."
He came back and seated himself beside Stephens. "What do you think
about it, señor?" he inquired. "What is the best thing to be done?"
"Well, if you ask me my deliberate opinion," said Stephens, leaning back
and crossing his left leg over the other with his hands clasped round
the knee, "I should say this: It seems to be perfectly clear that these
Indians are outside the law; it's no use to appeal to it with them. Now
the mail goes by here to-day, noon, towards Santa Fé. I say, write to
the governor of the Territory at Santa Fé, and to the general commanding
the United States troops there, and tell them about it, and ask their
protection. They're bound to give it you. And write to the Navajo Agency
at Fort Defiance, and tell the agent there, and ask him to have
Mahletonkwa and his band brought back on to the reservation. And I
should tell the Indians exactly what I was doing, and warn them once
more that they'll certainly have the United States cavalry after them if
they don't behave. If that makes them any more inclined to accept your
offer of a hundred and twenty-five dollars, why, of course you'll count
them out the money and settle it out of hand. I should call a settlement
cheap at a hundred and twenty-five dollars cash down. More than that, if
I was you, I'd raise my offer a trifle, if I thought I could afford it,
so as to meet them. You heard Mahletonkwa say he wanted gifts, some
sheep and a pony, to sacrifice for the dead man's ghost. I gather by
what you tell me about their religion, that he thinks that if he kills
them for him specially, the dear departed can go and corral the ghosts
of the pony and sheep in the happy hunting-grounds, and have the full
benefit of them there. Now, you must have in your flock some old
six-tooth ewes, that likely will never breed another lamb; give him a
dozen or two to butcher. And then, couldn't you trade for, or borrow,
some old stove-up pony, very cheap, and let him have that, too? That
won't ruin you. I take it the Navajos mean to keep your good hard silver
dollars for themselves, and they'll religiously send the foundered old
sheep and pony ghosts to keep their defunct relative company in the
sweet by-and-by." The notion of this ghostly herd tickled his cynical
humour mightily.
"Yes, perhaps I might do that," said Sanchez in a saddened voice. To
part with any of his cherished flock is like drawing eye-teeth for a
Mexican. "I might let them have a few of my oldest ewes; they come in
very useful for mutton, but if I must, I must. And my brother-in-law has
a handsome pony who is _inyerbado_; he ate poison-weed over on the Rio
Grande a year ago, and has never been any use since. That dead Navajo
was a very poor scrub, and it would be more than good enough for him; he
ought to be uncommonly grateful for it."
He spoke so feelingly that it really seemed as if he almost half
believed in the Purgatory of the Navajos himself. He hesitated and then
went on. "But as for the letters, Don Estevan, it's not so easy. For one
thing, the governor and the general don't know Spanish; and then, you
know, I haven't much English, and I'm not much of a hand at
letter-writing anyhow. I couldn't manage the letters."
"Oh, if that's all," returned the other, "I'll write the letters for you
willingly enough. Indeed, as I'm an American, it's just possible they
may be a trifle more ready to pay attention to them. Yes, and I'll tell
you what I'll do. I'll write out an account of the killing of the
Navajo for Don Andrés, like an affidavit, and he shall sign it, and then
we'll have Mr. Backus witness it and put on the post-office stamp. He's
a sort of a United States official, and it may help to make them feel
more called upon to take notice of it. That'll come as near to being a
regular legal document as anything we can scare up out here. I do like
to do everything in correct legal style, when I can. I'm all for law and
order every time. That's me."
"Ah, Don Estevan," said the elder Mexican, "it is you that have the
clear head. I am very much obliged to you. Your plan is the good one."
"Very well, then," answered Stephens, "I'll just run over to the
post-office, and get some paper and envelopes and stamps, and draw up
those letters; and as Don Andrés had better not go outside the house
before the matter is settled, I'll ask Mr. Backus to step around here in
the course of an hour, and bring his post-office stamp with him."
He rose from his seat to go towards the door, but Don Nepomuceno
hospitably protested. "Wait till you have had your breakfast first, Don
Estevan. It is all ready; here is Manuelita bringing it for you;" and as
he spoke the girl entered and set the table for him, as Juana had done
on the previous day. She smiled at his greeting, but her eyelids were
swollen with crying.
At this moment there came a knocking at the outer door, and the master
of the house hastened out to see who it was demanding admittance, and
was followed by his son.
"He's all right," said Stephens cheerfully to the girl, as he looked
into her anxious eyes. "He's safe enough as long as he stays inside
here. They'll none bother him while he's protected by these walls. And
I've good hopes that we may be able to bring them to a reasonable
settlement, so that he can go about again in perfect safety. Don't you
fret yourself over it. We'll make these Navajos sing a proper tune
before we've done with them." He spoke with the easy confidence of a man
accustomed to deal with serious affairs, and conscious of possessing the
ability and the experience for handling them successfully. But he was
equally astonished and embarrassed when Manuelita, instead of appearing
calmed by his reassuring words, flung her hands over her face and burst
into a passion of sobs.