AULD ACQUAINTANCE
The sun was already well up in the eastern sky when the strange funeral
procession entered San Remo. The news of the event spread like wildfire,
and friendly hands were ready to aid Stephens in lifting down the dead
man's corpse at the door of what yesterday had been his home, while
kind-hearted women full of sympathy went into the house to break the
tidings to her whose hearth was made desolate. Then a dreadful sound
broke upon his ears; it was the cry of agony that told that the wife
knew that she was a wife no more but a widow. It was a piercing cry,
that wounded the hearts of all who heard it, for the ring of mortal pain
was there.
Unaccustomed to all violent appeals to feeling, Stephens found this
heart-rending wail unbearable. Duty to the dead claimed him no longer,
and he must hurry away.
"Thanks, friends," he said to the Mexicans who had aided him to lift the
body down, "a thousand thanks for your kindness in this aid. _Adios,
amigos_, I must be going. _Adios._" He led the horse, now lightened of
his burden, away from the door, Felipe following. He could not mount in
the saddle which Death had just vacated; it seemed to him as if it
would be a sort of sacrilege. That agonised cry of the bereaved woman
haunted him still. Loathing Backus though he did, this evidence that to
one soul, at least, in this incomprehensible world, he had been all in
all, struck home to him. Likely enough the man had been good to her,
scoundrel though he was; but what an amazing thing must be this bond of
marriage that could thus link heart to heart, even when one of the pair
was no better than a treacherous coward.
At Don Nepomuceno's he found Manuelita, but not alone. Not only were her
aunt and Juana there--that was of course--but the visits of interested
friends had not yet ceased, seeing that everyone naturally wanted to
hear the exciting story from her own lips. And now it came the
American's turn to entertain the company; while food was being
hospitably prepared for him, he had to come in and sit down among the
ladies, and give some account of what had befallen him while searching
for the bones of the murdered prospector. He passed over Felipe's
attempt on his life in silence and merely spoke of having met him at the
old ruined pueblo, where they heard through the darkness the cry of the
dying victim of the rattlesnake, and vainly endeavoured to help him to
resist the fatal venom. He told the tale at length, and with a freedom
and fulness of detail that surprised himself. But all the time there was
one thing present before his mind, and that was the very thing that he
could whisper no word of to the eager circle around him; it must be kept
for one and one only; but ever as he talked his eyes sought those of the
Mexican girl, not once but many times, and they spoke to her silently
and ardently.
"What is it that has come to him?" she asked herself. "Here is a look
in his eyes to-day that never was there before. Perhaps he has a secret
to keep--or to tell; perhaps he has found that mine that he is always
searching for." She blushed and looked down as she caught his glance
flashed quickly upon her. Her heart told her that he had a secret to
tell--but that it did not concern any mine of silver or gold. Again
their eyes met, and again unwillingly they parted; it seemed dangerous
to look longer, as if the meaning that they had for each other must
betray itself to all around. And this was the man that she had been
deeming cold and hard! "_Hombre muy frio_," as her aunt had called him.
"Cold as the snows of his own frozen North," as her father had
said--said it of him! Perhaps so, perhaps he had been cold, but if it
were so, the ice had melted now.
Stephens lingered over his story longer than he had intended; questions
flowed in upon him, and he had to answer them and fill in many things
that he had omitted, for the storekeeper's strange and dreadful end was
a matter that excited intense interest. He half hoped that by exciting
their curiosity he might impel these people to go away and visit the
house of the deceased in order to learn what more they could. Anything
to make them move. But nothing seemed to have the desired effect. The
more he told them the more they wanted to know. The chance to see the
girl alone and tell her what was in his heart seemed to grow more remote
than ever. He ached to speak to her, were it but a few words--a few
words he told himself were all that were needful, so little did he know
of love--and yet the opportunity was denied.
At last in despair he rose; he would go away himself for a little and
then return. Perhaps meantime the visitors might disperse. "I have to
take my leave now, ladies," he said, excusing himself. "It is already
the hour for the mail to arrive from Santa Fé, and I am expecting
letters of importance. I do not know how they will manage in view of the
unhappy death of the postmaster, but I had better be there to see what
is to be done about opening the mail-bag. By your permission, then, Don
Nepomuceno," and he bowed himself out. The words he had come to say to
her were still unsaid. The thought occurred to him as he moved
away,--should he speak to the girl's father? To speak to the girl's
father first would be quite the correct thing according to Mexican
fashions; or, rather, if he wanted to do the thing in proper style, he
should go and get a friend to take a message to her father for him. But
no; he was not a Mexican, and why should he adopt their fashions in
this? He was an American, and he would woo his wife in American style
for himself.
Faro started to come with him, but was ordered back.
"Stay where you are, old man, till I come for you. I see you're not so
tender-footed as you were, but you stay here." He felt a sort of
prejudice against taking the dog to the house of mourning. He hated to
go there at all, but he had to have his mail and there was no other way
to get it. And he would see if he could find out anything about the fate
of the letters he had entrusted to Backus.
He went out and saddled up Morgana, who put her pretty head round and
pretended to bite him as he pulled on the latigo strap to draw the
cinch.
"Easy, old lady, now; come, none of that"; as she nearly nipped him.
"Pedro's been giving you too much of Don Nepomuceno's corn, I'm
thinking, and it's got into your head." He slung his Winchester into its
case under the off-stirrup leather, and swinging himself into the saddle
departed on his errand.
The mail waggon had just drawn up as usual before the door of the
post-office, now shut and locked, and the stage-driver was leading his
team around the back of the house towards the stable as Stephens came in
sight. Two passengers had dismounted from the waggon, and were
stretching their tired limbs and looking disconsolately at the closed
house with its shuttered window, which seemed to offer small promise of
a meal.
Stephens loped forward with the idea of relieving their discomfiture. As
he did so one of the figures seemed strangely familiar. "Was it--could
it be possible? No. Yes. By George, it was!" With a shout of welcome he
sprang off the mare, slipping her bridle over the saddle-horn, and
reached out both hands to the newcomer.
"Rocky! well, by gum!"
"Jack, old pard! why, you haint changed a mite!"
Stephens and Rockyfeller shook hands for about three minutes by the
clock.
"Say," said Stephens, when the first greetings were over, "what brings
you down here so sudden-like? Thar aint nothing wrong?"
"Not with me," answered Rocky; "I got your telegram, though, and it
struck me that as you thought it worth while telegraphing for them
dollars, you might p'r'aps be in some sort of a fix, so as I happened to
be free and foot-loose I just jumped on the cars as far as South Pueblo,
and took the stage, and here I am. And I was curious to see how you were
making it down here. You're looking A1, I will say. New Mexico kinder
seems to agree with you. Say, look at here,"--he dropped his voice
slightly,--"how about them velvet-eyed Mexican señoritas? Aint none of
them been too much for you yet?" He gave his former partner a rallying
look as he spoke.
"Ah, I may have a word to say to you about that presently," rejoined the
other in a guarded tone. "But say, you're going to stop here, aint you?
You're not bound for Wingate?"
"No, of course I'm not," laughed Rocky, "not unless you turn me adrift.
I've come down to see you--that is, if it's quite convenient." It was
characteristic of Rocky that it only now occurred to him that if his
former partner had started an establishment down here a casual visitor
might be _de trop_. "Of course," he added hastily, "I can go on to
Wingate with the stage, quite well, along with my friend here, Doctor
Benton. Excuse me, Doctor,"--he turned to his fellow-traveller, who had
been regarding the meeting of the two old friends with no other interest
than considering how it affected his chances of getting a meal,--"allow
me to introduce you two gentlemen. Doctor, this is my old friend, Mr.
John Stephens, at present a resident of this neighbourhood. Jack, this
is Doctor Benton, who is doctor to the Post at Fort Wingate and is now
on his way there."
The army doctor and the prospector exchanged greetings.
"Perhaps, Mr. Stephens," said the doctor, who was uncommonly hungry,
"you can inform me of what I am anxious to discover, namely, what
possibility there is of our getting a meal here before proceeding."
Stephens explained that the keeper of the stage station had just been
killed by a rattlesnake. "But I think," he continued, "that if you will
put yourself in my hands I can manage to procure you a meal with some
friends of mine near here. I'd like to ask you to come up to my place at
Santiago, but the stage don't wait but an hour here, and there wouldn't
be time, as it's a good three miles off." He paused and hesitated for a
moment. "I should like to say that these friends of mine are Mexicans,"
he added; "there are no Americans resident in this part of the
Territory." The fact was, that he felt slightly embarrassed for two
reasons. He was afraid that Doctor Benton would try to offer payment to
Don Nepomuceno for his meal, which wouldn't do at all; and he wanted to
explain to Rocky his footing in the house, and his position with regard
to Manuelita, before taking him there, so as to shut off beforehand any
further unseasonable jests about velvet-eyed señoritas. But to explain
this to him before a stranger like Doctor Benton was an impossibility.
He must contrive somehow to get a chance to speak to Rocky for a few
minutes alone.
His eye fell upon Felipe, who had followed him from the Sanchez house.
"See here, young 'un," he said, "I wish you'd go back to Don
Nepomuceno's for me, and tell him, with my compliments, that two friends
of mine have just come, and that by his permission I should like to
bring them to his house, and that I should be very much obliged if he
could give them something to eat. Off you go. We'll follow you."
Felipe was off like a shot.
"That'll be all right now, I guess," said Stephens, looking after his
retreating figure, "but if you'll excuse me a moment, Doctor Benton,
before we follow him, I've got to see about my mail first. I expect
there may be something of importance for me, but I feel there may be a
little difficulty about getting it, seeing that the responsible
postmaster's dead, and the poor woman in yonder,"--he dropped his voice
slightly,--"who represents him now, is in no condition to transact
business. I guess I'll go and speak to the stage-driver first. Will you
come around with me, Rocky?"
"Why, the mail-bags are in here," cut in the doctor, pointing to the
stage, "and the driver never has the key. You'll have to get it out of
the widow, somehow, I expect."
"Ah," said the prospector suddenly, a fresh idea flashing across him,
"you might be able to tell me perhaps about one thing that I'm curious
to know. You are just from headquarters at Santa Fé, Doctor, aren't
you?"
The doctor nodded assent.
"Well, do you know of any detail of soldiers being despatched in this
direction to look after the Navajos? There's a band of Navajos have left
their reservation, and there was very serious trouble with them here
some four days back, and I wrote to the governor and the general who is
in command of the troops at Santa Fé to ask for protection for the
citizens here. I wrote by the last mail that went in from here on this
same stage, driven by this man. I know that he must have delivered a
letter I gave him addressed to the First National Bank of Santa Fé,
because I had enclosed in it a telegram to my old pard here, and the
bank forwarded it to him all O. K. But I'm a little doubtful as to what
became of those letters to the governor and the general. I want to know
why those soldiers weren't sent."
"Hm-m," said the army doctor; "it so happens that I was conversing with
both Governor Stone and General Merewether only yesterday before
starting, and we were talking about the route by here to Wingate, and
the difficulty of the Rio Grande being in flood, but they never said a
word about any report of trouble with the Navajos."
"You don't say!" said Stephens; "and you didn't pass any troops on the
road anywhere along?"
"Certainly not," said the other; "in fact, if any troops had been coming
this way, I should probably have accompanied them. But I am in a
position to state that no detail of troops of any kind has left Santa Fé
for a week or more."
"Well, I'm dashed!" said the prospector; "they would have said something
to you about it, sure, if they ever got my letters." He was silent.
"Mahletonkwa must have told the straight truth for once in his life," he
reflected, "and that rascal of a postmaster must have actually had the
face to burn those letters I gave him, and, what's more, now he's dead
we'll never prove it on him in God's world. Not that it would be any use
if we could. The mischief's done now so far as he could do it, but it's
the last he'll ever do, sure. The letter I gave the stage-driver was all
right. He couldn't get at that."
Stephens never knew how near his letter to the Bank, with the telegram
for Rocky, had come to sharing the fate of the others. But the
stage-driver, though he might talk and bluster, had no real motive for
destroying it, and he did have a healthy fear of the Post-Office
Department. Mr. Backus had a motive, and did not share the other's
wholesome dread of his official superiors.
While Stephens was pondering over the fate of his letters, he slipped
one hand in an absent-minded way into his side pocket, and there he
stumbled on exactly what he most wanted at that moment, a good excuse
for taking Rocky apart. The first thing his fingers had encountered was
the paper containing the specimens of the outcrop at the Lone Pine rock
that he had brought away with him. Excellent! here was the very thing;
he produced it somewhat mysteriously, and handing it to Rocky, said
apologetically to the other man, "One moment by your leave, Doctor, if
you please. There's something here I want just to have my old partner
look at," and he drew Rocky a little to one side.
"Why, certainly," said the Doctor, turning round and proceeding to climb
into the stage; "I'll just see if I can rout out that mail-bag for you
before the stage-driver comes."
"I wanted to tell you, Rocky, about my friends at this house where I'm
taking you," began Stephens hurriedly, in a low voice; "I don't want you
to make any error: there's a girl there that I think--" But his
ex-partner, who had already opened the paper, interrupted him with the
greatest excitement.
"Why, burn my skin!" he exclaimed, "do you know what you've got hold of
here? You've got some of that same ore they've gone crazy over up at
Mohawk. Didn't you spot the horn silver in it? If you've got a good lode
of this stuff, by thunder, you've got a soft thing! Is it a good vein?
If it's three or four foot wide you'll just have the world by the tail."
"That so?" said his friend, "you don't say! I guess I must have stumbled
on to that hidden mine of the Indians I've been hunting for, at last.
But that'll keep."
Rocky, remembering his old friend's former ardour in prospecting, was
amazed at the cool way in which he took the news that he had made this
highly valuable strike.
"Look at here, Rocky; the thing I was really aiming to say to you,"
continued Stephens, his colour rising as he spoke, "was about that young
lady,"--at this Rocky's lips curved into a knowing smile and his eyes
twinkled;--"don't laugh, old man, I'm dead in earnest over this thing,
and I think a heap of her. She's a lady, mind you, right down to the
ground."
"Why, to be sure, she must be," cut in Rocky, with portentous
seriousness, though his eyes danced with merriment; "she wouldn't be
your style no other way. You always was high-toned, Jack; I'll say that
for you."
"That's all right," returned Stephens, colouring more furiously than
ever; he knew he was blushing, though the experience was entirely
strange to him, and he was dreadfully ashamed of not being able to help
it. "But indeed I'm not joking, Rocky. Her family's not very rich, but
they're kind of way-up people, I want you to understand, old Spanish
blood and that sort of thing; not any of the low-down, half-caste Indian
stock, you know."
"That so?" said Rocky, keenly; "wal', I'm glad to hear it. I thought
Mexicans was all one quality straight through--leastways, all I ever
seen were." Rocky's knowledge of the race was limited to the
bull-whackers of the big waggon-trains on the freighting roads, and
Mexican stock was considerably below par by his estimate.
"That's where you got off wrong," said Stephens eagerly, "for there's a
few families here in New Mexico that's just as good as anybody, if it
comes to that--Bacas and Armijos and--and Sanchez--" he hesitated a
little.
"Say," cut in Rocky, "look at yonder! Who are them ducks a-coming up the
road? They 're riding as if all blazes was loose. Some of the First
Families of New Mexico, eh?" Rocky was sarcastic. He knew Indians when
he saw them.
"By George!" exclaimed Stephens in considerable excitement, "it's those
accursed Navajos back here again."
Out of a whirling cloud of red dust and flying horsehoofs emerged the
well-known figures of Mahletonkwa, Notalinkwa, and the rest of the gang.
They reined up before the shut door of the store, and most of them
sprang off their horses.
"They've not gone back to their reservation," said Stephens indignantly.
"We'd ought to have had the soldiers here by now, and put them right
back. I'm all for doing things by law and order, me, and it's the
soldiers' business anyway. But it's getting to be time something was
done. It's an infamous shame they should be allowed to fly around like
this and bulldoze everybody; and, what's more, I'm getting tired of it."
The Indians were talking and laughing in a loud, excited manner, and
Mahletonkwa began to pound on the closed door of the store with his
fist.
"That's a sockdologer," said Rocky, "him knocking at the door I mean,
with the eagle-feathers in his head-dress." Mahletonkwa was a big man
physically; his stature would have been remarkable even in a crowd of
Western men, perhaps the tallest men, on an average, of any on the face
of the globe. "Say, do you mean to tell me that these are wild Indians,
and you leave 'em around here loose?"
"They're worse than wild Indians just now," said Stephens, whose eyes
were beginning to glow like hot coals; "they're Indians with liquor
enough in them to make 'em crazy for more, and ready for any devilment."
"Say, Mahletonkwa," he called out, raising his voice and advancing a
step, "quit that hammering, will you! There's trouble in the house, and
you mustn't disturb them."
The Indian took no more notice of him than a striking clock might have
done, but went on pounding with loud, continuous blows on the resounding
wood.
"Stop it, will you!" cried Stephens, springing forward; "don't you hear
me? There's a dead man in there, I tell you, and a poor woman mourning."
"I want more whiskey," said Mahletonkwa excitedly, and he beat the door
with both hands.
The next moment Stephens had him by the shoulders and whirled him
around, and with a push sent him staggering half a dozen yards from the
house.
The Indian recovered himself, wheeled sharp round, and with a yell of
rage drew his knife and bounded upon Stephens. He, too, drew his to
defend himself, but as he did so Rocky sprang between them, pulling his
Derringer. Alas! the Indian's knife was quicker than the pistol; he
grappled Rocky instead of Stephens, and stabbed him in the breast. Down
went Rocky with a crash upon the ground, the pistol dropping unfired
from his nerveless fingers, and the blood poured from his mouth.