Watson and Robledo finished their supper in silence. Their thoughts were
still busy with what had occurred a few hours earlier in the park of
Canterac’s invention.
An invisible wall seemed to have risen between them. Watson’s expression
was sombre, and he avoided looking at his partner. The latter, when from
time to time he looked at him, smiled bitterly. He could not now see
Watson without thinking of Elena. Undoubtedly it was she, tormented as
she was by her desire to control every man in whom she was interested,
who had aroused the young American’s feeling against his partner!
Watson got up from table with a few mumbled words, and picked up his
hat.
“So, he’s going to see her,” thought Robledo. “He is restless if he
can’t be by her side.”
In the main street Watson found various groups engaged in heated
discussion. The red rectangles of the windows and doors of the _boliche_
were frequently eclipsed by the shadows of the customers going in and
out. It was not hard to guess that the subject under discussion was the
scandalous occurrence of that afternoon, and that everyone was taking
sides either with the French engineer or the Italian contractor.
When he reached Elena’s house Sebastiana came out and stood at the top
of the outside staircase waiting for him to come up. She too, he could
see, was thinking about what had happened at the “park.”
The half-breed looked at Richard with a good deal of severity. “Ay,
those men!... Here was this _gringo_ who had seemed such a good young
man, and see how he was treating her little girl, her little Celinda! So
he was no different from the others....”
The young engineer walked in without meeting Sebastiana’s eye, and found
Elena in the drawing-room. She seemed to be expecting him.
He was about to sit down in an arm-chair, but she would have none of it.
“No, no, here beside me--so no one will hear us.”
And he sat down on the sofa beside her.
She was pale, and there was a hard expression in her eyes, as though she
were still in the grip of recent and very disagreeable experiences. The
fist-fight between Pirovani and Canterac now occupied second place in
her thoughts. The thing that was in the very forefront of her mind was
the image of Celinda with her up-raised whip. At that image she trembled
with anger.
But Richard’s punctual arrival made her forget her resentment. So, he
was glad to grant her request that he spend the evening with her.... She
saw that he was looking somewhat uneasily at the doors leading into the
room.
“No one will come in,” she reassured him. “My husband is in his room, a
little upset by some bad news from home that he received today.... A
family affair, that doesn’t much concern me.”
With a sudden softening in her voice she went on,
“How grateful I am for your having come! I fairly shook with terror at
the thought of spending these hours alone.... I am so frightfully bored
here! That is why I begged you when we parted this afternoon not to
leave me all alone....”
And she caught up Watson’s hand, and looked at him with a caress in her
eyes.
The young man was agreeably flattered by her glances, but at once there
arose in his mind a memory of what had happened earlier that day.
“What were those men fighting about? Was it about you?”
She did not answer at once; finally, looking away, she said with a kind
of surrender,
“Perhaps, but I despise them both. You are the only man here I care
about, Ricardo.”
She laid her hands on his shoulders; and with a feline undulation she
brought her face close to his.
“I suspect,” she murmured, “I suspect that we two are going to go beyond
the limits of friendship....”
Stimulated by the novelty of being alone with one another, they became
conscious of the daring and vehement desire burning hotly within them.
In a few short minutes they were going to cover a distance that in his
inexperience he thought would have required several long days’ journeys.
She, meanwhile, thought of the young Amazon whose riding-whip had almost
struck her in the face. Her outraged vanity, and her desire for
vengeance, made her decide upon a cynical course of action; she laughed
to herself and her laugh was reflected in a cruel glint in her eyes.
“If you’re jealous you ought to have some reason for it,” Elena was
thinking. “I’ll pay you back for your whip-blow.”
In addition, when she perceived that those other two men had fought one
another in her presence without causing her any but the most trifling
emotion, she decided, with a lack of logic characteristic of her
unbalanced brain, that the surest way to make peace between them was to
give herself to a third, one who should be more deserving of her
interest.
To Watson, since the moment when two men had tried to kill one another
for her sake, this woman seemed all the more beautiful and desirable. A
feeling of male pride and sex vanity mingled with the emotions that
Elena’s words and the contact with her graceful body were arousing in
him.
The hands on his shoulders had imperceptibly crept closer and closer
together. They met, and the young American felt himself imprisoned by
two beautiful arms. Something awakened in his thoughts, like a little
flame in a dying fire. He thought he saw before him the sad, noble face
of his comrade Torre Bianca, and he tried to shake his head--“No!” and
draw back, pushing Elena away.... He couldn’t betray his friend.... It
was unworthy of him to act in this fashion, under Torre Bianca’s own
roof. Then he saw himself and Celinda riding happily along together.
Again he tried to move his head “No!” He blinked and looked profoundly
distressed, trying to defend himself, and at the same time certain that
he would be unable to do so.
“Poor little _Flor de Rio Negro_!” he thought.
The arms wound around his neck pressed gently against him, drawing his
head slowly toward Elena’s face; her hungry lips were close to his. Then
their mouths met, and Richard thought the kiss would never end.
He felt all the surprise of one who on entering a marvelous palace, sees
the doors of a second and even more beautiful hall standing wide open
before him; and he passes on through a third and a fourth, until he is
lost in the succession of dazzling rooms opening their doors to him.
He trembled at what her mouth revealed; shudders ran down his back.
At that moment, confusedly he thought, just like all the other simple
folk at the dam who were in mad pursuit of Elena--“This is woman, the
real woman who rules the world.... It is only the women who have known
the elegances of life who are worthy of a man’s admiration and
worship....”
His hands, as he tried to free himself from the power that threatened to
drown his will, came in contact with the soft curves of her body....
Suddenly from the other side of the door came a vigorous knocking.
Sebastiana was pounding away on the bare boards with her knuckles, in
this fashion asking permission to enter, for the half-breed was too
well-trained to come in without announcing her intention. However,
before asking permission in this way, she always took the precaution to
look through the keyhole. When, finally, her head appeared between the
two wooden slides of the door, she said, lowering her malicious eyes,
“My old boss, don Pirovani, wants to see the _marquesa_. He seems to be
in a hurry.”
Richard stood up to go. Elena gave him to understand that she would get
rid of the intruder in short order. But the young man had regained his
composure, and, aware of the peril he had just escaped, he asked for
nothing better than to make use of the opportunity to escape. He didn’t
want to stay alone with her again! At the door he almost fell over the
contractor who came in, bowing from afar to the “_señora marquesa_.”
Watson shook hands with him and hurried away.
Elena scarcely took the trouble to hide her anger at this inopportune
call, and received the Italian with quite obvious ill-humor.
She remained standing to indicate that his stay was to be short, but
pre-occupied by his own troubles, he asked if he might sit down, and
before Elena could reply, he sank into a chair. Elena merely leaned
against the edge of the table.
“My husband is ill,” she said, “and I must look after him. It isn’t
anything to worry about ... just an unfortunate occurrence in his
family. But now let’s talk about you. What brings you here at this
hour?”
Pirovani delayed answering, in order to make his words more impressive
when he did finally utter them.
“The _señor_ Canterac says that after what happened this afternoon we
must have a duel to the death.”
Elena was thinking only of Watson, and this man’s arrival, putting the
young American to flight, made her tremble with nervousness. But for his
news, she had only a slight shrug. It really didn’t interest her! Then
she tried to conceal her indifference by saying,
“I don’t see anything so strange about that. If I were a man I would do
the same.”
Pirovani, who up to that time had been uncertain as to how he felt about
Canterac’s challenge, got up with an air of tremendous resolution.
“Then,” he said, “if you think it is all right, there is nothing more to
be said. I’ll fight with the Frenchman, and I’ll fight with half the
world if necessary, so that you’ll be convinced that I am worthy of your
esteem.”
As he spoke he took Elena’s hand. But it lay so inert in his own that he
was discouraged, and let go of it. She looked wearily towards the
interior of the house where her husband was, indicating to Pirovani that
he was to take his leave. The Italian made haste to obey, but while he
moved towards the door he irritated her still more with words and
gestures designed to inspire admiration for his devotion and heroism.
As soon as she was alone, Elena called shrilly for Sebastiana. The
half-breed was slow in coming to her mistress. She had been escorting
her former employer to the street.
“See if you can find the _señor_ Watson!” ordered Elena hastily. “He
can’t be so far away. Tell him to come back.”
The half-breed smiled, lowered her malicious eyes, and said innocently,
“It isn’t so easy to overtake him. He flew out of here like a shot from
a gun. The devil must have been after him!”
When he left his former house Pirovani went to see Robledo, whom he
found reading a book that was propped up against the kerosene lamp in
the centre of the table. When the Spaniard saw his caller he greeted him
with exclamations and reproaches.
“What got into you? Why do a thing like that?... A man of your years and
reputation!... You’re not a fifteen-year-old fighting for your
sweetheart!”
The Italian rejected this admonition with a haughty gesture, judging it
rather tardy. Then he said solemnly, and as if his own words intoxicated
his vanity,
“I am fighting a duel to the death with Captain Canterac, and I want you
and Moreno to be my seconds.”
Robledo broke out into exclamations of scandalized impatience.
“But what do you take me for? Do you think that I am going in for any of
your nonsense, and make a fool of myself just to keep you company?”
And he went on with a vigorous tirade against Pirovani’s absurd request,
the latter nodding obstinately all the while. He was determined to face
everything now after what Elena had said.
“I am a man of humble birth,” he said, “I know nothing except how to
work; and I’ve got to show everybody that I’m not afraid of this
gentleman, accustomed as he is to handling weapons.”
Robledo shrugged at these words, more absurd than anything that had
preceded them. Finally he grew tired of his useless protests.
“I see that I might as well give up my attempts to knock a little common
sense into you. Very well; I’ll consent to acting as your
representative, but on condition that the affair be settled by reason
and not by a duel.”
The contractor assumed the attitude becoming to a gentleman whose honor
has just been slighted.
“No. I wish to have a duel ... and to the death. I am not a coward and I
didn’t come here to find a way out.”
Then he gave expression to what he was thinking.
“Although I never had much education, I know what ought to be done in
cases like this one. And further, I know how certain people of high
station look at it. I must fight, and I shall fight.”
He spoke with such sincerity that Robledo felt sure Elena must have
inspired in him this ridiculous resolution. Undoubtedly she was the
person “of high station” who had advised poor Pirovani! Looking
pityingly at him, he yet abruptly and emphatically refused to act as
second.
Convinced finally that nothing was to be gained by further argument,
Pirovani went away and betook himself to Moreno’s.
The next day, early in the morning, don Carlos Rojas, standing in the
doorway of his ranch house, saw a rider approaching. The horseman was
wearing “city clothes,” and his mount made the rancher smile. It was
Moreno.
“Where are you going on that graveyard nag, friend ink-spiller? Stop a
while and have a _mate_ with me, eh _amigo_?”
They both went into the room used as a parlor and office, and while a
small servant prepared the _mate_, Moreno caught a glimpse through a
doorway of the rancher’s daughter sitting in a wicker chair; she looked
worried and unhappy, and in her feminine dress seemed to have lost the
joyous, rebellious audacity which she always seemed to possess when she
wore boy’s clothes.
Moreno bowed to her from the room where he sat, and she acknowledged his
salutation with a sad little smile.
“There, you see! She’s not herself at all, not the same girl any more.
Anyone would think she was sick. That’s the way it is with young
people!”
Celinda shook her head. Sick? Oh no, that wasn’t it.... Then she left
the room so that her father and his guest might speak more freely
together.
When they had sipped their first cup of _mate_, Rojas offered Moreno a
cigar, “so that he would have something to puff at”; then lighting his
own, he prepared to listen.
“What brings you to these parts, old boy?... You’re not much for riding,
and when you come as far as this, it must be for some reason.”
Moreno went on smoking with the calm of an oriental who considers it
advisable to excite the curiosity of the person addressing him before
taking any part in the conversation.
“Don Carlos,” he said at last, “as a young fellow you had a good deal to
do with firearms. When I was in Buenos Aires I heard that you’d fought
in several duels on account of women.”
Rojas looked cautiously about to see whether his daughter happened to be
within earshot. Then he smiled with all the fatuous vanity of a man well
on in years at the memory of the bold, wild follies of his youth, and
said, with an affectation of modesty,
“Bah! Nobody remembers that now! Boyish pranks ... they don’t do that
sort of thing these days.”
Moreno thought it proper to suspend the conversation by a long pause;
then he announced,
“Canterac and Pirovani are fighting a duel tomorrow. They are going to
shoot to kill.”
Don Carlos was frankly amazed.
“But such things are out of style!... And here in this desert of a
place?”
Moreno nodded and remained silent. The rancher also refrained from
speaking but he looked questioningly at his caller. What in the world
had he, don Rojas, to do with all this? And was it simply for the
pleasure of giving him this bit of news that the government clerk had
taken such a long ride?
“The captain,” said Moreno, “has arranged with the _marqués_ of Torre
Bianca and the _gringo_ Watson to be his seconds. As they’re both of
them his colleagues, they can’t very well refuse.”
This seemed quite a matter of course to Rojas. But what the devil was it
to him who the seconds were!
“Pirovani has only one second so far. That is myself,” Moreno continued.
“I came to ask you to help us out, don Rojas. You know how to act in
this sort of affair. I wish you’d serve with me as a second for our
Italian friend.”
But the rancher protested vehemently.
“Drop all this fool business, man! Why should I get mixed up in the
squabbles of these people? They’re all my friends ... and anyway, I’m
too old to have anything to do with this sort of thing. I don’t care to
make that kind of splurge, not at my age....”
But Moreno was not to be put off so easily, and several minutes of
heated argument followed. Finally the rancher gave some signs of
abandoning his first position. He was more won over by what seemed to
him the mysterious nature of this duel than by any of Moreno’s pleas. As
a second he might learn some curious and interesting things....
“Well, then, I’ll do what you want. What the devil will this ink-spiller
be after me for next?”
Then he smiled slyly, slapping Moreno on the leg, and asked him,
lowering his voice,
“And why do they want to kill one another? About a woman eh?... Sure as
I breathe, that _marquesa_ has something to do with it ... she seems to
drive all the men around her crazy....”
Moreno assumed a mysterious expression, at the same time raising his
finger to his lips to impress Rojas with the need for caution.
“Careful, don Carlos! Remember that the _marqués_ will be acting with us
as a second in this duel.... Perhaps, even, as an expert in this sort of
thing he will manage the whole affair.”
The rancher began to laugh, again slapping his friend on the leg. So
hearty was his laughter that at times he raised his hand to his throat
as though choking in the outbursts of his amusement.
“That’s a pretty thing, eh? So the husband is going to superintend the
duel! And the fight is about his wife.... But these _gringos_ are an
amusing lot.... I’d like to see this business through! It beats anything
I ever heard of....”
Then he added gravely,
“Yes, I’ll act as second. This is better than a play in Buenos Aires, or
one of those movies my little girl is so crazy about....”
In the early afternoon, after lunching at the ranch, Moreno returned to
the settlement; he dismounted in front of Pirovani’s house.
Torre Bianca was walking up and down in the room he used as an office.
He was in mourning and looked even more unhappy and discouraged than
usual. In his pacing back and forth he stopped every now and then beside
a table on which was an open case containing a brace of revolvers. He
had spent a good part of the afternoon cleaning the weapons and looking
at them meditatively, as though the sight of them evoked distant
memories. But at moments he forgot the revolvers and gazed at a
photograph beside them on the table; it was his mother’s, and as he
looked at it tears filled his eyes.
After a ceremonious salutation Moreno hastened to assure him that he had
found another second, and that he came fully authorized by him to
discuss the preparations for the duel. The _marqués_ acknowledged his
speech with a bow, and showed him the case of weapons.
“I brought them from Europe. They have played a part in several affairs
at least as serious as this one. Look them over carefully. We have no
others and they will have to be found acceptable by both parties.”
The government clerk indicated that he considered such an examination as
the _marqués_ suggested quite unnecessary, and that whatever the latter
thought fit to suggest he would find quite acceptable.
The _marqués_ went on talking with a courtly dignity which deeply
impressed Moreno.
“This poor worthy gentleman doesn’t really know what this situation is,”
he thought. “Yet he is so good and likeable.... He evidently hasn’t the
faintest conception of what has been going on, of what his wife has been
up to ... nor of the unfortunate part that he himself is going to
play....”
“As neither of the two parties wishes to give any explanations, and as
the offence is unquestionably serious, the duel will have to be to the
death. Don’t you agree with me?”
Moreno had assumed a portentously solemn expression just as soon as he
perceived how serious this conversation was to be, and now he silently
nodded his approbation.
“My principal,” the _marqués_ continued, “will not be satisfied with
anything less than three shots at twenty paces, with five seconds for
taking aim.”
Moreno blinked to show how amazed he was by these conditions, and wished
to indicate that he was opposed to accepting them, but he remembered a
second interview that he had had that morning with Pirovani before he
set out for the Rojas ranch.
The Italian had appeared to be transformed by his bellicose enthusiasm.
He rejoiced in this opportunity to present himself to the “_señora
marquesa_” in the light of a novel hero.
“Accept all the conditions,” he said to Moreno, “however frightful they
may be. I want to make it quite dear that even though I started out in
life a simple workman, I am more courageous and more of a gentleman than
this French captain!”
So the government employee ended by nodding.
“Tonight,” the _marqués_ continued, “all four seconds are to meet at
Watson’s place to put the conditions into writing, and tomorrow as soon
as it is light, the duel will take place.”
Pirovani’s representative called attention to the fact that don Carlos
Rojas would not be able to be present at this meeting because he had
that afternoon set out for Fuerte Sarmiento in search of a doctor for
the duel. But his friend had authorized him to subscribe to any
conditions that might be set down. Whereupon the two seconds considered
the interview at an end.
As Moreno went out of the house, he saw the police commissioner standing
at the foot of the stairs leading to the street. Evidently the
_comisario_ was waiting for him. And don Roque did not take long to
express his indignation.
“You people seem to think that you can do anything you like, just as
though there were no law in the land, no authority, no anything, just as
though the Indians were still running it. Well, I’m the police
commissioner, though you don’t seem to know it, and it’s my job to keep
other people from doing all the crazy things that they take it into
their heads to do. When is that duel to take place? I must know.”
Moreno was not disposed to give the information requested of him, and
the _comisario_, in view of this disinclination to obey, went on in a
gentler tone,
“You might as well tell me without making any bones about it. You know
very well that there isn’t one of you who would approve of such a thing
taking place with me present in the town. Tell me when the thing is
coming off.... So I can get out before it happens.”
Moreno murmured something in his ear and the _comisario_ acknowledged
the confidence by grasping the official’s hand. Then he walked towards
his horse who was hitched near by, and just as he was about to mount
him, he added, very low,
“I am going to spend the night in Fuerte Sarmiento and I won’t be back
until tomorrow afternoon. Do whatever you like.... I know nothing about
it!”