After much persuasion and further caustic remarks on the country and a
people whose chief occupation seemed to be that of shooting and hanging
one another, Mrs. Forest was finally induced to enter the house, leaving
Blanch and Bessie seated on the bench beneath the cottonwood tree where
they had collapsed, the result of the shock their nerves had sustained.
Their presence seemed as incongruous with their surroundings as that of
some delicate hot-house flower blooming in the midst of the desert.
"Could you have believed it if you hadn't seen it?" asked Bessie, the
first to break the silence. "Is it all real, or are we still dreaming? I
wish somebody would pinch me, my wits are so scattered," and she passed
her hand across her eyes as though to dispel some dreadful nightmare.
"I never imagined," replied her companion in a vague uncertain tone of
voice, like one laboring under the influence of a narcotic, "that such
people existed anywhere outside of books, and yet the samples to which
we have just been introduced make characters of fiction look tame in
comparison. Oh, dear!" she burst forth, "who could have imagined it?"
"What a transition--I can't understand it!" said Bessie. "I feel like
one who has just dropped from the sky to earth."
"No wonder! I, too, am still seeing stars. Jack certainly must be mad,
else how could he have ever picked out such a forsaken land whose
inhabitants seem to consist chiefly of ruffians and black women?"
"It's simply incomprehensible after all he's seen of the world," replied
Bessie. "Did you notice how he enjoyed our discomfiture? How it was all
he could do to keep from laughing in our faces?"
"The brute!" cried Blanch.
"If we had only realized to what we were coming--" Bessie began.
"Oh, it's too late to say that!" interrupted Blanch. "Now that I'm here,
I'm not going to turn back; I'm going to see this thing through. And
what's more," she added with unmistakable emphasis, "I'm going to see
that woman! Have you noticed any one that looks like her?" she asked
cautiously, lowering her voice and looking about suspiciously, as she
rose from her seat.
"Pshaw!" laughed Bessie, also rising and shaking the dust from her
skirt. "You've scarcely talked of anything else since we left home. Why,
I really believe you are beginning to be jealous of this creature of
your imagination. It's too absurd to suppose that Jack--"
"Is it any more impossible than the people and things we have just
encountered?"
"Nonsense! Jack in love with some half-breed--that dusky beauty in
breeches who rides astride, and whom he happened to mention to us? It's
preposterous!"
"My dear," resumed Blanch calmly, "don't deceive yourself. My woman's
intuition tells me that I'm right. Jack's notion of beginning a new life
is all nonsense--there's a deeper reason than that for this change in
him. Take my word for it, there's a woman at the bottom of it for what
possible attraction could this horrid country and its people have for a
civilized being?"
"I can't believe it," answered Bessie; "you know how fastidious Jack is.
Besides it was only a fleeting glance that he caught of the woman he
mentioned--and that in the twilight."
"A glance is quite enough for a fool to fall in love with a phantom,"
retorted Blanch warmly, thrusting the ground vigorously with the point
of her sunshade.
"They say," she went on, "that these dark beauties of the South possess
a peculiar fascination of their own--that they have a way of captivating
men before they realize what's happening. They sort of hypnotize them,
you know."
"But not a man of Jack's type!"
"Oh, I don't mean to infer that she's beautiful," continued Blanch.
"Attractive she may be, but how could anything so common be really
beautiful? It's not that which worries me--it's the state of his mind.
He has evidently reached a crisis. As long as I can keep him in sight
he's safe, but should he be left here alone with one of these women in
his present frame of mind, there's no knowing what might happen. Any
woman if fairly attractive and a schemer, can marry almost any man she
has a mind to. You know," she added, "he's not given to talking without
a purpose and usually acts even though he lives to repent of it
afterwards. Why, if he were left here, he might marry from _ennui_, who
knows? One hears of such things."
"Heavens!" ejaculated Bessie, "it makes one shudder to think of it!
Hush!" she added, nodding in the direction of the house where the
Captain appeared in the doorway and halted, regarding them with a mixed
expression of curiosity and amusement.
"Well," he said at length, descending to where they stood, "how do first
impressions of the place strike you? It's not so dull, after all, is
it?" he added, concealing his mirth with difficulty.
"It's charming," replied Blanch in her richest vein of sarcasm,
addressing him for the first time since her arrival. "What delightful
surroundings, and what congenial people one meets here!"
The Captain burst into an uproarious fit of laughter. The sight of
Blanch had sent a sudden thrill through him that told him plainly enough
how deeply rooted had been his love and that he had not yet succeeded in
eradicating it entirely from his heart as he had supposed.
The spark of the old love still smoldered within him, and would she
succeed again in fanning it into flame? He had not forgotten, however,
that he had suffered, and her presence acted like some wonderful balm to
his wounded soul. It was his turn now and he could afford to humor her.
Though there was nothing triumphant in his manner, he, nevertheless,
enjoyed that sneaking feeling of satisfaction which most of us
experience on beholding the discomfiture of those who have treated us
lightly. Moreover, he thoroughly realized what the coming of Blanch and
his family meant. They had come to laugh at him and his surroundings--to
ridicule his ideas. The great harlot world had come to pooh-pooh--to
scoff and laugh him out of his convictions, and no one knew better than
he did what the mighty power and influence of the great civilized guffaw
meant. For had he not, during his diplomatic career, seen the primitive
man laughed out of his cool, naked blessedness into a modern, cheap pair
of sweltering pantaloons? But things were now equal, and this promised
to be the most exciting diplomatic game in which he had yet engaged. The
defeat of Spain and the annexation of the Philippines were trifles in
comparison. And he decided then and there to make the most of it--that
come what might, all who entered this game would pay the price to the
last farthing. Time and circumstances would prove who was right--they or
he.
"Do you know," he said at length, "I don't pity you a bit; it serves you
right for coming."
"Pity?" retorted Bessie. "Do we look like a pair of beggars that have
come two thousand miles to crave pity at the feet of the high and mighty
Captain Forest? Your condescension, Cousin, is insufferable," she added.
"I was just thinking," he resumed, thoroughly enjoying his cousin's
wrath, "that you had better drop your silly affectations and spoiled
ways while here."
"Really!" burst out Bessie again, her face flushing with growing
indignation.
"I do," he returned placidly, "for somehow, the people about here don't
seem to appreciate such things."
"I can readily believe it," answered Blanch with a contemptuous laugh
and hauteur of manner that were almost insulting. "I don't wonder you
feel uneasy on our account considering that we have never enjoyed the
advantages their social standards offer. We trust, however, for the sake
of old friendship, that you will overlook our shortcomings. A lesson in
manners might not be lost on us," she added with a withering glance and
tone that would have reduced any other man to a sere and yellow leaf.
She paused, her delicately gloved hand resting lightly on the handle of
her sunshade on which she leaned, throwing the graceful outline of her
tall slender figure into clear relief against the green background of
trees and shrubs. A strange light came into her beautiful blue eyes,
softening the expression of her face; a face that had been the hope and
despair of many a man; a face that was not alone beautiful but alive and
interesting; a face into which all men longed to gaze and once seen
could never be forgotten.
Only one man had ever resisted the power and fascination of that face;
the man whom she had flung from her in an ungovernable fit of passion;
the man whom she either had come to claim as her own again, or to
humiliate as he had humiliated her. Who could guess the real motive that
prompted her to humble her pride so far as to follow him? Was it love or
hatred? Who could say? Her delicate, coral lips curled with just the
suggestion of a sneer as she raised her eyes to his again and said in a
tone of contempt: "So this is the place where your wild woman lives--"
but the words died on her lips. Her head came up with a jerk and her
figure suddenly straightened and stiffened as her gaze became riveted on
the face of Chiquita who stood just opposite on the veranda lightly
poised with one foot on the steps.
It would have been interesting to have read the thoughts of these two
women as they stood silently confronting one another, each taking the
measure of the other.
The contrast between the two could not have been more striking. The
soft, delicate, well-groomed figure of Blanch, the accomplished woman of
the world, with eyes intoxicating as wine and a glowing wealth of golden
hair, tempting and alluring as the luxuriance of old Rome at the height
of her triumphs before her decadence set in--the last fair breath of her
ancient glory--the best and fairest that modern civilization had
produced. She had no need of the artificial head-gear and upholstery
with which the modern society belle is wont to bolster up herself. There
was not the slightest trace of rouge on her lips or cheeks. She had
learned that simple food, fresh air and sleep and exercise were the only
preservatives for the form and complexion. Spoiled though she was, she
was genuine to the core.
On the other hand, what the symmetrical well-rounded lines of Chiquita's
figure lost by the unfair comparison of her worn and faded dress with
that of the latest Parisian creation, was more than compensated for by
the heavy luxuriant masses of blue-black hair, straight nose, large,
dark piercing eyes that shone from beneath delicately penciled, broad
arching brows, and the mysterious hawk-like wildness of her gaze and
appearance and general air of strength and power, baffling and
inscrutable as the origin of her race; a face and figure which
exemplified the perfect type of a race that carried one back to the
forgotten days of ancient Egypt and India.
Truly, twice blessed or cursed by the gods was he to be loved by two
such women; the one fashion's, the other nature's child.
The look of embarrassment on Captain Forest's face, together with the
ludicrousness of the situation, caused Bessie to burst into a sudden fit
of laughter into which Blanch, in spite of herself, was irresistibly
drawn. Fortunately for the Captain, he did not entirely lose his
presence of mind as one is apt to do who unexpectedly finds himself
between two tigers about to spring. He did the only sensible thing a man
could do under the circumstances. He retired precipitately, leaving the
field to whomsoever wished it most.
"The Señoritas laugh," said Chiquita at length, the first to speak.
There was a strange light in her eyes as she slowly descended the
veranda and came toward them. The sound of her full, rich, musical
voice, colored with a soft accent that was pleasing to the ear,
instantly brought Blanch and Bessie to themselves.
"Perhaps," she began again calmly, "it is because I am poor?"
"Oh, no, Señorita, how could you imagine--" exclaimed Blanch, recovering
her breath.
"Then perhaps it is because I am an Indian and red, not white like
yourselves?"
"Are you an Indian, Señorita?" asked Blanch. "I thought you were a
Mexican."
"And if I were, I would not be ashamed of it!"
"What a strange creature!" thought Bessie.
"But why did the Señoritas laugh when they saw me?" persisted Chiquita,
her expression softening a bit, a faint smile illumining her face.
"Believe me, Señorita," replied Blanch, "we were not laughing at you at
all. We were laughing at Captain Forest."
"Ah, the Señor!" ejaculated Chiquita.
"Yes," continued Blanch, "we had already heard of you through Captain
Forest, and--I--" she hesitated, "I really can't explain because you
wouldn't understand, you know."
"But I do understand, Señorita," answered Chiquita quietly. "You do not
deceive me, and since you refuse to tell me why you laughed, I shall be
obliged to tell you. I think I can guess the truth."
"Really, I'm curious!" and Blanch smiled compassionately.
"Ah, you think I can't read your face," and Chiquita smiled in turn.
"Señorita," she continued with sudden emphasis, "you love the Señor!"
Blanch started, the attack was so sudden, her face coloring in spite of
her endeavor to conceal her confusion.
"Yes, Señorita, you love him."
"How do you know I love him?" laughed Blanch lightly in turn, by this
time thoroughly mistress of herself. "Why, you have only met me for the
first time!"
"How do I know? Because I am a woman. I saw you as you spoke to him.
Your whole manner betrayed you--your voice, your eyes. Yes, Señorita,"
she added with growing passion, fixing her dark piercing eyes on those
of Blanch, "you laughed because a poor girl like me of a different race
and color, a race despised by you white people, should have imagined
that Captain Forest might possibly cast his eyes upon her--"
"Señorita!" cried Blanch protestingly.
"It is the truth," continued Chiquita passionately, "and what is more, I
will tell you frankly that I--I, too, love the Señor!"
"I thought so!" exclaimed Blanch.
"Yes, I love him--love him as you do--love him as you can never love
him, Señorita!"
"What makes you think so?" asked Blanch, endeavoring to stifle the
emotion Chiquita's passionate words aroused within her.
"I know it," she answered quietly; "something tells me so. And should he
not love me as I love him, my life will go out of me swiftly and
silently like the waters of the streams in summer when the rains cease;
my soul will become barren and parched like the desert, and I shall
wither and die."
"Die?" echoed Blanch. "Nobody dies of love nowadays, Señorita," and she
laughed lightly.
"Perhaps not among your people, but with Indians it is different. When
we love it is terrible--our passion becomes our life, our whole
existence! Such a confession sounds absurd perhaps, but you assumed an
air of superiority--racial superiority, I mean--a thing which I know to
be as false as it is presumptuous. I might assume the airs and attitude
of one of your race if I chose, but you laughed, and the race-pride in
me cries out that I should be to you what I really am--an Indian, not
that which I have learned and borrowed from the white race."
"How extraordinary!" thought Blanch. Surely such passion was short lived
and a weak admission on the part of her rival. She was a true character
of melodrama--one which she had seen a hundred times on the stage. The
battle was hers already--she would win. She heaved a sigh of relief, and
drawing herself up to her full height, assumed an attitude of ease, an
air of patronage and condescension that only Blanch Lennox could adopt.
She could afford to be generous to a child, treat with lenience this
clever _ingenue_ who in this age could die, or at least imagine herself
dying of love.
"Perhaps," resumed Chiquita, with an air of naïveté that seemed
perfectly natural to her, "you women do not love as passionately as your
darker sisters?"
"Oh, I don't know about that, Señorita," answered Blanch with warmth.
"At any rate, you in all probability will have an opportunity to judge
that for yourself."
Chiquita gave a little laugh, then said: "Señorita, you love Captain
Forest and so do I. Let it, therefore, be a fair fight between us, and
in order that you may know you can trust me, I give you this," and
drawing a small silver-mounted dagger from out her hair, she handed it
to Blanch who took it wonderingly.
"It is often safer," she added, "for a man to go unarmed in this land
than for a woman. But as I said, I shall henceforth be to you what I
am--an Indian. It is what a woman of my people would do were she to
meet you in my country under similar circumstances; what I would have
done had I met you before I came here. The knife signifies that, with it
goes the sharp edge of my tongue--that I shall take no unfair advantage
of you."
Blanch toyed musingly with the pretty two-edged knife, admiring its
richly carved silver handle. Surely she was right after all. Chiquita
was a true child of the South whose passions subsided as quickly as they
burst into flame. And as for the knife, it would make an excellent
paper-cutter.
"Oh, dear, this is too absurd!" she exclaimed. And no longer able to
control herself, she burst into a peal of laughter in which was easily
detected the scorn, good humor and pity she felt for her would-be rival.
Perhaps Chiquita was as much puzzled by Blanch's behavior as the latter
was by hers, for all the while Blanch laughed, she also regarded her
with an expression of mingled curiosity and amusement.
"Señorita," said Blanch at length, heaving a sigh, "who are you?"
The latter did not reply immediately. Her face took on an earnest
expression and for some moments she stood silent, gazing straight out
before her as though oblivious to her surroundings. Then, suddenly
recollecting herself, she said:
"I am a Tewana, and am called the Chiquita. My father was the Whirlwind,
the War Chief of my people."
"The Whirlwind?" echoed Blanch. "What an appropriate name for a
savage!"
"Ah, but you should have seen him! He was the tallest man of the tribe."
"Do you know," said Blanch musingly, "I fancy you must be something like
him, Señorita."
"In spirit perhaps, but only a little," she answered. "I often wish that
I were more like him, for although he was a child in many things, he was
a man nevertheless--civilization had not spoilt him."
Again that dreamy, far-away look came into her eyes and again she seemed
to forget for the moment the presence of the two girls as her thoughts
reverted to the past.
"Señorita," she said at last, "when one like me stands on the threshold
midway between savagery and civilization and compares the crudities and
at times barbarities of the one with the luxuries and vices of the
other, he often asks himself which is preferable, civilization and its
few virtues, or the simple life of the savage. Which, I ask, is the
greater--the man who tells the time by the sun and the stars or he who
gauges it with the watch? I have listened to your music and gazed upon
your art and read your books, but what harmonies compare to
nature's--what book contains her truths and hidden mysteries? When I
came here I was taught to revere your civilization and I did for a time
until the disillusionment came, when I was introduced to the great world
of men and discovered how shallow and inadequate it was. Your mechanical
devices are wonderful, but as regards your philosophies, the least said
of them the better. Spiritually, you stand just where you began
centuries ago, and I found that I should be obliged to deny the
existence of God if I continued to revere your institutions.
"Believe me, Señorita, for I speak as one who knows both worlds
intimately, nature's and man's, that the great symphony of nature, the
throb of our Mother Earth, the song of the forest, the voices of the
winds and the waters, the mountains and plains, and the glory of the
stars and the daily life of man in the fields, are grander by far, and
more satisfying and enduring than all the foolish fancies and artificial
harmonies ever created by civilized man."
Her words struck home. For the first time Blanch became thoroughly alive
to the danger of the situation. This passionate child of the South had
changed suddenly to a mature woman, and a chill seized Blanch's heart as
she began to realize her depth and power. Again she was all at sea, and
in a vain effort to say something, she stammered:
"Señorita, you are certainly the strangest person I ever met!"
"Not strange, only different," laughed Chiquita, throwing back her head
and meeting Blanch's full gaze. "Señorita," she continued, "you are
beautiful--more beautiful than any woman I have ever beheld. My heart
stands still with fear and admiration when I look at you, for men are
often foolish enough to love the beautiful women best. I fear this is
going to be a bitter struggle, but let us bear one another no malice in
order that we may both know that she who triumphs is the better woman."
Frank though her words were, they caused Blanch to wince, while a flood
of passion which she could ill conceal dyed her cheeks a deep crimson.
"Life's usually as tragic as it is comic," laughed Chiquita lightly,
slowly moving in the direction of the highroad. "It's strange, isn't
it," she exclaimed, pausing and looking back, "that a queen and a beggar
should dispute the affections of the same man? Such things occur in the
fairy-tales one reads in the books in the old Mission, but seldom in
real life," and she was gone.