COUNTER REVOLT
The collision staggered both men and gave Mrs. Trent time to reach the
side of her guest and to lay a restraining hand upon his arm. Her voice
was tremulous with laughter as she explained:
"It's only a rifle practice. The ranchmen and the children--all
children in this sport--and always noisy. I'm sorry it disturbed
you, but--Indians! How could you imagine it. Ah! Antonio, good-evening.
Have you had supper?"
"No, senora. I need it."
"It is waiting. This visitor, Mr. Hale, Senor Antonio Bernal, the
manager of Sobrante."
The gentlemen bowed, one with the brevity of a busy man, the other with
the profound salutation of his race. But they parted immediately, for
the Easterner was anxious to witness the shooting and the superintendent
to break his long fast; and with disgust at his own readiness to fancy
danger where none existed, Mr. Hale followed the sound of the yells and
cheers.
"Hi! hi! for the little one! Hit him again, blue jacket!" shrieked
Samson, as, steadying upon a tie-post the rifle he was too small to
support, Ned sighted the bull's-eye of a distant target, took a careless
aim, yet struck it squarely.
Whereupon the strong ex-sailor thrust the weapon aside and tossed the
lad in the air as if he had been a ball. Yet caught him as he lightly
descended, and placed him astride his own shoulders.
"Who'll beat the little master? Three times out o' seven, with an iron
heavy as that, how's the showing for an eight-year-old?"
But Ned slipped from the ranchman's back, picked up his own tiny,
perfectly finished gun, and swung it over his head.
"Huh! That's nothing! Huh! This the feller! Huh! Guess 'tis. Shot
more'n forty-'leven quails this day 't ever was. Had 'em for my
supper. Had 'em for the man broke his horse's leg and stole Scruff.
Hello, Mister! Had your supper? Wasn't them good birds? I shot 'em
for you. I did."
"You?" demanded the gentleman, astonished. He had now joined the group
surrounding the three children, and his presence caused a lull in the
uproar which had preceded his arrival. "You! Why you aren't big enough
to do such a thing."
"I did! I did! I never told a lie in all my life--never, never, never!
So, there!" and unable to endure such an imputation, the child rushed
upon his traducer and pounded him well with the butt of his little rifle.
"Ned! Edward Trent! Stop! You--a little gentleman--mother's son!"
Jessica's arms were about her brother, restraining his movements and
for a moment making him drop his head in shame. The next he had broken
from her grasp, caught up another gun and dragged it toward her.
"Your turn, Jess. Hurry up. There's just an inch of sun left--I mean
there was a minute ago--hurry up! Me an' Luis's got to go to bed quick
as a wink! Hurry--hurry!"
"Hurry up!" echoed Luis, with a yawn, and dropping down where he stood,
was instantly asleep.
John Benton crossed to the visitor's side and remarked:
"Now, I tell you, stranger, you'll see the sight of your life. If I was
a betting man I'd back Our Lady Jess again' any other girl-shooter on
the globe. You just watch out--if the dark holds off a spell."
There were a dozen, maybe, of the ranchmen standing or lying around in
a semi-circle, but now all quiet and intent upon the little girl, as,
nodding and smiling upon her guest and her beloved "boys," she stepped
into the open space before them all. "Forty-niner" March, unerring
marksman and the children's instructor, took his place beside her,
examined her rifle, handed it to her and also observed to the stranger:
"Now, if nothin' happens, you'll see sunthin'. Sorry it's so dusk,
but any gent what doubt's is free to walk up to the target and look
where the ball strikes. You, lady, do me proud."
"I'll try," said Jessica, simply. "Is it the little nail in the
center?"
"Just that."
She sighted and fired; and a ranchman who had run forward to the target,
shouted back across the darkening space:
"Hit her plumb!"
A roar of applause greeted this announcement, but the girl accepted this
tribute with no comment save another nod and smile, as she waited her
teacher's next direction.
This was given silently by a gesture downward.
Instantly Jessica dropped upon the ground, rested herself upon her
elbows, aimed, fired, and--"Hit her again! Hooray for Our Lady!
Hooray--hooray--hooray!"
In his excitement big Samson seized Mr. Hale by the sleeve and compelled
that gentleman to jog-trot across the open and view at closer range the
wonderful skill of the little maid who was so dear to them all.
"Stand aside, Psalm Singer. Your head's in the way!" cautioned
somebody.
Still clutching his companion, Samson obeyed, and they saw Jessica now
lying upon her back, sighting upward and backward over her head a small,
white object that had been placed in the target where the tack had been.
There was no cheering then, nor any movement among the eager watchers
who fairly held their breaths lest they disturb their darling in that
supreme moment of her success or failure.
"But she'll not fail!" thought more than one, and would have given
a year's wages that she should not.
There was a swift rush of something through the air, so close to Mr.
Hale's nose that he visibly drew back, and a double report as the bullet
hit the toy torpedo which had been the chosen mark.
After that, pandemonium; or so it seemed to Mr. Hale. Those gray and
grizzled men--for there were few young among them--shouted themselves
hoarse and gave way to the wildest expressions of pride and delight. As
for Jessica, the heroine, though her eyes sparkled and a flush rose to
her cheeks, she was by far the calmest person present. Even Mr. Hale's
heart was beating rapidly and he caught the girl's hands and shook
them violently, in his congratulations.
"That was marvelous! marvelous! I've seen pretty good sharp-shooting
done by professionals, but never anything so fine as that last shot of
yours. How could you ever learn it, so young as you are?"
"How could I help learning? It is 'Forty-niner's' work, a deal more
than mine. He's been teaching me ever since I could hold a tiny bow and
arrow. He's wonderful, if you please; but I----Well, it seems just to
do itself, somehow. But I must go in now. Time for the little ones to
be in bed. Come, Ned. Come, Luis. Oh, dear! he's fast asleep."
"I'll pack him for you, lady. And say, boys, isn't this the time?"
Samson had lifted the sleeping Luis, tucked him under one arm and
swung Ned to the other, but now paused to glance around among his
fellow-workmen.
"Time was 'moon-up,'" answered Joe, minded to be facetious.
"This would be 'moon-up,' if the old girl knew her business,"
retorted the sailor. "In ten minutes we'll be with you. Come, on,
my lady. I've a word to say to you and the mistress."
The daily evening sport was over and the ranchmen rapidly dispersed,
each to his own quarters, and none considering it his especial business
to entertain the stranger, who was now strolling slowly houseward
mindful of the sudden chill which came with the nightfall and of his own
unfitness for exposure.
Proudest of all, "Forty-niner" gathered up the weapons and carried
them off, to clean and put in order for the next evening's practice.
He was well satisfied with his pupil's achievements, though already
planning more difficult feats for their performance. The man was eighty;
yet, while his abundant hair was white, his back was still straight
and his step firm. The joy of his old age was the athletic training
of the Sobrante children, and it would have amazed him, even broken
his heart, had he been told that by such means he did not well earn his
keep. He was eldest of all the elderly workmen that the late master
of the ranch had gathered about him, and his appreciation of this good
home in which to end his days perhaps, the greatest of all. It was,
therefore, a terrible shock which awaited him, as entering his own
room, he lighted his lamp and saw lying on his table a white envelope
addressed to himself.
He knew what it meant. Dismissal.
One year before, when Cassius Trent died, there had been twenty employees
where there were now but thirteen--he the "odd one" of the "baker's
dozen." Seven times, when least expected or desired, some one of these
twenty had found in his room just such an envelope, containing his
arrears of wages, and the curt information that, "by the order of Mrs.
Trent, his services were no longer required at Sobrante, nor would any
wages be forthcoming from that day forward."
These men had all been friends, rather than servants, and in each
case the result had been the same. Cut to the heart by the manner of
discharge, and, for the first time it may be, realizing that he was no
longer young, and, therefore, valuable, the recipient of the envelope had
quietly disappeared, saying farewell to nobody.
"My turn! My turn, at last!" broke from the aged frontiersman's lips,
and a groan followed. "Ten years I've lived in this old adobe cell till
I've come to feel like the monk for whom it was first built. Now----"
The white head drooped forward on the outstretched arms and all the
burden of his eighty years seemed suddenly to have descended upon that
bowed and shrunken figure.
In the pretty dining-room Antonio Bernal had eaten a hearty supper
served by his own mistress, since Wun Lung was not to be found and the
house-boy, Pasqual, claimed his usual recreation hour at the rifle
practice. But neither thought anything amiss in this, and the manager
would, indeed, have asserted that it was quite the proper thing. Was
not he a Bernal, and superior to all at Sobrante? Even though he was,
for the time being, receiving wage instead of bestowing. Well, it was a
long lane that had no turning.
Pushing back from the table, Antonio had murmured the proverb in Spanish,
with a smile of satisfaction lighting his dark face, and Mrs. Trent had
failed to hear distinctly, though she was familiar enough with the
language so often in use about her.
"Beg pardon, I did not understand."
"Begging pardon, one's self, senora, it is seldom that you do. It is
the business was never made for the small brains of the women, no? 'Tis
the senora's place to be beautiful and let the business rest in the
capable hands of I, myself. _En verdad._"
Mrs. Trent colored and bit her lip. This man's insolence was becoming
insupportable, and she could scarcely recognize him for the obsequious
fellow who had been her husband's right-hand dependence. His brief
authority had turned his head, she reflected, and, again, that she must
in no wise offend him. The welfare of her children demanded this, and
forcing herself to smile as pleasantly as if his insult were a jest,
she remarked:
"The gentleman whom you met, as you came in, is a lawyer. A New York
lawyer. I--I would like to consult him about our--this business you
mention. I was born and reared in New York and have a feeling that
anything which comes from there must be all right. Even a lawyer, though
I'm not fond of the profession usually.
"The senor is not wont to waste so many words upon her most humble
servant, no. And as for the lawyers, have I not this day been to the
consulting of the most eminent, the wisest of his kind, no? But yes; and
the truth is, senora--believe me, it breaks my heart so to inform you,
but this barren rancho of Sobrante belongs not to the Dona Gabriella and
her children, but to one Antonio Bernal, even I, myself."
"To you! Belongs--to--you?" gasped the astonished woman.
The manager shrugged his shoulders and tossed another Spanish proverb
toward her: "What I have said, I have said."
Mrs. Trent felt her strength leaving her and sank into a chair, still
gazing incredulously at the other, who now lounged back in his own
chair and began to leisurely pick his teeth. It was a trivial action,
but one wholly disgusting to the gentlewoman's fastidious sense, and
it angered her, which was a good thing, for her anger banished her
momentary faintness and gave her boldness to demand:
"The proof!"
"It will be forthcoming, senora, at the right time. Yes. Meanwhile, I
am content you shall remain, you and your little ones, until--well, say a
month. By that date all things should have been arranged and the senora
will have found herself another home less lonely than Sobrante. One so
beautiful as the Dona Gabriella must have hosts of friends who----"
Senor Bernal paused. There were footsteps approaching, and the merry
voices of children, and an instant later Samson was in the room,
still carrying the little lads in his arms, and with Jessica clinging
affectionately to his ragged sleeve.
One glance showed the faithful ranchman that something was amiss. There
was fresh sorrow, even consternation, in the beloved face of Sobrante's
mistress, fresh insolence in that of her chief assistant. He was not one
to hesitate when his friends were in trouble, and turned to Antonio
with an angry demand:
"What have you been worrying your betters with now, senor?"
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, rascal."
"Returnin' the compliment, if you please. All the same, don't you
know that a man--_a man_--doesn't go around worrying women as you worry
Mrs. Trent? You, that hadn't a shirt to your back when the boss took
you in and made you what you are! I'm anticipatin' a mite, and I don't
know just how some of the boys'll take it, but we'd laid out this
very night at moon-up--if there'd been a moon sensible enough to get
up, which there isn't--to haul you and a few other matters over the
coals and stir up a fresh sort of blaze. Now, I warn you, just you let
matters slide, peaceable, and you--just you, yourself, keep that civil
tongue you recommend, or you'll light out of here so quick ye won't
see your heels for dust, dry season though it is. Hear?"
"Hear? Yes, I hear. Now, 'tis your turn. You go tell those malcontents
you call 'the boys' to take their packs and foot it. Times have
changed. Things have changed. There's another master here now, and
not a weak-willed mistress. That is me--I--Antonio Bernal, owner of
Sobrante rancho and all that appertains thereto. Now, go. Vamos. Depart.
Clear out. Get!"
Samson went--as far as the long, open window, and stepped out upon the
porch. He did not see Mr. Hale, who had seated himself in a rocker,
an unintentional witness of a scene he would gladly have missed, and
putting a whistle to his lips blew a summons which was understood by
every fellow-workman on the ranch. Then he quietly re-entered the house,
folded his arms, and leaned carelessly against the door frame.
Senor Bernal started up as if he would forcibly eject the herder, but
thought better of this and sank back nonchalantly in his great chair.
Jessica had placed herself behind her mother, and clasped Mrs. Trent's
shoulders with the protecting tenderness habitual to her. Ned had sprung
to his mother's lap and Luis continued his nap at her feet; while all
seemed waiting for some fresh development of the affair.
This came and speedily; for, in answer to Samson's whistle, there filed
over the porch and into the room, Joe, the smith; Marty, the gardener;
and Carpenter John. There was missing old "Forty-niner," commonly the
dominant fifth of this odd quintet, but nobody wondered much at that.
Doubtless he was polishing his darling's rifle and making ready for some
astonishing display of her skill wherewith to dazzle the stranger upon
the morrow. In any case he rarely disagreed with the opinions of his
cronies and was sure to be one with them in the matter of that hour.
With a respectful salute to Mrs. Trent, a grin toward the children, and
a scowl for Antonio, these stalwart ranchmen lined up against the wall
and stood at attention. Mr. Hale, observant through the doorway, again
noticed that each of these was well along in years, that each had some
slight physical infirmity, and that, despite these facts, each looked
a man of unusual strength and most entire devotion. Indeed, the gaze
fixed upon the little lady, was one of adoration, and the situation
boded ill for anybody who meant harm to her.
"Ahem. What say, mates? Has the hour struck?"
"The hour has struck," answered John Benton, solemnly, shifting his
weight from his lame leg to his sound one.
Samson strode a mighty step forward and pulled his forelock.
"Then I state, madam, that we here, on behalf of ourselves and our
whole crew, now, and hereby do, throw off all 'legiance to that there
Spanish skunk, a-settin' in your easiest chair, and appoint Our Lady
Jess, captain of the good ship Sobrante. Allowin' you to be the admiral
of that same, madam, but takin' no more orders from anybody save and
excepting her--under you, of course--from this time forth, so help us."
Then there burst from the trio of throats a cheer that shook the windows,
and called a contemptuous laugh from the superintendent so valiantly
defied.
The cheer died in an ominous silence which Senor Bernal improved.
"Highly dramatic and most edifying, _en verdad._ Senor, I kiss your
hands in even greater devotion. But the play has one little drawback.
To I, me, myself, belongs Sobrante. Already I have had the law of which
you spoke. My claim I have proved. From the long back generations the
good title from the Mission Padres to my own fathers, yes. Sobrante?
_Si._ More and better. Wide lies the valley of Paraiso d'Oro. Mine,
Mine. All--all mine. No?"
He rose to his feet and pompously paced up and down the room, insolently
handsome and proud of the fact, while out on the darkened porch Mr. Hale
had heard a word which set his own pulses beating faster and the row of
ranchmen started forward as if minded to throw the braggart out of the
house.
But Jessica stepped forth and cried, triumphantly, though still with an
effort toward that courtesy she desired.
"Beg pardon, Senor Antonio Bernal, but surely you are quite mistaken. My
father taught me some things. He said I was not too young to learn
them. He--he only--has the title deed to dear Sobrante, and I--I
only--know the safe place where it is kept!"
Antonio halted in his strutting march and for a moment his face grew
pale. The next instant he had regained more than his former confidence,
and with a sneering laugh, exclaimed:
"Seeing is believing, no? To the satisfaction of the assembled most
honorable company," here he bowed with mock politeness, "let this most
interesting document be produced. _Si._"
Jessica flew from the room and in an intolerable anxiety the whole
"honorable company" awaited her long-delayed return.