NIGHT VISIONS
When the tension of waiting was becoming intolerable, and Mrs. Trent was
already rising to seek her daughter, Jessica reappeared in the doorway.
Her white face and frightened eyes told her story without words, but her
mother forced herself to ask:
"Did you find it, darling?"
"Mother, it is gone!"
"Gone!"
"Gone. Yet it was only that dear, last day when he was with us, in the
morning, before he set out for the mines, that he showed it to me, safe
and sound in its place. He was to tell you, too, that night--but----"
"It was that, then, which was on his mind, and I could not understand.
I--Antonio Bernal, he entrusted you and you must know; where is that
missing deed?"
"Deed, senora? This day, just ended, is it not that I have been over
all the records and there is none of any deed to Sobrante later than my
own--or that proves my claim. In truth, the honorable Dona Gabriella is
right, indeed. I was the trusted friend of the dead senor, and if any
such precious document existed, would I not have known it? _Si._ What
I do know is the worry, the trouble, the impossibility of such a paper
broke the senor's heart. It does not exist. Sobrante is mine. He knew
that this was so--I had often spoken----"
The untruth he was about to utter did not pass his lips. There was
that in the white face of Gabriella Trent which arrested his words,
as, clasping her boy in her arms, she glided into the darkened hall
and entered her own rooms beyond.
The "boys" had not moved, nor Jessica followed, and she now firmly
confronted the manager, saying:
"I am sorry to tell you, Antonio Bernal, that you are not acting square.
My father did have that title deed, and I believe you know it. Somebody
has taken it from the place where his own hands put it, but I will find
it. This home is ours, is all my mother's. Nobody shall ever take it
from her. Nobody. You hear me say that, Senor Antonio Bernal, and you,
dear 'boys?'"
"Ay, ay," echoed her friends, heartily; but the superintendent regarded
her as he might have done some amusing little insect.
"Very pretty, senorita. The filial devotion, almost beautiful. But
the facts--well, am I not merciful and generous, I? There is no haste.
Indeed, no. A month----"
"Before a month is out I will have found that deed and placed it in
my darling mother's hands. I may be too young to understand the
'business' you talk about so much, but I am not too young to save my
mother's happiness. I can see that paper now, in my mind, and I
remember exactly how it looked inside and out. It seemed such a little
thing to be worth a whole, great ranch. I don't know how nor where,
but somehow and somewhere, I shall find that paper. 'Boys,' will you
help me?"
"To the last drop of our hearts' blood!" cried John Benton, and the
others echoed, "Ay, ay!"
Antonio thought it time to end this scene and walked toward the porch, at
the further end of which was another long window opening into his own
apartments. But he was not permitted to leave so easily. Great Samson
placed himself in the manager's path and remarked:
"There's no call to lose sight of the main business 'count o' this
little side-play of yours. We boys come up here to-night to quit your
employ and hire out to Our Lady Jess. We're all agreed, every man jack
of us. Your day's over. Account of Mrs. Trent and the kids, we'd
like things done quiet and decent. There's a good horse of yours in
the stable and though there isn't any moon, you know the roads well.
If you tarry for breakfast, likely you won't have much appetite to
eat it. More'n that, the senora, as you call her, has waited on your
whelpship for just the last time. Before you start you might as well
pay up some of our back wages, and hand over to the mistress the funds
you've been keeping from her."
"Insolent! Stand aside. How dare you? Let me pass."
"I'm not quite through yet. There's no real call to have talk with
such as you, but we 'boys' kind of resent being set down as plumb
fools. We've seen through you, though we've kept our mouths shut. Now
they're open; leastways, mine is. This here notion of yours about
ownin' Sobrante is a bird of recent hatchin'. 'Tisn't full-fledged
yet, and 's likely never to be. Your first idea was to run the ranch
down till your mistress had to give it up out of sheer bad luck. Fail,
mortgage, or such like. Oranges didn't sell for what they ought; olives
wasn't worth shucks; some little varmint got to eating the raisin
grapes; mine petered out; feathers growing poorer every plucking, though
the birds are getting valuabler. Never had accounts quite ready--you,
that was a master hand at figures when the boss took you in and made you,
You----"
Antonio strode forward, furious, and with uplifted hand.
"You rascal! This to me--I, Antonio Bernal, descendant of--Master of
Sobrante and Paraiso, I----"
"Master? Humph! Owner? Fiddlesticks! Why, that little tacker there,
asleep on the floor," pointing to Luis, "is likelier heir to this old
ranch than you. The country's full of Garcias and always has been, Pedro
says. Garcia himself, when all's told. As for Bernals, who ever heard
of more'n one o' them? That's you, you skunk! Now, usin' your own
fine, highfalutin' language: 'Go. _Vamos._ Depart. Clear out. _Get!_'"
"I go--because it so suits me, I, myself. But I return. New servants
will be with me and your quarters must be empty. Let me pass."
"Certain. Anything to oblige. But don't count on them quarters. We
couldn't leave them if we would 'cause we've all took root. Been
growing so long; become indigenous to the soil, like the boss'
experiments. Thrive so well might have been born here and certainly
mean to die on the spot. Going? Well, good-night. Call again. _Adios._"
By this time Jessica was laughing, as her old friend had meant she should
be. In his contemptuous harangue of the man he disliked and mistrusted,
there had been more humor than anger.
"Well, my lady, that did me good. Haven't had such a thorough
housecleaning of my mean thoughts in quite a spell. Feel all ready for
a fresh voyage under the new captain. You rest run along and find that
long sufferin' mother of yours and tell her the coast's clear of that
pirate craft. We've all shipped men-o'-war, now, and run up the
old flag of truth and love. That was the banner your father floated
from his masthead, and the colors that'll never dip to lying or
cheating. Wait. I'll pack this baby Luis to his bed. Poor little
castaway, that your good father picked up in the canyon and fetched
home in his arms, to share the best with his own. Well, needn't
tell me that the family of a man as good as he was'll ever come to
want. Heave ahead, captain. Show me the track to sail."
Jessica stopped to bid the other ranchmen good-night, then led the sailor
to the little bedroom which the lads shared in common, and where Ned
was already asleep, tucked in his white cot by his mother, who let no
personal grief interfere with her care for others.
"Good-night, dear Samson. I must find that paper. You must help me. My
mother must not, shall not, lose her home."
"Never. Good-night, captain. You've a good crew on deck and we'll make
happy haven yet."
That was Jessica Trent's first wakeful night. Though she tried to lie
quietly in her own little bed, lest she should disturb her mother whose
room she shared, she fancied all sorts of strange sounds, both in-doors
and out; and whenever she dropped into a doze, dreamed of the missing
paper and of searching for it.
One dream was so vivid that she woke, exclaiming:
"Oh, mother! I've found it. The black tin box under the three sharp
rocks!"
But her eyes opened upon vacancy, and there was no response from the
larger bed where her anxious parent had, at last, fallen asleep. Yet the
vision remained, painted upon the darkness, as it were, a sun-lighted
glowing spot, with three pyramidal rocks and a clump of scraggly live
oaks. A spot she had never seen, indeed, but felt that she should
instantly recognize, should she come upon it anywhere.
Then she curled back upon her pillows and again shut her eyes.
Could it be possible that she, a healthy little girl, was growing
fidgety, like Aunt Sally Benton, who sometimes came to visit her son and
help with the sewing? For she surely was hearing things. Movements,
hushed footfalls, softly closing doors, creaking floors, at an hour when
all the household should be at rest.
"How silly! It may be somebody is ill! Wun Lung's hand may hurt him,
though it seemed so nearly well, and nobody else would have minded it.
That stranger! Yes, I fancy it's he. He may need something that I can
get him, and I'll go inquire."
Slipping a little wrapper over her gown, but in her bare feet, the girl
noiselessly left the room and followed the sound she had heard. These
led her to a small apartment which her father had used as an office and
where stood the desk in whose secret drawer she had expected to find
the title deed. A small fireproof safe was in this office. It was an
old-fashioned affair, with a simple, but heavy key, which the Sobrante
children had played with in their infancy. She remembered her father
remarking, with a laugh, that a safe was the most useless thing he
possessed, for he never had anything worth putting in it; but it had
been a belonging of old "Forty-niner" Marsh, a gift to his employer,
and therefore accorded a place of honor.
Before this safe now bent a man whom Jessica recognized with surprise
and relief.
"Why, Mr. Marsh! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here at this
hour? Are you ill? Do you want something?"
"No, dearie. I'm not ill; and I'm not robbing you. And I've got all
I want. That's one more look at your bonny face, God bless it!"
It was close to his shoulder now, that face he loved, and he kissed it
tenderly; though with equal tenderness, if less emotion, the little maid
returned his caress and clasped his neck with those strong, young arms
that so yearned to protect and comfort everybody.
"That's funny. Should think you'd be tired of it, sometimes, I
disappoint you so. But never mind. I'm getting handier with my new
rifle every day, I think, and I mean to do yet what Samson claims I
should--just beat the world. Have you finished looking at your things?"
For it was Mr. Marsh himself who had always used the safe, even after
giving it away. "Can't I get you something to eat, so you can sleep
better?"
"No, dearie, no, just one more good kiss--to remember. Good-by. Good-by.
It--it might have been done kinder, maybe, but--her heart is sad, I know,
and her first thought is for you. She must save for you. Here, Lady,
take the key. Some time you--you might want to look in that safe for
yourself. Good-night."
Jessica went with him to the outer door, wondering much at this
oddly-timed visit. Yet the ranchman walked erect, still carrying his
lighted candle quite openly, as one who had done nothing of which to be
ashamed; and when he had departed the girl returned to her own bed
still more wakeful because of this queer incident.
Ten minutes later, it may have been, she heard the limping footfall of
a slowly-moving horse, the echoes growing fainter continually.
Again she sat up and listened.
"That's Mr. Marsh's 'Stiffleg!' What should send him off riding now?
Oh! I do wish mother was awake, things seem so queer. Yet I don't really
wish it. She has so many wakeful nights and just this one is more than
I want. Now, Jessica Trent, don't be foolish any longer. Go straight to
sleep or you'll be late in the morning."
Nature acted upon this good advice, and Our Lady knew no more till a pair
of chubby hands were pulling her curls and Ned's voice was screeching in
her ear:
"Wake up, Jessie Trent. We had our breakfast hours ago, and the 'boys'
is all out-doors, can't go to work 'ithout their captain. That's _me_,
Jessie Trent, 'cause I'm the 'heir.' Samson said so."
"I's the heir, Samson said so!" echoed Luis from the floor where
he was trying the fit of Jessica's new "buckskins"--the comfortable
moccasin-like footgear which Pedro made for her--upon his own stubby toes.
"He, he! What's the heir Samson said? You're a stupid, Luis Garcia."
"Stupid Garcia!" laughed the little mimic, not in the least offended.
"Well, run away then, laddies, and I'll be ready in a jiffy. Poor
mother. To think that I should have left her to do so much alone."
As she threw open the sash of the rear window, Jessica started back,
surprised; for there, reined close to the porch, was Nero's black form,
with the dark face of his master bending low over the saddle.
"Good-morning, senorita, and good fortune. Those who hid may find. I
kiss your hand in farewell, and may it rule in peace till I return, I
myself, the master. One month hence I come, bringing my servants with
me. _Adios._ Ah! but what did you and the old sharpshooter at the office
safe at midnight? _When the senora would seek her title, seek him._ It
is farewell."