I
Roldan Castanada walked excitedly up and down the verandah of his
father's house, his thumbs thrust into the red silk sash that was
knotted about his waist, his cambric shirt open at the throat as if
pulled impatiently apart; the soft grey sombrero on the back of his
curly head making a wide frame for his dark, flushed, scowling face.
There was nothing in the surroundings to indicate the cause of his
disturbance. The great adobe house, its white sides and red tiles
glaring in the bright December sun, would have been as silent as a tomb
but for the rapid tramping of Roldan and the clank of his silver spurs
on the pavement. On all sides the vast Rancho Los Palos Verdes cleft
the horizon: Don Mateo Castanada was one of the wealthiest grandees in
the Californias, and his sons could gallop all day without crossing the
boundary line of their future possessions. The rancho was as level as
mid-ocean in a calm; here and there a wood or river broke the sweep;
thousands of cattle grazed. Now and again a mounted vaquero, clad in
small-clothes vivified with silver trimmings, dashed amongst tossing
horns, shouting and warning.
But Roldan saw none of these things. There was reason for his disquiet.
News had arrived an hour before which had thrown his young mind into
confusion: the soldiers were out for conscripts, and would in all
probability arrive at the Rancho Los Palos Verdes that evening or the
following morning. Roldan, like all the Californian youth, looked
forward to the conscription with apprehension and disgust. Not that he
was a coward. He could throw a bull as fearlessly as his elder
brothers; he had ridden alone at night the length of the rancho in
search of a pet colt that had strayed; and he had once defended the
women of the family single handed against a half dozen savages until
reinforcements had arrived. Moreover, the stories of American warfare
which he had managed to read, despite the prohibition of the priests,
had stirred his soul and fired his blood. But army life in California!
It meant languishing in barracks, hoping for a flash in the pan between
two rival houses, or a possible revolt against a governor. If the
Americans should come with intent to conquer! Roldan ground his teeth
and stamped his foot. Then, indeed, he could not get to the battlefield
fast enough. But the United States would never defy Mexico. They were
clever enough for that. His anger left him, and he gave a little
regretful sigh. Not only would he like that kind of a battle, but it
would be great fun to know some American boys. Then he shook his head
impatiently and dismissed these tourist thoughts. The present alone was
to be considered.
There were two ways to avoid conscription. One was to marry--Roldan
sniffed audibly; the other lay in flight and eluding the men until
their round was over for the year.
Roldan did not like the idea of running away from anything; he and
several of his father's vaqueros had once made an assault upon a band
of cattle thieves and hunted them into the mountains: that was much
more to his taste. Nevertheless there was one thing he liked less than
showing his heels, and that was giving up his liberty. Not to gallop at
will over the rancho, or sleep in a hammock, to coliar the bulls and
shout with the vaqueros at rodeo, to be the first at the games and the
races, to wear his silken clothes and lace ruffles, and eat the
delightful dishes his mother's cooks prepared! And then he was a very
high-spirited young gentleman. Although the same obedience, almost
reverence, was exacted of him by his parents that was a part of the
household religion in California, yet as the youngest child, who had
been delicate during his first five years, he had managed to get very
badly spoiled. He did not relish the idea of leading a life of monotony
and discipline, of performing hourly duties which did not suit his
taste, above all of being ordered to leave his father's house as if he
were a mere Indian. No, he decided, he would not go into the army--not
this year nor any other year. He would defy the governor and all his
men.
When Roldan made up his mind he acted promptly. No time was to be lost
in this case. Now was the hour of siesta; he could have no better time
to get away. A note would relieve his parents of a certain amount of
anxiety; and if they did not know where he was they could not be held
accountable. His blood tingled at the presentiment of the adventures he
should have in that perilous journey through a country of which he knew
nothing beyond his father's and the adjoining rancho. And as adventures
would be but half spiced if experienced alone, he determined--and not
from selfish motives only--to save his best beloved friend, Adan Pardo,
from the grasp of the law likewise.
He went within and slung about himself two pistols and a dagger. After
he had made a small bundle of linen and raided the pantry, he went out
to the corral, saddled his horse and packed the saddle bags, wound his
lariat securely about the pommel, then galloped away on a series of
adventures memorable in the annals of California.