Roldan opened his eyes. His brain was heavy; he was conscious only of
an intense warmth. His arms appeared to be bound to his sides, his
whole body in a vise. He kicked out with a vigorous return of the
instinct of independence. The action shook his brain free and he
understood: he was tightly wrapped in a blanket, and there were other
blankets upon him. He raised his head. The room was one of familiar
lineaments,--whitewashed walls, a mat by the iron bed, an altar in the
corner, linen with elaborate drawn-work on bureau and washstand. The
blood poured upward to the young adventurer's face. Was this his room?
Had he been ill and dreamed strange happenings? He freed his arms and
sat up. No; there was no room in his father's house exactly like this,
monotonous as were the furnishing and architecture of the time.
He took his head between his hands and thought; the events of the past
weeks marched through his brain in rapid and precise succession--up to
a certain point: his senses had been frozen in the Sierras. From a
raging snowstorm to this blistering bed all was blank.
He disencumbered himself, slipped to the floor, and opened the door,
then scrambled back to bed as best he could; his legs felt as if they
had been boned. He was also one vast desire for food and drink. But
that glimpse through the door had raised his spirits. He was in a great
adobe house surrounding a court in which a fountain splashed among
ferns and little orange-trees. It was the house of a grandee, but there
was none like it in the neighbourhood of the Rancho de los Palos Verdes.
He waited with what patience he could muster until his open door should
attract attention, listening to the murmur of the fountain, inhaling
the fragrance of orange and magnolia, wondering if Adan, too, were
safe, angrily resenting his weakness.
The door cautiously opened wide, and a woman, stout, brown, but of
exceeding grace and elegance, entered and bent over him.
"Good-day, senora," said Roldan, politely. "I am very hungry. Where am
I? And is Adan here?"
The lady smiled and patted his cheek with a shapely and flashing hand.
"He is well and sleeping, my son, and you are both in the Casa of Don
Tiburcio Carillo, of the Rancho Encarnarcion, in a great valley many,
many leagues from the Sierras and the snow--Madre de dios! Pobrecitos!
So cold you must have been, so frightened--and you the sons of great
rancheros, no?"
Roldan modestly named his fortunate status, then sat up and kissed her
hand, as he had seen his gallant brothers kiss the hands of lovely
young donas. The lady looked much pleased and drew a chair beside the
bed. Roldan wondered if he should ever satisfy his raging appetite, but
was too polite to mention the subject again, and determined to satisfy
his curiosity instead.
"Senora, tell me how we came here," he asked. "My head will burst until
I know."
"Our bell mare, the most valuable on our rancho, strayed far the day
before yesterday. All that day and the next six vaqueros looked for
her. One traced her to the Sierras and went on in spite of the storm.
He found her, and, just afterward--you. He thought you were dead, but
poured aguardiente down your throats. You swallowed but did not awaken,
although he shook you and pounded you. Then he strapped your
friend--Adan, no? upon the back of Lolita, took you in his arms, and
galloped for home--you were almost at the foot of the mountain. Ay! but
I was frightened when you came. Gracias a dios that you are well and
not frozen. Bueno, I go to send you a good breakfast. Hasta luego."
She went out, and Roldan lay wondering if the breakfast were already
cooked. The door opened again. Roldan sat up. But it was Adan. He wore
a long nightgown and dug his knuckles into his eyes. His knees, too,
were shaky.
"Hist, Roldan," he whispered loudly. "Are you there, or do I dream?"
"Come into my bed and have breakfast--breakfast, Adan!"
Adan gathered his remaining energies, bolted across the room, and
climbed into bed.
"Dios de mi alma, Roldan," he gasped. "Where are we, and why are we
sweltered like sick babies? This is a fine place. Ay! may I never see
snow nor a redwood again!"
Roldan told what he knew of the beginning of their new chapter, and
soon after he finished two Indian servants entered with trays, set them
on the bed, and retired.
"Ay! this looks like home," cried Adan, almost in tears. "Chocolate!
Tortillas! Chicken with yellow rice!" He crossed himself fervently and
attacked the fragrant meal.
It was not a large breakfast, for it was many hours since they had
eaten before; they left not a grain of rice nor a shred on a bone. But
half-satisfied, although very comfortable, they made up their minds to
dress. On the chair was a complete outfit, suitable for a young don.
Roldan concluded it had been thoughtfully placed at his disposal that
he might not appear in the sala of Casa Carillo garbed like a coyote.
How he hated the memory of that ugly and infested garment.
"I, too, have a silk jacket and breeches by my bed," said Adan, "and a
lace shirt and silk stockings, and shoes with buckles. There must be
those of our age in the Casa Carillo, my friend. Bueno! I go to make a
caballero of myself. Hasta luego."
He opened the door and peered out, then ran hastily down the corridor
to his room. Who knew but there might be girls at the Casa Carillo?
Horrible thought!
The boys met a half hour later on the corridor, still weak, but
magnificent to look upon. Roldan's head was very high, despite his
protesting knees: he felt himself again.
"It is the hour of siesta," he said. "Let us lie in these hammocks and
wait. Ay! but it is warm, and the sky is blue, and the sun looks like
the copper lamp of my mother--the one that came from Boston. Who--even
an Indian--would live in the mountains when the valleys are so big and
warm?"
They extended themselves in two hammocks swung across the corridor and
watched the many doors on the several sides of the court. All were
closed, and the forest had hardly been more quiet than the Casa Carillo
in its hour of siesta. Through the arch of the gateway they could see
the green of fields, a corner of a vineyard, and rolling hills. On
either side of the entrance was a large magnolia-tree with broad
shining leaves and bunches of cream-white fragrance. The oranges were
very yellow, the palms very stately, the red tiles on the sloping roofs
above the white walls looked very fresh and red. There was colour and
beauty everywhere; and the boys were quite at peace, and content to be
so. Their appetite for adventure was dulled for the moment.