The race took place in a field a mile from the house, on a straight
track. Four vaqueros in black velvet small-clothes trimmed with silver,
spotless linen, and stiff glazed black sombreros, walked up and down,
leading the impatient mustangs. Two of these horses were a beautiful
bronze-gold in colour, with silver manes and tails, a breed peculiar to
the Californias; one was black, the other as white as crystal. The
family and guests of Casa Carillo sat on their horses, in their
carretas, or stood just outside the fence surrounding the field. At one
end were the several hundred Indians employed by Don Tiburcio, and
several hundred more from the Mission. Father Osuna had also joined the
party from the Casa, and Roldan, who had seen hundreds of horse-races
and was built on a more complex plan than his contemporaries, got as
close to the priest as he dared and gave him his undivided attention.
Padre Osuna was a man of unusual height and heaviness of build. His
black eyes were set close to his fine Roman nose. The mouth was so
tightly compressed that its original curves were quite destroyed, and
the intellectual development of the brow was very marked. His hands
exerted a peculiar fascination over Roldan. They were of huge size,
even for so big a man, lean and knotted, with square-tipped fingers.
The skin on them was fine and brown; it looked as soft as a woman's. He
used them a good deal when talking, and not ungracefully; but they
seemed to claw and grasp the air, to be independent of the arms hidden
in the voluminous sleeves of the smart brown cassock. Other people
watched those hands too--they seemed to possess a magnetism of their
own; and every one showed this priest great deference: he was one of
the most successful disciplinarians in the Department of California, a
brilliant speaker, an able adviser in matters of state, and a man of
many social graces.
"More agreeable to meet in the sala of the Mission than in a cave at
midnight," thought Roldan. "Still--" His scent for danger, particularly
if it involved a matching of wits, was very keen.
The word was given. The race began. The dons shouted, the lovely faces
between the bright folds of the rebosos flushed expectantly. From the
black mass of Indians opposite came a mighty gurgle, which gradually
broke into a roar,--
"The black! Fifty hides on the black!"
"The little bronze! She is a length ahead! Madre de dios! Six doubloons
of Mexico on the little bronze!"
The priest pushed his way to the speaker, a wealthy ranchero who had
been more than once to Mexico.
"The white against the bronze, senor," he said. "Twenty otter skins to
the six doubloons of Mexico."
"Done, your reverence. I am honoured that you bet with me. But the
white--have you thought well, my father?"
"She breathes well, and her legs are very clean."
"True, my father, but look at the muscles of the little bronze. How
they swell! And the fire in the nostrils!"
"True, Don Jaime; and if she wins, the skins are yours."
As the horses darted down the track almost neck to neck, the excitement
routed Spanish dignity. The dons stood up in their saddles, shouting
and betting furiously. The women clapped their white idle hands, and
cheered, and bet--but with less recklessness: a small jewel or a
second-best mantilla. As they could not remember what they had bet when
the excitement was over, these debts were never paid; but it pleased
them mightily to make their little wagers. The men were betting
ranchitas, horses, cattle, and, finally, their jewels and saddles and
serapes. For each horse represented a different district of the
Department, and there was much rivalry.
The priest did not shout, and he made no more bets, but his eyes never
left those figures speeding like arrows from the bow, the riders
motionless as if but the effigies of men strapped to the creatures of
fire beneath. Sometimes the black gained then the little bronze; once
the white dashed a full three yards beyond his fellows, and Roldan saw
the great hands of the priest, which had been clinched against his
shoulders, open spasmodically, then close harder than ever as the white
quickly dropped back again.
It was a very close race. The excitement grew tense and painful. Even
Roldan felt it finally, and forgot the priest. The big bronze had quite
dropped out of it and was lagging homeward, hardly greeted by a hiss.
The others were almost neck and neck, the little bronze slightly in the
lead. "She wins," thought Roldan, "No! No! The black! the black! Ay,
no, the bronze! but no! no! Ay! Ay! Ay!" A roar went up that ended in a
shriek. The black had won.
Roldan looked at the priest. His skin was livid, his nostrils
twitching. But his mouth and eyes told nothing.
The crowd rode home, still excited, gay, cheerful. Their losses
mattered not. Were not their acres numbered by the hundred thousand?
Did they not have more horses and cattle than they would ever count? In
those days of pleasure and plenty, of luxury and unconsidered
generosity, a rancho, a caponara the less, meant a loss neither to be
felt nor remembered.
After the bountiful supper the guests loitered for a time in the
courtyard, then the sala was cleared and the dance began. Several of
the girls danced alone, while the caballeros clapped and shouted. Then
all waltzed or took part in their only square dance, the contradanza.
They kept it up until morning. Needless to say, our heroes went to bed
at an early hour.
They were up the next morning with the dawn, and in company with Rafael
and the other guests of their own age, went for their canter. This time
they avoided the hills behind the Mission, as they had no wish to share
their secret, and a chance word might divulge all. They rode toward the
hills at the head of the valley. Roldan was still the hero of the hour,
and Rafael, although the most generous of boys, resented it a little.
He was not without ambitions of his own, and determined to seize the
first opportunity to remind his companions that the son of Don Tiburcio
Carillo, the greatest ranchero of that section of the Californias, had
not the habit to occupy the humble position of tag-behind even to so
brilliant and adventurous a guest as Roldan Castanada.
He soon found his opportunity.
As they reached the first hill they saw a bull feeding on its summit.
"Aha!" cried the young don of the Rancho Encarnacion. "Now I will make
for you a little morning entertainment, my friends. Coliar! coliar!"
"No! no!" cried the boys. "The hill is too steep. It is like the side
of a house. You will break your neck, my friend."