EL FIESTA.
It was evening before the party reassembled. On arising each member
of our party found, neatly folded upon his bed, a complete outfit.
Investing themselves in which, they felt more like human beings again.
For this kindness the Don would not hear of being paid.
“It is only a small part of my indebtedness to you,” he declared.
After the evening meal that night, which the boys vowed was a starlight
breakfast, the Don informed them that the next day being a Saint’s Day
and a holiday in the village, he had arranged for a series of sports
of the country and a great fete. This was partly in recognition of his
gratitude at his daughter’s recovery.
“As you are all good horsemen, possibly you may wish to participate,”
went on the Don; “the prizes will be worth competing for. In the
lassoing contest the prize will be a double-cinched saddle of Cordovan
leather, silver mounted. In a novel game called Tilting the Ring, my
daughter has donated as first prize a pair of silver spurs. The second
prize in both events will be bridles fitted with silver-mounted bits
and appendages. There will be other games, races and so on, but these
two contests are the most interesting.”
Of course, this set the boys all agog. Their first rather bashful
feelings at the sumptuousness with which they were surrounded,
vanished, under the stimulus of discussion of the forthcoming contests.
They all, with the exception of the professor, entered for the Tilting
the Ring contest, which will be described later, while Coyote Pete and
Walt Phelps put down their names as contestants in the lassoing events.
Besides these, there were races and jumping contests, in all of which
the boys decided to compete.
The next morning dawned fair and still. Jack, on opening the leaded
sash of his window, gazed with delight at the landscape below him.
Softly rolling hills spread far and near, dotted with park-like groves
of trees. Cattle could be seen in the distance, and Jack guessed that
they were part of the herds controlled by Don Alverado. At the foot of
the hill upon which the hacienda stood, lay the red roofs and white
walls of the village, with its cathedral towers rising above the green
vegetation which picturesquely was intermingled with the dwellings.
Blue smoke ascending into the still air from the chimneys proclaimed
the fact that Santa Anita was astir early on the day of the Don’s fete.
Breakfast was a merry meal, and the boys gazed admiringly at the
senorita, who looked more beautiful than ever in a white morning gown
with a dewy rose stuck jauntily in her black hair.
“Say, she looks like an old Spanish painting, only more so,” observed
Jack to Ralph, as, leaving Walt and Pete to look after the stock and
the professor to examine the Don’s extensive library, they sauntered
off to view the preparations.
“Seems to me you are taking a lot of interest in old Spanish paintings,
my gallant youth,” chuckled Ralph with a knowing look.
Jack reddened.
“The Don has a whole gallery full of them,” he said, “and naturally I
made comparisons.”
“With the advantage in favor of the living type,” chuckled Ralph; “say,
you’re as easy to see through as a spy glass, and——”
“See here, Ralph Stetson, you shut up or I’ll soak you,” sputtered
Jack, looking rather sheepish over his companion’s raillery.
Ralph deemed it prudent to change the subject.
“They certainly do things in style here,” he said, gazing in admiration
at the scene of busy preparation which was going forward on the level
fields at the base of the hill on which the hacienda was situated. Jack
agreed with him. Already a big force of men was at work roping off a
course for the sports, and decorating the poles in the national colors.
At one end of the course several peons were erecting a rather tall pole
with a swing cross-bar affixed to the top. From this cross-bar depended
a cord to which was attached a ring by a snap contrivance. At the other
end of the bar hung a heavy bag filled with sawdust. This was for the
game of Tilt the Ring, as they were to learn later. Each contestant was
required to pass a lance through the ring so skillfully as to remove it
from the snap bolt. If he did not succeed it was obvious that the bag
of sawdust would swing around and deal him a blow before he could get
out of its reach.
“Looks like a bully game,” opined Jack, after the two boys had asked
some questions of an English-speaking peon, “but what happens to you if
the sack hits you?”
“Maybe stick on. More maybe you fall off,” grinned the man.
“Humph,” grunted Ralph, “I don’t know so much about that game. Looks
pretty strenuous to me.”
Soon after, they visited the stables where Coyote Pete and Walt already
were. Coyote had his lariat out, stretching it and getting it supple
and ready for the afternoon’s test, for the sports were to commence
after the midday meal. Walt was rubbing the knees of his horse with
care. Firewater and Petticoats,—for Ralph had given his new pony the
old name,—whinnied as Ralph and Jack entered, and their glowing eyes
and shiny coats showed that they were in fine fettle. In a stall by
them stood the horse they had appropriated from the outlaws. It was a
fine beast, somewhat heavy, perhaps, but strongly limbed and sinewed.
“I’ll bet Ramon would give a lot to have that horse back,” observed
Jack, gazing at the beast admiringly.
“Yes, considering that we chose him in the dark and in such a hurry, I
don’t think we made a bad choice,” was Walt’s rejoinder.
The boys ate sparingly at noon day, despite the variety and splendor
of the dishes set before them. They felt that they were the
representatives of America at the games, and that it would not do to
risk a tummy-ache or any other uncomfortable feeling. Ralph, however,
eyed the various dishes longingly, having, as we know, a fastidious
appetite. But Jack’s whispered, “You’re in training,” was enough to
keep him to the agreement they had made before luncheon.
“I will have your horses saddled for you and brought round,” said the
Don, after the conclusion of the meal. He was preparing to give the
order to a servant when Jack interposed.
“Without meaning any discourtesy, Don Alverado,” he said, “we would
rather saddle up Ourselves. You see——”
“Say no more, say no more. It shall be as you wish,” said the Don, but
it was plain to see that he was rather nettled over the Americans’
independence.
“You see,” Jack explained to his chums later, as they wended their
way to the stables, “the lower orders of Mexicans have no love for
Americans, and they are capable of putting up any tricks on us. I don’t
say that they would, but then again it’s best to be on the safe side.”
A chorus of assent greeted this. It did not take long to saddle up,
the necessary trappings being among the gifts which Don Alverado had
insisted on showering on the saviors of his daughter. The party had
protested that they were well able to pay their own way, but the Don
would not hear of it.
“We do not treat our guests thus, in Mexico,” he said, “and you,
of course, know that the hospitality of the old dons of Spain was
proverbial.”
The Americans made a fine-looking cavalcade as they rode at an easy
trot down to the field where the contests were to be held. All wore
sombreros, held under the chin by a strap of rawhide. Riding trousers
of the loose, Mexican style, red sashes and short jackets completed
their attire. It was in fact only by their clear, cleanlooking skins
and erect bearing that you could have told they were not of the Spanish
race.
A large crowd had already gathered when they reached the “lists,”
as the scene of the contests might be called. People came in costly
carriages with great C-shaped springs, in humbler vehicles, and in
back-country burro carts. From the town a great procession streamed out
on foot, and everywhere there were Caballeros dashing about on fiery
horses, riding with the reckless abandon of the Mexican horseman.
“We’re up against a likely looking lot of horsemen,” said Ralph, as
they came in full view of the gay scene.
“We’ll have to do our best,” said Jack simply, “the more skilled our
opponents are, the more credit it will be to us to defeat them if we
can.”
In a corral some distance off were the cattle that were to be used
in the lassoing contests. A curious crowd was gathered about them
expatiating on their good points. All at once a band broke out into
the Mexican national hymn as the Don and his daughter, accompanied by
a party of guests, rode up to their seats in a small stand, protected
by a striped awning, placed immediately opposite the tilting ring
apparatus.
“Gee whillakers, it’s hard to believe that we’re in the twentieth
century, ain’t it?” asked Coyote Pete, as he gazed about him.
“It’s like Don Quixote,” cried Ralph, quite carried away by the
shifting pictures of color and life on the greensward about them.
“Donkey who?” inquired Coyote Pete, whose reading in the classics had
not been extensive.
“Oh, a certain old gentleman in Spain whose specialty was going about
rescuing beautiful maidens and getting into trouble.”
“Wall, that seems to be us,” observed Pete dryly. “But look, the Don
is announcing the first contest. It’s the race to the town and back
agin, carrying a letter to the city hall, or whatever they call it, and
returning with an answer. Whoever makes the best time wins a fine horse
blanket and a silver-mounted quirt. Any of you boys in it?”
“No, I want to keep my mount fresh for the tilting,” said Jack.
“Same here,” announced the others.
They watched the contest with interest, however. It was won by a
small Mexican on a wiry little animal who sped into the town and back
in seemingly incredible time. As soon as he could escape from the
congratulatory crowd, the wiry little horse was spurred toward where
our friends stood in a group waiting for their contests to be announced.
“For you I have the letter,” he said, as he rode up and extended a bit
of paper.
“A letter for us. Impossible!” exclaimed Jack. “Who could have sent it?”
“It’s addressed ‘Senor Jack Merrill,’ sure enough,” cried Ralph, “and
the address is printed, too.”
“Somebody trying to disguise his hand,” commented Jack, taking the
note. “Well, let’s see what it is, any how.”
The note was only folded and when opened proved to contain but a few
words, but those words were fraught with meaning.
“_Be on the lookout to-day. You are in great danger._”
“Well, what do you know about that!” exclaimed Coyote Pete. “Is it
a genuine warning, I wonder, or jest a trick to keep us out of the
contests?”
“Hard to say,” rejoined Jack. “Where’s that little Mexican who brought
it?”
But the man on the wiry little horse had vanished and a diligent search
by the adventurers failed to disclose him.