O'DONNELL SETTLES WITH YOSCOLO
The luminous haze of late spring lay contentedly over the Mendoza
hacienda. The noon hour had come with its somnolent warmth; and all
nature was dozing in the sun, except the bumblebee, victim of
omnipresent unrest, and the hummingbird, which always finds the day too
short for its multifarious duties.
The peon workman, in from the fields, was satisfying hunger in his
whitewashed cot; or, the meal over, was stretched on the earthen floor,
a kerchief over his face, enjoying the midday siesta. The peona wife
stepped lightly around tidying the room, and then took place by her
husband's side, their children lying tumbled about.
Peace rested on the Indian adobe village which flanked the hacienda
house. Inside the mansion itself there reigned the stillness of night.
A footstep descending stairs somewhere seemed unusually loud. Finally
a door opened, making a grating, out-of-place sound. Señor Mendoza's
erect form appeared on the west side of the courtyard. He walked
leisurely toward an avenue shaded by the interlacing branches of
thick-leafed walnut trees. A tiny brook fed by a spring in the middle
of the courtyard purled along by his feet. A grateful coolness lifted
itself to greet him. The odor of damp earth mingled pleasingly with
the scent of flowers; and from under the south wall of the inclosure
came the rhythm of a miniature waterfall as the brook lost itself on
the rocks many feet beneath.
The señor found that he was not alone in seeking the leafed coolness of
the walnut alameda. The Doña Carmelita was standing at the end of the
walk listening, apparently, to the music of the water. Her hair, free
save where a golden clasp held it at the neck, gave play, as it flowed
over her back, to the beginning breezes from the western sea. The
profile of her face was thoughtful. Delicate lines traced the
exquisite fullness of a form straight and slender.
"My daughter is a beautiful woman!" he half ejaculated.
Many thoughts ran through his mind in panoramic vision. He recalled
the long gallery in his father's castle where had hung the pictured
forbears of the de la Mendoza. Generations were there. Their
characteristic form and features had descended to Carmelita. No
government rule could prevent that, though it might vent titles and
confiscate lands.
"My daughter a woman! A beautiful woman!" The thought half startled
him.
The girl turned and walked toward him.
"Little papa! Little papa mine! are you taking the siesta on your
feet?"
Carmelita's slender hands were on his broad shoulders, and she was
endeavoring to shake him. Her merry laugh pealed through the avenue.
"I smiled at you, and smiled at you, and blew kisses at you, while you
looked at me as if I were a thousand leagues away, and you deigned
never the least recognition," standing on tiptoe and kissing him.
"I was living again the years of very long ago."
"Tell me about it, little papa."
She took his arm, and together they walked along the avenue.
"Tell me about it, papacito," she repeated.
"Why are you not at the siesta?" disregarding her question.
She looked up at him demurely.
"I did not care to sleep. Besides," jestingly, "we must accustom
ourselves to the ways of the Americano who will soon come here. You
remember I have spoken to you of Señor Brown, the man who was so
thoughtful in the cave the night of the storm?"
He pressed her arm tenderly in reply.
"I saw him lately in San José. He told me, among other things, that
Americanos never sleep in the day, and sparingly at night; indeed,
often with one eye open." She laughed. Her father joined.
"The Americanos are coming, you say?"
The girl stepped in front of him, placed her hands against his breast
and looked into his face.
"Papacito mio, since the baile you have slept not one night at home,
but in the morning returning with the travel-stains of much riding.
Messengers are coming and going between you and the bearded stranger
after whom Benito rode away so furiously in that early morning. I know
my little father too well to think he will allow Señora Valencia and
Hernandez and the others to have their way so easily about England
coming here. Yes, the Americanos are coming, because you have willed
to have them come. Papacito, I feel it."
"My child, England, the greatest power the world knows, does not rely
so much on Valencia and Hernandez, nor yet the others, as on the wit of
a very clever woman, seconded by Captain Farquharson, principal of your
good friend, Brown."
The doña's arms fell to her side. They resumed their walk.
"Captain Farquharson also was very kind the night of the storm."
"I do not forget that, little one. When Padre Osuna came to me, the
evening of the baile, with word that the Englishman was in straits, I
intended to help Farquharson, even by placing myself under obligation
to O'Donnell, which I would have disliked very much, at that time."
"Why, papacito, did Padre Osuna come to you?"
The señor smiled. "Señora Valentino."
The girl's eyes once more bent in thought. "Why?"
"Again the night in the cave," he laughed. "I am indebted to the
padre, and could not have refused his request to help the English
captain, of which the señora was well aware. Immediately I divined
O'Donnell to be the real cause of Farquharson's predicament, and I knew
that he would gladly grant me the request, did I make it, to free the
captive. The lady's mind ran the gamut of the cause and effect."
"It is like an endless puzzle, my papa."
"Which the Captain solved of his own accord by taking himself out of
his plight, aided by Brown."
They walked a little while in silence. Filipo, the porter, looked in
surprise at them from his high seat in the lodge. Usually he was the
only person awake on the hacienda at this hour. His little beady eyes
followed them up and down, up and down the avenue.
"My daughter," the father finally said, "we have in California, in a
small way, an example of the game of statecraft. Europe plays on a
larger scale, but it is the same. There, as here, the charm and brain
of woman supply the leverage for overturning states."
"I would not have thought Señora Valentino gifted in that way."
"Six months ago the señora and Farquharson were in Mexico City. Don
Juan Domingo told me of them. O'Donnell also was there, but under an
assumed name. I too was there, though I saw none of the three. The
lady's fame had followed her to the capital. Her hand has in no way
lost its cunning here. The older men--well, we know how they accepted
her wishes a few nights ago; and the young men are at her feet. No
wonder."
Carmelita said nothing.
"Señora Valentino has won the padre to her side; has influenced the
well-poised Carillo, of the South, and many others there. She has, in
the North, toyed with men's intelligence whose balance I had never
before doubted."
The girl's eyes were straight ahead. The father and daughter went for
a few moments without speaking.
The señor broke the quiet. "Little one, if by any chance future years
shall see misfortune here, provision has been made for thee across the
seas. The proceeds of the lower hacienda, thy mother's, had she lived,
have been placed for thee in London's Bank of England. Friends thou
wilt find in England. Their names are written in my will. Thou canst
find protection there always, should it ever fail thee here."
"California has been thy home, my father, and it shall always be mine."
"A brave daughter and a loving one."
It was some time before further conversation.
"Thou art a woman grown. Though I married late in life, yet may I
still live to see thee on a husband's arm."
She looked archly at him. "There is Don Abelardo. You know friends
have said that his father and mine arranged for a match."
"Yes; but it is not true. You are to have the making of your own life."
"Papacito, my dueña says that more and more are people speaking of this
purported engagement. I know, of course, how the story began with the
peons present when Abelardo's father passed away in your arms; but, why
should such sudden interest arise now?"
"The peons understood little of Señor Peralta's words, and spoke much,
as Indians often do. His utterance touched the friendship of his
family and mine, nothing more. Peralta would never have dreamed of
betrothing our children without their wish and consent; nor I of
entering such a compact, though such has been the custom in Spain--a
custom truly more honored in the breach than the observance."
"But, papa, I don't want this idea that Abelardo and I are engaged to
be married to get so widely about. What can we do?"
"Do nothing, my girl, do nothing. Attention paid to such things only
nourishes their growth. What does it amount to, anyway?"
Filipo came over to them.
"Captain Morando, and many with him, are dropping down the steep hills,
and are coming in this direction. The field glass shows them plainly."
Mendoza and his daughter walked toward the gate.
"Morando is one of the few who have not been influenced by Señora
Valentino. He has maintained clear head and uncompromised tongue.
Sword and glove he has declared himself for Castilian manhood and
womanhood. I would be willing, as, indeed, should everyone, to clasp
hands with the señora on that declaration; as did the Captain in the
supper-room the night of the baile. I wish all my friends had held
their wits against this agent of Great Britain as firmly as he."
The señorita paled, then flushed.
"Pity that Morando thinks of leaving California. I have it not
directly from him, but O'Donnell heard him say that he intends to seek
new fields as soon as he can," continued the señor.
Morando and his soldiers rode to the gate and saluted the Mendozas.
"I have several men who are rather severely wounded. May I leave them
here in your care while we push on farther?"
"Certainly, my friend, certainly. But, Morando, you are tired, I know;
so are your men. Alight, every one of you, for rest and refreshment.
Filipo, call the servants from the siesta."
The loud blast of Filipo's bugle brought life into the hacienda house
and around it.
"Muchas gracias, señor. I cannot remain. We have been engaging
Yoscolo since yester noon. This morning a large number of the
renegades came to the front and fought vigorously for a time. Then
they scattered. Some of the prisoners have told us that, during the
fight, Yoscolo and a picked body of his men doubled around us,
intending to cut across the valley, and make the Santa Cruz mountains
at La Cuesta de los Gatos. We must hurry in pursuit."
"Yoscolo, is it? Caramba!" from Mendoza. "In an hour O'Donnell comes
here. I'll guarantee he will be glad to ride with you after Yoscolo."
"I should be glad of his services, but----"
"But, wait, Captain. O'Donnell will pick up the rascal's trail as no
other man can. Before night he will be riding in his heels. Come,
Morando, dismount. Let your men take the horses to the stables."
"I know of O'Donnell's value in such contests as this; but the trail
will be an hour colder."
"Not so, Captain. The Indian will leave false tracks in abundance.
The Americano frontiersman's eyes will not be deceived. Better wait,
my friend."
Morando finally consented. The wounded men were cared for, and the
weary men and horses were refreshed.
Before the hour was up the soldiers and their mounts were outside the
courtyard gate, ready for the order to advance.
Mendoza went to the tower searching the horizon with a field glass.
The Captain stood across the courtyard waiting word from his host that
O'Donnell had come into sight.
Carmelita came out of a low door deeply let into the side of the left
wing of the house. The hospital department of the hacienda was there.
The girl was carrying a flat vessel containing lint and bandages.
"Your wounded are as comfortable as possible, Señor Captain," she said,
as she passed Morando.
"I thank you and Señor Mendoza for it."
"Ah! Papacito is looking toward us and holding up his hand to catch
our attention."
"O'Donnell is in sight a league away," Mendoza's voice came clearly to
them.
"Gracias, Señor Mendoza," the soldier called in return.
The señor left the tower and walked along the roof to an outside
staircase.
The girl held up the lint and bandages. "The peona nurses and I
prepared these for people injured on the rancho. I rejoice that we had
them ready for to-day."
"Fortune favored us in being within such easy reach of your
ministrations, señorita doña. One or two of the men could not have
gone much farther. I shall not forget your kindness."
"Not kindness, Señor Capitan! A privilege and a duty! We are here in
our stronghold, while you are bearing the heat and the burden of the
day. Our fruitful valleys smile the more happily because of your
protection."
"Your words are encouraging, señorita."
"I want to be more than encouraging. I mean to be appreciative. I
wish I knew how to say more."
"The señorita is good to the soldier. In the name of my comrades, I
thank you."
Her face flushed.
"Captain, will you not be seated? The shade of that fig-tree invites
you. The afternoon may make much call on your strength."
She took seat on a rustic chair and motioned him to a bench in front of
her fashioned around the tree-trunk.
"I am glad O'Donnell will assist in this work. He is a man who makes
sure of his position before pushing ahead," spoke Morando.
"Is the good Señor Americano, then, so infallible?"
"Quite so. Still, to err is human."
"But to forgive, divine, Señor Captain."
"Señorita Doña," hesitatingly, "perhaps there are things humans can
hardly be expected to forgive."
Again her face flushed, and she bit her lip.
"Yes--and even if done under misapprehension." Her eyes looked
straight at him.
"Of course the offense remains despite the misapprehension--of course
it remains," from Morando. His eyes sought the ground.
Neither spoke for a moment. Peons were running hither and thither.
Señor Mendoza had descended from the roof and was sauntering toward
them. Filipo's field glass pointed along the road leading up to the
gate.
"Señorita Carmelita, we can at least be friends. Is it not so?"
Mendoza was at their side. "Captain, when did you first find out about
this raid?"
"Yesterday morning. I had ridden to Monterey, to call on Señora
Valentino where the messenger came. I had some men with me. The
others came up at the Berryessa rancho."
"Yes, Filipo, I'm coming," in response to a signal from the porter.
Mendoza walked briskly toward the gate.
"Friends!" Carmelita arose, her eyes flashing.
Morando also arose. "I do not consider my friendship of light value,
Señorita Doña Mendoza."
"I do not share your high opinion of that friendship, Captain Morando."
The loud challenge of O'Donnell's horse was heard.
"Morando! Morando!" Señor Mendoza called.
"Coming immediately, señor. Good afternoon, señorita doña." The
Captain hastened to the courtyard gate.
The señorita went up to her room, a storm raging in her heart.
"If Captain Morando dares mention the name of Señora Valentino in my
presence again, I'll forbid him ever to speak to me." She clenched her
hands.
The sound of many moving horses under her window called her thoughts.
The soldiers were setting out. Tomaso and a hundred of Mendoza's
fighting peons were with them. Morando and O'Donnell rode together, in
earnest conversation.
"The place to find the scamp is always where you would least likely
think him to be," O'Donnell observed.
Yoscolo's trail was found at the Berryessa rancho, where he had been
the morning of the previous day. The Indian had waited some time to
obtain powder from a cache in the hills, then started across the
valley, secure in the thought that Morando and his men were miles away
in the mountains.
About the middle of the afternoon he was overtaken at La Cuesta de los
Gatos, ten miles south of San José.
At sight of the pursuers Yoscolo intrenched himself in a rocky cañon,
which, he believed, could not be approached by flank movements, while a
successful frontal attack seemed impossible. Here he waited, intending
to slip away at night.
O'Donnell, on the stallion, followed by Tomaso and his peons, scaled
the rocky edge of a precipice, and suddenly appeared on a ledge thirty
feet above the renegades.
"El Diablo! El Diablo!" they shouted.
A number of shots were fired at O'Donnell. He swung under the horse's
body, and the shots went wild.
The stallion braced its feet and slid down the cliff followed by the
others.
A terrible hand-to-hand conflict was waged. Fortune would favor one
side, then the other. Finally, the two leaders came together in the
middle of the little valley at the head of the cañon. The giant made
thrust after thrust of his lance at the Indian, who parried
successfully, pressing his opponent hotly in return.
The stallion's part in the combat was no small one. He whirled his
master out of harm's way, or pushed into the fight, at a simple turn of
the rein.
Yoscolo's horse stumbled. The stallion sounded its scream, and rushed
against the other mount, throwing it from its feet.
The Indian sprang free from his falling horse, and, grasping
O'Donnell's stirrup-strap, vaulted to the back of Drumlummon. His face
snarled furiously as he struck his knife at O'Donnell. Before the blow
could fall a backward thrust of O'Donnell's lance ended the outlaw's
life.
Morando's command attacked the renegades' front. The deep-shadowed
cañon rang with carbine volleys, the screaming of horses and the shouts
of men.
The Indians were dismayed at the leader's fall, but Stanislaus took
charge, and urged on the fight. Nightfall, however, saw the complete
defeat of the robber band. Stanislaus was captured.
"I've settled with Yoscolo. Now I'll ride to Mission San José and
finish my call on Mendoza," was O'Donnell's laconic remark.