When Faquita had made sure that her young mistress was so securely
closeted with Dona Maria that morning as to be inaccessible to curious
eyes and ears, she saw fit to bewail to her fellow-servants this
further evidence of the decay of the old feudal and patriarchal mutual
family confidences. "Time was, thou rememberest, Pepita, when an
affair of this kind was openly discussed at chocolate with everybody
present, and before us all. When Joaquin Padilla was shot at Monterey,
it was the Dona herself who told us, who read aloud the letters
describing it and the bullet-holes in his clothes, and made it quite a
gala-day--and he was a first-cousin of Guitierrez. And now, when this
American goat of a doctor is kicked to death by a mule, the family must
shut themselves up, that never a question is asked or answered." "Ay,"
responded Pepita; "and as regards that, Sanchez there knows as much as
they do, for it was he that almost saw the whole affair."
"How?--sawest it?" inquired Faquita, eagerly.
"Why, was it not he that was bringing home Pereo, who had been lying in
one of his trances or visions--blessed St. Antonio preserve us!" said
Pepita, hastily crossing herself--"on Kooratora's grave, when the
Doctor's mustang charged down upon them like a wild bull, and the
Doctor's foot half out of the stirrups, and he not yet fast in his
seat. And Pereo laughs a wild laugh and says: 'Watch if the coyote
does not drag yet at his mustang's heels;' and Sanchez ran and watched
the Doctor out of sight, careering and galloping to his death!--ay, as
Pereo prophesied. For it was only half an hour afterward that Sanchez
again heard the tramp of his hoofs--as if it were here--and knowing it
two miles away--thou understandest, he said to himself: 'It is over.'"
The two women shuddered and crossed themselves.
"And what says Pereo of the fulfillment of his prophecy?" asked
Faquita, hugging herself in her shawl with a certain titillating shrug
of fascinating horror.
"It is even possible he understands it not. Thou knowest how dazed and
dumb he ever is after these visions--that he comes from them as one
from the grave, remembering nothing. He has lain like a log all the
morning."
"Ay; but this news should awaken him, if aught can. He loved not this
sneaking Doctor. Let us seek him; mayhap, Sanchez may be there. Come!
The mistress lacks us not just now; the guests are provided for. Come!"
She led the way to the eastern angle of the casa communicating by a low
corridor with the corral and stables. This was the old "gate-keep" or
quarters of the mayordomo, who, among his functions, was supposed to
exercise a supervision over the exits and entrances of the house. A
large steward's room or office, beyond it a room of general assembly,
half guard-room, half servants' hall, and Pereo's sleeping-room,
constituted his domain. A few peons were gathered in the hall near the
open door of the apartment where Pereo lay.
Stretched on a low pallet, his face yellow as wax, a light burning
under a crucifix near his head, and a spray of blessed palm, popularly
supposed to avert the attempts of evil spirits to gain possession of
his suspended faculties, Pereo looked not unlike a corpse. Two muffled
and shawled domestics, who sat by his side, might have been mourners,
but for their voluble and incessant chattering.
"So thou art here, Faquita," said a stout virago. "It is a wonder thou
couldst spare time from prayers for the repose of the American Doctor's
soul to look after the health of thy superior, poor Pereo! Is it, then,
true that Dona Maria said she would have naught more to do with the
drunken brute of her mayordomo?"
The awful fascination of Pereo's upturned face did not prevent Faquita
from tossing her head as she replied, pertly, that she was not there to
defend her mistress from lazy gossip. "Nay, but WHAT said she?" asked
the other attendant.
"She said Pereo was to want for nothing; but at present she could not
see him."
A murmur of indignation and sympathy passed through the company. It was
followed by a long sigh from the insensible man. "His lips move," said
Faquita, still fascinated by curiosity. "Hush! he would speak."
"His lips move, but his soul is still asleep," said Sanchez,
oracularly. "Thus they have moved since early morning, when I came to
speak with him, and found him lying here in a fit upon the floor. He
was half dressed, thou seest, as if he had risen to go forth, and had
been struck down so--"
"Hush! I tell thee he speaks," said Faquita.
The sick man was faintly articulating through a few tiny bubbles that
broke upon his rigid lips. "He--dared--me! He--said--I was old--too
old."
"Who dared thee? Who said thou wast too old?" asked the eager Faquita,
bending over him.
"He, Koorotora himself! in the shape of a coyote."
Faquita fell back with a little giggle, half of shame, half of awe.
"It is ever thus," said Sanchez, sententiously; "it is what he said
last night, when I picked him up on the mound. He will sleep now--thou
shalt see. He will get no further than Koorotora and the coyote--and
then he will sleep."
And to the awe of the group, and the increased respect for Sanchez's
wisdom, Pereo seemed to fall again into a lethargic slumber. It was
late in the evening when he appeared to regain perfect consciousness.
"Ah--what is this?" he said, roughly, sitting up in bed, and eying the
watchers around him, some of whom had succumbed to sleep, and others
were engaged in playing cards. "Caramba! are ye mad? Thou, Sanchez,
here; who shouldst be at thy work in the stables! Thou, Pepita, is thy
mistress asleep or dead, that thou sittest here? Blessed San Antonio!
would ye drive me mad?" He lifted his hand to his head, with a dull
movement of pain, and attempted to rise from the bed.
"Softly, good Pereo; lie still," said Sanchez, approaching him. "Thou
hast been ill--so ill. These, thy friends, have been waiting only for
this moment to be assured that thou art better. For this idleness
there is no blame--truly none. The Dona Maria has said that thou
shouldst lack no care; and, truly, since the terrible news there has
been little to do."
"The terrible news?" repeated Pereo.
Sanchez cast a meaning glance upon the others, as if to indicate this
coaffirmation of his diagnosis.
"Ay, terrible news! The Doctor West was found this morning dead two
miles from the casa."
"Dr. West dead!" repeated Pereo, slowly, as if endeavoring to master
the real meaning of the words. Then, seeing the vacuity of his
question reflected on the faces of those around him, he added,
hurriedly, with a feeble smile, "O--ay--dead! Yes! I remember. And he
has been ill--very ill, eh?"
"It was an accident. He was thrown from his horse, and so killed,"
returned Sanchez, gravely.
"Killed--by his horse! sayest thou?" said Pereo, with a sudden fixed
look in his eye.
"Ay, good Pereo. Dost thou not remember when the mustang bolted with
him down upon us in the lane, and then thou didst say he would come to
evil with the brute? He did--blessed San Antonio!--within half an
hour!"
"How--thou sawest it?"
"Nay; for the mustang was running away and I did not follow. Bueno! it
happened all the same. The Alcalde, Coroner, who knows all about it,
has said so an hour ago! Juan brought the news from the rancho where
the inquest was. There will be a funeral the day after to-morrow! and
so it is that some of the family will go. Fancy, Pereo, a Guitierrez at
the funeral of the Americano Doctor! Nay, I doubt not that the Dona
Maria will ask thee to say a prayer over his bier."
"Peace, fool! and speak not of thy lady mistress," thundered the old
man, sitting upright. "Begone to the stables. Dost thou hear me? Go!"
"Now, by the Mother of Miracles," said Sanchez, hastening from the room
as the gaunt figure of the old man rose, like a sheeted spectre, from
the bed, "that was his old self again! Blessed San Antonio! Pereo has
recovered."
The next day he was at his usual duties, with perhaps a slight increase
of sternness in his manner. The fulfillment of his prophecy related by
Sanchez added to the superstitious reputation in which he was held,
although Faquita voiced the opinions of a growing skeptical party in
the statement that it was easy to prophesy the Doctor's accident, with
the spectacle of the horse actually running away before the prophet's
eyes. It was even said that Dona Maria's aversion to Pereo since the
accident arose from a belief that some assistance might have been
rendered by him. But it was pointed out by Sanchez that Pereo had, a
few moments before, fallen under one of those singular, epileptic-like
strokes to which he was subject, and not only was unfit, but even
required the entire care of Sanchez at the time. He did not attend the
funeral, nor did Mrs. Saltonstall; but the family was represented by
Maruja and Amita, accompanied by one or two dark-faced cousins, Captain
Carroll, and Raymond. A number of friends and business associates from
the neighboring towns, Aladdin and a party from his house, the farm
laborers, and a crowd of working men from his mills in the foot-hills,
swelled the assemblage that met in and around the rude agricultural
sheds and outhouses which formed the only pastoral habitation of the
Rancho of San Antonio. It had been a characteristic injunction of the
deceased that he should be buried in the midst of one of his most
prolific grain fields, as a grim return to that nature he was
impoverishing, with neither mark nor monument to indicate the spot; and
that even the temporary mound above him should, at the fitting season
of the year, be leveled with the rest of the field by the obliterating
plowshares. A grave was accordingly dug about a quarter of a mile from
his office amidst a "volunteer" crop so dense that the large space mown
around the narrow opening, to admit of the presence of the multitude,
seemed like a golden amphitheatre.
A distinguished clergyman from San Francisco officiated.
A man of tact and politic adaptation, he dwelt upon the blameless life
of the deceased, on his practical benefit for civilization in the
county, and even treated his grim Pantheism in the selection of his
grave as a formal recognition of the text, "dust to dust." He paid a
not ungrateful compliment to the business associates of the deceased,
and, without actually claiming in the usual terms "a continuance of
past favors" for their successors, managed to interpolate so strong a
recommendation of the late Doctor's commercial projects as to elicit
from Aladdin the expressive commendation that his sermon was "as good
as five per cent. in the stock."
Maruja, who had been standing near the carriage, languidly silent and
abstracted even under the tender attentions of Carroll, suddenly felt
the consciousness of another pair of eyes fixed upon her. Looking up,
she was surprised to find herself regarded by the man she had twice
met, once as a tramp and once as a wayfarer at the fonda, who had
quietly joined a group not far from her. At once impressed by the idea
that this was the first time that he had really looked at her, she felt
a singular shyness creeping over her, until, to her own astonishment
and indignation, she was obliged to lower her eyes before his gaze. In
vain she tried to lift them, with her old supreme power of fascination.
If she had ever blushed, she felt she would have done so now. She knew
that her face must betray her consciousness; and at last she--Maruja,
the self-poised and all-sufficient goddess--actually turned, in
half-hysterical and girlish bashfulness, to Carroll for relief in an
affected and exaggerated absorption of his attentions. She scarcely
knew that the clergyman had finished speaking, when Raymond approached
them softly from behind. "Pray don't believe," he said, appealingly,
"that all the human virtues are about to be buried--I should say
sown--in that wheatfield. A few will still survive, and creep about
above the Doctor's grave. Listen to a story just told me, and
disbelieve--if you dare--in human gratitude. Do you see that
picturesque young ruffian over there?"
Maruja did not lift her eyes. She felt herself breathlessly hanging on
the speaker's next words.
"Why, that's the young man of the fonda, who picked up your fan," said
Carroll, "isn't it?"
"Perhaps," said Maruja, indifferently. She would have given worlds to
have been able to turn coldly and stare at him at that moment with the
others, but she dared not. She contented herself with softly brushing
some dust from Captain Carroll's arm with her fan and a feminine
suggestion of tender care which thrilled that gentleman.
"Well," continued Raymond, "that Robert Macaire over yonder came here
some three or four days ago as a tramp, in want of everything but
honest labor. Our lamented friend consented to parley with him, which
was something remarkable in the Doctor; still more remarkable, he gave
him a suit of clothes, and, it is said, some money, and sent him on his
way. Now, more remarkable than all, our friend, on hearing of his
benefactor's death, actually tramps back here to attend his funeral.
The Doctor being dead, his executors not of a kind to emulate the
Doctor's spasmodic generosity, and there being no chance of future
favors, the act must be recorded as purely and simply gratitude. By
Jove! I don't know but that he is the only one here who can be called a
real mourner. I'm here because your sister is here; Carroll comes
because YOU do, and you come because your mother can not."
"And who tells you these pretty stories?" asked Maruja, with her face
still turned towards Carroll.
"The foreman, Harrison, who, with an extensive practical experience of
tramps, was struck with this exception to the general rule."
"Poor man; one ought to do something for him," said Amita,
compassionately.
"What!" said Raymond, with affected terror, "and spoil this perfect
story? Never! If I should offer him ten dollars, I'd expect him to
kick me; if he took it, I'd expect to kick HIM."
"He is not so bad-looking, is he, Maruja?" asked Amita of her sister.
But Maruja had already moved a few paces off with Carroll, and seemed
to be listening to him only. Raymond smiled at the pretty perplexity
of Amita's eyebrows over this pronounced indiscretion.
"Don't mind them," he whispered; "you really cannot expect to duena
your elder sister. Tell me, would you actually like me to see if I
could assist the virtuous tramp? You have only to speak." But Amita's
interest appeared to be so completely appeased with Raymond's simple
offer that she only smiled, blushed, and said "No."
Maruja's quick ears had taken in every word of these asides, and for an
instant she hated her sister for her aimless declination of Raymond's
proposal. But becoming conscious--under her eyelids--that the stranger
was moving away with the dispersing crowd, she rejoined Amita with her
usual manner. The others had re-entered the carriage, but Maruja took
it into her head to proceed on foot to the rude building whence the
mourners had issued. The foreman, Harrison, flushed and startled by
this apparition of inaccessible beauty at his threshold, came eagerly
forward. "I shall not trouble you now, Mr. Har-r-r-rison," she said,
with a polite exaggeration of the consonants; "but some day I shall
ride over here, and ask you to show me your wonderful machines."
She smiled, and turned back to seek her carriage. But before she had
gone many yards she found that she had completely lost it in the
intervening billows of grain. She stopped, with an impatient little
Spanish ejaculation. The next moment the stalks of wheat parted before
her and a figure emerged. It was the stranger.
She fell back a step in utter helplessness.
He, on his side, retreated again into the wheat, holding it back with
extended arms to let her pass. As she moved forward mechanically,
without a word he moved backward, making a path for her until she was
able to discern the coachman's whip above the bending heads of the
grain just beyond her. He stopped here and drew to one side, his arms
still extended, to give her free passage. She tried to speak, but
could only bow her head, and slipped by him with a strange
feeling--suggested by his attitude--that she was evading his embrace.
But the next moment his arms were lowered, the grain closed around him,
and he was lost to her view. She reached the carriage almost
unperceived by the inmates, and pounced upon her sister with a laugh.
"Blessed Virgin!" said Amita, "where did you come from?"
"From there!" said Maruja, with a slight nervous shiver, pointing to
the clustering grain.
"We were afraid you were lost."
"So was I," said Maruja, raising her pretty lashes heavenwards, as she
drew a shawl tightly round her shoulders.
"Has anything happened. You look strange," said Carroll, drawing
closer to her.
Here eyes were sparkling, but she was very pale.
"Nothing, nothing!" she said, hastily, glancing at the grain again.
"If it were not that the haste would have been absolutely indecent, I
should say that the late Doctor had made you a ghostly visit," said
Raymond, looking at her curiously.
"He would have been polite enough not to have commented on my looks,"
said Maruja. "Am I really such a fright?"
Carroll thought he had never seen her so beautiful. Her eyelids were
quivering over their fires as if they had been brushed by the passing
wing of a strong passion.
"What are you thinking of?" said Carroll, as they drove on.
She was thinking that the stranger had looked at her admiringly, and
that his eyes were blue. But she looked quietly into her lover's face,
and said, sweetly, "Nothing, I fear, that would interest you!"