CHAPTER IV
AT THE YUSTE HACIENDA
The wrench to the fisherman's knee proved more serious than he hadanticipated. The doctor pronounced it out of the question that he shouldbe moved for some days at least.
The victim was more than content, because he was very much interested inthe young woman who had been his rescuer, and because it gave him achance to observe at first hand the remains of the semifeudal systemthat had once obtained in New Mexico and California.
It was easy for him to see that Senorita Maria Yuste was stillconsidered by her dependents as a superior being, one far removed fromthem by the divinity of caste that hedged her in. They gave her service;and she, on her part, looked out for their needs, and was the patronsaint to whom they brought all their troubles.
It was an indolent, happy life the peons on the estate led, patriarchalin its nature, and far removed from the throb of the money-mad world.They had enough to eat and to wear. There was a roof over their heads.There were girls to be loved, dances to be danced, and guitars to bestrummed. Wherefore, then, should the young men feel the spur of anambition to take the world by the throat and wring success from it?
It had been more years than he could remember since this young Americanhad taken a real holiday except for an occasional fishing trip on theGunnison or into Wyoming. He had lived a life of activity. Now for thefirst time he learned how to be lazy. To dawdle indolently on one of thebroad porches, while Miss Yuste sat beside him and busied herself oversome needlework, was a sensuous delight that filled him with content. Hefelt that he would like to bask there in the warm sunshine forever.After all, why should he pursue wealth and success when love andlaughter waited for him in this peaceful valley chosen of the gods?
The fourth morning of his arrival he hobbled out to the south porchafter breakfast, to find his hostess in corduroy skirt, high lacedboots, and pinched-in sombrero. She was drawing on a pair of drivinggauntlets. One of the stable boys was standing beside a rig he had justdriven to the house.
The young woman flung a flashing smile at her guest.
"Good day, Senor Muir. I hope you had a good night's rest, and that yourknee did not greatly pain you?"
"I feel like a colt in the pasture--fit for anything. But the doctorwon't have it that way. He says I'm an invalid," returned the young manwhimsically.
"The doctor ought to know," she laughed.
"I expect it won't do me any harm to lie still for a day or two. WeAmericans all have the git-up-and-dust habit. We got to keep going,though Heaven knows what we're going for sometimes."
Though he did not know it, her interest in him was considerable, thoughcertainly critical. He was a type outside of her experience, and, by thelaw of opposites, attracted her. Every line of him showed tremendousdriving power, force, energy. He was not without some touch of Westernswagger; but it went well with the air of youth to which his boyishlaugh and wavy, sun-reddened hair contributed.
The men of her station that she knew were of one pattern, indolent,well-bred aristocrats, despisers of trade and of those who indulged init more than was necessary to live. But her mother had been an Americangirl, and there was in her blood a strong impulse toward the greatnation of which her father's people were not yet in spirit entirely apart.
"I have to drive to Antelope Springs this morning. It is not a roughtrip at all. If you would care to see the country----"
She paused, a question in her face. Her guest jumped at the chance.
"There is nothing I should like better. If you are sure it will be noinconvenience."
"I am sure I should not have asked you if I had not wanted you," shesaid; and he took it as a reproof.
She drove a pair of grays that took the road with the spirit of racers.The young woman sat erect and handled the reins masterfully, the whileMuir leaned back and admired the steadiness of the slim, strong wrists,the businesslike directness with which she gave herself to her work, theglow of life whipped into her eyes and cheeks by the exhilaration of thepace.
"I suppose you know all about these old land-grants that were made whenNew Mexico was a Spanish colony and later when it was a part of Mexico,"he suggested.
Her dark eyes rested gravely on him an instant before she answered:"Most of us that were brought up on them know something of the facts."
"You are familiar with the Valdes grant?"
"Yes."
"And with the Moreno grant, made by Governor Armijo?"
"Yes."
"The claims conflict, do they not?"
"The Moreno grant is taken right from the heart of the Valdes grant. Itincludes all the springs, the valleys, the irrigable land; takes ineverything but the hilly pasture land in the mountains, which, initself, is valueless."
"The land included in this grant is of great value?"
"It pastures at the present time fifty thousand sheep and about twelvethousand head of cattle."
"Owned by Miss Valdes?"
"Owned by her and her tenants."
"She's what you call a cattle queen, then. Literally, the cattle on athousand hills are hers."
"As they were her father's and her grandfather's before her, to be heldin trust for the benefit of about eight hundred tenants," she answeredquietly.
"Tell me more about it. The original grantee was Don Bartolome deValdes, was he not?"
"Yes. He was the great-great-grandson of Don Alvaro de Valdes yCastillo, who lost his head because he was a braver and a better manthan the king. Don Bartolome, too, was a great soldier and ruler. He wasgenerous and public-spirited to a fault; and when the people of thisprovince suffered from Indian raids he distributed thousands of sheep torelieve their distress."
"Bully for the old boy. He was a real philanthropist."
"Not at all. He _had_ to do it. His position required it of him."
"That was it, eh?"
Her dusky eyes questioned him.
"You couldn't understand, I suppose, since you are an American, how hewas the father and friend of all the people in these parts; how histroopers and _vaqueros_ were a defense to the whole province?"
"I think I can understand that."
"So it was, even to his death, that he looked out for the poor peonsdependent upon him. His herds grew mighty; and he asked of FacundoMegares, governor of the royal province, a grant of land upon which topasture them. These herds were for his people; but they were in his nameand belonged to him. Why should he not have been given land for them,since his was the sword that had won the land against the Apaches?"
"You ain't heard me say he shouldn't have had it"
"So the _alcalde_ executed the act of possession for a tract, to bebounded on the south by Crow Spring, following its cordillera to the Ojodel Chico, east to the Pedornal range, north to the Ojo del Cibolo--Buffalo Springs--and west to the great divide. It was a princelyestate, greater than the State of Delaware; and Don Bartolome held itfor the King of Spain, and ruled over it with powers of life and death,but always wisely and generously, like the great-hearted gentleman hewas."
"Bully for him."
"And at his death his son ruled in his stead; and _his_ only son died inthe Spanish-American War, as a lieutenant of volunteers in the UnitedStates Army. He was shot before Santiago."
The voice died away in her tremulous throat; and he wondered if it couldbe possible that this girl had been betrothed to the young soldier. Butpresently she spoke again, cheerfully and lightly:
"Wherefore, it happens that there remains only a daughter of the houseof Valdes to carry the burden that should have been her brother's, tolook out for his people, and to protect them both against themselves andothers. She may fail; but, if I know her, the failure will not bebecause she has not tried."
"Good for her. I'd like to shake her aristocratic little paw and tellher to buck in and win."
"She would no doubt be grateful for your sympathy," the young womananswered, flinging a queer little look of irony at him.
"But what's the hitch about the Valde
s grant? Why is there a doubt ofits legality?"
She smiled gaily at him.
"No person who desires to remain healthy has any doubts in thisneighborhood. We are all partizans of Valencia Valdes; and many of hertenants are such warm followers that they would not think twice aboutshedding blood in defense of her title. You must remember that they holdthrough her right. If she were dispossessed so would they be."
"Is that a threat? I mean, would it be if I were a claimant?" he asked,meeting her smile pleasantly.
"Oh, no. Miss Valdes would regret any trouble, and so should I." Ashadow crossed her face as she spoke. "But she could not prevent herfriends from violence, I am afraid. You see, she is only a girl, afterall. They would move without her knowledge. I know they would."
"How would they move? Would it be a knife in the dark?"
His gray eyes, which had been warm as summer sunshine on a hill, werenow fixed on her with chill inscrutability.
"I don't know. It might be that. Very likely." He saw the pulse in herthroat beating fast as she hesitated before she plunged on. "A warningis not a threat. If you know this Senor Gordon, tell him to sellwhatever claim he has. Tell him, at least, to fight from a distance; notto come to this valley himself. Else his life would be at hazard."
"If he is a man that will not keep him away. He will fight for what ishis all the more because there is danger. What's more, he'll do hisfighting on the ground--unless he's a quitter."
She sighed.
"I was afraid so."
"But you have not told me yet the alleged defect in the Valdes claim.There must be some point of law upon which the thing hangs."
"It is claimed that Don Bartolome did not take up his actual residenceon the grant, as the law required. Then, too, he himself was latergovernor of the province, and while he was president of the Ayuntamientoat Tome he officially indorsed some small grants of land made from thisestate. He did this because he wanted the country developed, and waswilling to give part of what he had to his neighbors; but I suppose thecontestant will claim this showed he had abandoned his grant."
"I see. Title not perfected," he summed up briefly.
"We deny it, of course--I mean, Miss Valdes does. She shows that in hiswill the old _don_ mentions it, and that her father lived there withoutinterruption, even though Manuel Armijo later granted the best of it toJose Moreno."
"It would be pretty tough for her to be fired out now. I reckon she'sattached to the place, her and her folks having lived there so long,"the young man mused aloud.
"Her whole life is wrapped up in it. It is the home of her people. Shebelongs to it, and it to her," the girl answered.
"Mebbe this Gordon is a white man. I reckon he wouldn't drive her out.Like as not he'd fix up a compromise. There's enough for both."
She shook her head decisively.
"No. It would have to be a money settlement. Miss Valdes's people aresettled all over the estate. Some of them have bought small ranches. Yousee, she couldn't--throw them down--as you Americans say."
"That's right," he agreed. "Well, I shouldn't wonder but it can be fixedup some way."
They had been driving across a flat cactus country, and for some timehad been approaching the grove of willows into which she now turned.Some wooden barns, a corral, an adobe house, and outhouses marked theplace as one of the more ambitious ranches of the valley.
An old Mexican came forward with a face wreathed in smiles.
_"Buenos,_ Dona Maria," he cried, in greeting.
"_Buenos,_ Antonio. This gentleman is Mr. Richard Muir."
"_Buenos, senor_. A friend of Dona Maria is a friend of Antonio."
"The older people call me '_dona,_'" the girl explained. "I suppose theythink it strange a girl should have to do with affairs, and so theythink of me as '_dona,_' instead of '_senorita,_' to satisfythemselves."
A vague suspicion, that had been born in the young man's mindimmediately after his rescue from the river now recurred.
His first thought then had been that this young woman must be ValenciaValdes; but he had dismissed it when he had seen the initial M on herkerchief, and when she had subsequently left him to infer that such wasnot the case.
He remembered now in what respect she was held in the home _hacienda_;how everybody they had met had greeted her with almost reverence. It wasnot likely that two young heiresses, both of them beautiful orphans,should be living within a few miles of each other.
Besides, he remembered that this very Antelope Springs was mentioned inthe deed of conveyance which he had lately examined before leaving themining camp. She was giving orders about irrigating ditches as if shewere owner.
It followed then that she must be Valencia Valdes. There could be nodoubt of it.
He watched her as she talked to old Antonio and gave the necessarydirections. How radiant and happy she was in this life which had fallento her; by inheritance! He vowed she should not be disinherited throughany action of his. He owed her his life. At least, he could spare herthis blow.
They drove home more silently than they had come. He was thinking overthe best way to do what he was going to do. The evening before they hadsat together in front of the fire in the living-room, while her oldduenna had nodded in a big arm-chair. So they would sit to-night andto-morrow night.
He would send at once for the papers upon which his claim depended, andhe would burn them before her eyes. After that they would befriends--and, in the end, much more than friends.
He was still dreaming his air-castle, when they drove through the gatethat led to her home. In front of the porch a saddled bronco trailed itsrein, and near by stood a young man in riding-breeches and spurs. Heturned at the sound of wheels; and the man in the buggy saw that it wasManuel Pesquiera.
The Spaniard started when he recognized the other, and his eyes grewbright. He moved forward to assist the young woman in alighting; but, inspite of his bad knee, the Coloradoan was out of the rig and before him.
"_Buenos, amigo_" she nodded to Don Manuel, lightly releasing the handof Muir.
"_Buenos, senorita_" returned that young man. "I behold you are alreadyacquaint' with Mr. Richard Gordon, whose arrival is to me veryunexpect'."
She seemed to grow tall before her guest's eyes; to stand in a kind ofproud splendor that had eclipsed her girlish slimness. The dark eyesunder the thick lashes looked long and searchingly at him.
"Mr. Richard Gordon? I understand this gentleman's name to be Muir," shemade voice gently.
Dick laughed with a touch of shame. Now once in his life he wished hecould prove an alibi. For, under the calm judgment of that steady gaze,the thing he had done seemed scarce defensible.
"Don Manuel has it right, _senorita_. Gordon is my name; Muir, too, forthat matter. Richard Muir Gordon is what I was christened."
The underlying red of her cheeks had fled and left them clear olive. Onemight have thought the scornful eyes had absorbed all the fire of herface.
"So you have lied to me, sir?"
"Let me lay the facts before you, first. That's a hard word,_senorita_."
"You gave your name to me as Muir, You imposed yourself on myhospitality under false pretenses. You are only a spy, come to my houseto mole for evidence against me."
"No--no!" he cried sharply. "You will remember that I did not want tocome. I foresaw that it might be awkward, but I did not foresee this."
"That you would be found out before you had won your end? I believe you,sir," she retorted contemptuously.
"I see I'm condemned before I'm heard."
"Will any explanation alter the facts? Are you not a liar and a cheat?You gave me a false name to spy out the land."
"Am I the only one that gave a wrong name?" he asked.
"That is different," she flamed. "You had made a mistake and, half insport, I encouraged you in it. But you seem to have found out my realname since. Yet you still accepted what I had to offer, under a falsename, under false pretenses. You questioned me about the grants. Youhave lived a
lie from first to last."
"It ain't as bad as you say, ma'am. Don Manuel had told me it wasn'tsafe to come here in my own name. I didn't care about the safety, but Iwanted to see the situation exactly as it was. I didn't know who youwere when I came here. I took you to be Miss Maria Yuste. I----"
"My name is Maria Yuste Valencia Valdes," the young woman explainedproudly. "When, may I ask, did you discover who I was?"
"I guessed it at Antelope Springs."
"Then why did you not tell me then who you are? Surely that was the timeto tell me. My deception did you no harm; yours was one no man of honorcould have endured after he knew who I was."
"I didn't aim to keep it up very long. I meant, in a day or two----"
"A day or two," she cried, in a blaze of scorn. "After you had found outall I had to tell; after you had got evidence to back your robber-claim;after you had made me breathe the same air so long with a spy?"
Her face was very white; but she faced him in her erect slimness, withher dark eyes fixed steadily on him.
"You ain't quite fair to me; but let that pass for the present. When Iasked you about the grants didn't you guess who I was? Play square withme. Didn't you have a notion?"
A flood of spreading color swept back into her face.
"No, I didn't. I thought perhaps you were an agent of the claimant; butI didn't know you were passing under a false name, that you were awarein whose house you were staying. I thought you an honest man, on thewrong side--nothing so contemptible as a spy."
"That idea's fixed in your mind, is it?" he asked quietly.
"Beyond any power of yours to remove it," she flashed back.
"The facts, Senor Gordon, speak loud," put in Pesquiera derisively.
Dick Gordon paid not the least attention to him. His gaze was fastenedon the girl whose contempt was lashing him.
"Very well, Miss Valdes. Well let it go at that just now. All I've gotto say is that some day you'll hate yourself for what you have justsaid."
Neither of them had raised their voices from first to last. Hers hadbeen low and intense, pulsing with the passion that would out. His hadheld its even way.
"I hate myself now, that I have had you here so long, that I have beenthe dupe of a common cheat."
"All right. 'Nough said, ma'am. More would certainly be surplusage. I'llnot trouble you any longer now. But I want you to remember that there'sa day coming when you'll travel a long way to take back all of whatyou've just been saying. I want to thank you for all your kindness tome. I'm always at your service for what you did for me. Good-bye, MissValdes, for the present."
"I am of impression, sir, that you go not too soon," said Pesquierasuavely.
Miss Valdes turned on her heel and swept up the steps of the porch; butshe stopped an instant before she entered the house to say over hershoulder:
"A buggy will be at your disposal to take you to Corbett's. If it isconvenient, I should like to have you go to-night."
He smiled ironically.
"I'll not trouble you for the buggy, _senorita_. If I'm all you say Iam, likely I'm a horse thief, too. Anyhow, we won't risk it. Walking'sgood enough for me."
"Just as you please," she choked, and forthwith disappeared into thehouse.
Gordon turned from gazing after her to find the little Spaniard bowingbefore him.
"Consider me at your service, Mr. Gordon----"
"Can't use you," cut in Dick curtly.
"I was remarking that, as her kinsman, I, Don Manuel Pesquiera, standprepared to make good her words. What the Senorita Valdes says, I say,too."
"Then don't say it aloud, you little monkey, or I'll throw you over thehouse," Dick promised immediately.
Don Manuel clicked his heels together and twirled his black mustache.
"I offer you, sir, the remedy of a gentleman. You, sir, shall choose theweapons."
The Anglo-Saxon laughed in his face.
"Good. Let it be toasting-forks, at twenty paces."
The challenger drew himself up to his full five feet six.
"You choose to be what you call droll. Sir, I give you the word,poltroon--_lache_--coward."
"Oh, go chase yourself."
One of Pesquiera's little gloved hands struck the other's face with aresounding slap. Next instant he was lifted from his feet and tuckedunder Dick's arm.
There he remained, kicking and struggling, in a manner most undignifiedfor a blue blood of Castile, while the Coloradoan stepped leisurelyforward to the irrigating ditch which supplied water for the garden andthe field of grain behind. This was now about two feet deep, and runningstrong. In it was deposited, at full length, the clapper little personof Don Manuel Pesquiera, after which Dick Gordon turned and went limpingdown the road.
From the shutters of her room a girl had looked down and seen it all.She saw Don Manuel rescue himself from the ditch, all dripping withwater. She saw him gesticulating wildly, as he cursed the retreatingfoe, before betaking himself hurriedly from view to the rear of thehouse, probably to dry himself and nurse his rage the while. She sawGordon go on his limping way without a single backward glance.
Then she flung herself on her bed and burst into tears.