CHAPTER X
AN ELOPEMENT
Once again Felipe waited patiently for the setting of the moon, in thedark corner between the mud oven and the wall where we saw him first.Thoughts keen almost as sensations chased each other through his mind ashe crouched there watching. Dominant was the feeling of the eternalsense of need: "I want her and I'll have her." All this trouble, andstrife, and disappointment only made him more obstinate. "I willsucceed," he said to himself. "I will. If I fail now I shall be a loserall my life--always wanting, never getting. If I win I shall have what Idesire all my life and be happy." This was frank egoism. Felipe's moralstandpoint may be guessed from the fact that had he been told he wasegoistic he would not have understood the implied reproach. To himselfhis position was simply natural.
But it would be wrong to suppose that generous and unselfish impulsesdid not run side by side with self-regarding ones. He thought of Josefa,lonely and sad in her father's house. His anger rose as he thought ofthe unkindness and the threats she had to endure, and of the heartlessway in which she was being disposed of. He longed to save her from thepresent trouble and from the hateful future that threatened her. Howsweet she was and how beautiful! Every fibre in his frame thrilled atthe thought of becoming her protector, at the delicious idea of herseeking safety in his arms, while he acted as her shield against tyrannyand wrong. And through her sweet eyes there looked out, he knew, thefaithful soul of a true and loving woman. She was good. He felt as sureof that as he did of his own existence. Her kindness and dutiful spirithe knew, for he had seen her behaviour in the daily life of the village.What a shame it was that she should be so ill-treated just because shewas by nature gentle and obedient! Poor girl, she would want to becomforted a great deal to make up for all the trials she was undergoingnow. He would have to be very good to her in every way, and he swore tohimself that he would be so; he would do his best to make her happy. Ah,if they could but once get to the padre at Ensenada and be married byhim, it would be all right; and at the thought his pulse beat high.
At last the welcome hand appeared at the hole in the wall he had beenwatching so long, and he flew to the spot.
"Is that you, sweetheart?" he whispered as he stretched his hand alongthe wall to meet the little fingers. "I always tell myself you will notcome, just to tease myself, for I know all the time that you will. Andat last I see the signal and I know it is all right."
"You know I always do come," she returned, "you bad boy, as soon as Ifeel sure they are sound asleep. But now tell me what news you have."
"Bad enough," said he despondently. "I asked the American--I begged hardof him; but he would not lend me one of his beasts. I waited till he wasin a good temper, after he had blasted the rock; but it was no use. Iwill go to-morrow to the sierra for my father's horse and I will comeback for you in the night. He is thin and cannot travel fast, so youmust come early before the moon sets or we shall not have time enough;but we must take our chance as we can get it. I will tie him away off onthe edge of the mesa, so that there will be no horse tracks for them tofollow close here. You must come afoot so far."
"Stay, Felipe," said she. "I have been thinking. Can you get asaddle--now--to-night?"
"I can get one of the American's," he said. "He has an old one he neveruses. He would lend me that, I know."
"Yes, but can you go to him to-night, Felipe?"
"Oh, yes," he answered. "I would wake him--he doesn't mind what I do.But what horse are you thinking of? One of his?"
"No, no," she cried; "I have a better plan than that. We must take myfather's horse. I got the key this evening after he went out. Go firstand get the saddle, and then here is the key."
His fingers tightened eagerly on hers. "You darling!" he whispered. "Howclever you are! Ten times cleverer than I. Why didn't I ever think ofthat before? Wait. I'll be back in a moment." He gave her hand one morerapturous pressure, and loosing it, darted off like the wind toStephens's house.
Stephens was a sound sleeper, but in the middle of the night he waswaked by a sudden angry growl from Faro. He opened his eyes, but it waspitch-dark. A low knock was heard at the door. "Who is it?" he cried,first in English, then in Spanish.
A voice answered, likewise in Spanish. "Oh, Don Estevan, it's me,Felipe."
"Felipe!" he exclaimed. "Why, what the mischief are you up to now? Butcome in, the door isn't locked."
He heard the latch pulled, and seized the collar of Faro, who wassnarling savagely. The door opened and the cool night air blew freshlyin. A figure was dimly seen in the starlight. Felipe approached the bed."Oh, Don Estevan!" he began at once, "do be kind to me; lend me yoursaddle--the old saddle, not the good one. You know the old one hangingon the wall in there."
"Why, what's up, Felipe?" said Stephens, surprised at being roused bythis request in the middle of the night. "What do you want with it? Whatmakes you come bothering me now?"
"Oh, please don't be angry, but lend it me," pleaded the boy. "I willbring it you back, and I know you don't want it; you never use it."
"What mischief are you after?" said Stephens. "You want to go offsweethearting somewhere--that's what it is, you young rascal. That'swhat you wanted my mare for to-day. I know what you are up to."
"Oh, Don Estevan," begged the boy,--"the saddle, please. If you won'tlend it to me, sell it to me. I have money,--five dollars."
"Hold on till I strike a light, and shut the door, will you?" saidStephens. "Lie down, Faro, and be quiet." The prospector got out of bed,struck a match, and lit a candle. "You're a pretty sort of fellow, tocome roaming around this time of night!" he went on as, candle in hand,he stepped cautiously across the floor in his bare feet to the door ofthe inner room, which he unlocked. "Sensible people are in bed andasleep at this time of night," he grumbled. "Come in here and get yoursaddle."
Felipe followed him instantly to the storeroom where he kept hispowder-keg, mining-tools, pack-saddles, and provisions.
"There it is," said Stephens, pointing to an old saddle hanging by onestirrup from a peg in the wall. "Get it down. And the bridle; yes,that's it"--and the pair emerged again into the outer room.
Stephens locked the door again, and turning round encountered Felipe'shand with a five-dollar bill in it. "Here it is, Don Estevan; fivedollars," said the young Indian.
"Tut, tut, I don't want your money," said the American cheerfully. "Keepit or give to your sweetheart to keep for you. She'll do that fastenough"--and he chuckled at his own wit. "Now don't you smash thatsaddle," he continued; "and mind you bring it back when you've done withit."
"Oh, thank you, Don Estevan, a thousand times!" cried the young Indian."God will reward you for it."
"Likely story," growled his employer, "when I guess it's the devil'sbusiness you're riding on. There, that'll do; be off with you," headded; and he escorted Felipe, still protesting his gratitude, to thedoor.
As the boy stepped outside, Stephens asked through the half-shut door,"Who's going to look after my stock to-morrow?"
"Oh, Don Estevan, my brother, my little brother Tomas. He will see tothem. I have told him."
"Much good he'll be!" retorted the Californian. "Whom did I hire, him oryou?"
"Why, me, Don Estevan, but my little brother will----"
"Yes, your little brother will play the mischief," said Stephens,cutting him short. "I know you. There, get along with you. I'm tired ofyou,"--and the sarcastic prospector turned growling to his blanketsagain. "Who is she? for there's some woman at the bottom of it, as sureas fate," said he to himself as he turned over on his bed before goingto sleep. "One of the young squaws I suppose. Felipe used to be a prettygood sort of a boy, but durn my skin if I don't believe he's going toturn out just as ornery as the rest of 'em. Who is she, I wonder,anyway?" He was just dropping off to sleep when the thought struck him,"Maybe he's gone to the corral to get the mare!" He half rose at theidea, but lay down again, soliloquising slowly, "No, he never would havecome here to borrow the saddle if that had been his game; he dursn't.I'd br
eak every bone in his confounded young carcass if he dared do sucha thing"; and comforting himself with this hypothetical revenge, hefinally dropped asleep.
With the saddle safely tucked into the fold of his blanket, Felipe flewround the corner and down the street to the back of the cacique's house.When he came to the place he stooped down and picking up a tiny pebblehe tossed it through the hole. Josefa was waiting inside and answeredhis signal instantly.
"Have you got the saddle?" she whispered.
"Yes, yes, all right," answered her lover.
"Here is the key," said she rapidly; "take this and go to my father'sstable and get out the horse and take him away outside the pueblo andtie him, and then come back for me. I mustn't risk being caught gettingout unless we are quite sure to succeed; it would prevent our everhaving another chance."
"Good!" said Felipe shortly; and without a moment's delay he startedoff.
"Stop, Felipe, stop an instant," she whispered. "Don't tie him near thecorrals; he'll neigh to Don Estevan's animals."
"As if I didn't know that!" returned the boy almost indignantly, and heturned again and darted away. It was all plain sailing now. How cleverof Josefa! How thoughtful she was!
He reached the cacique's stable, looked stealthily round to be sure hewas not watched, and then turned the key in the lock and entered. Thehorse, a noble and intelligent creature, was standing there quietly. Ina minute Felipe put the saddle on him and brought him out, locking thedoor again behind him. He led him straight away from the pueblo, upalong the acequia; a few dogs began to bark at the unwonted sound ofhoofs in the night. He tied him to a tree in a peach orchard, and gavehim a handful of corn fodder which he had brought from the stable tokeep him quiet. Then he flew back to the village.
"All right, Josefa, come! I have him tied ready," he whispered.
The little hand met his once again through the hole in the wall, and hepressed it. It trembled in his clasp. "You will always be good to me,always?" she said. "I shall have nobody but you now."
"Yes, I swear it, my heart's joy, I swear it!" he cried earnestly. "Butcome, come quick!" The clasped hands unlocked, and the Indian boy sankdown once more to wait; this was to be the end of his waiting.
It was not for long. Three minutes later, a head peeped over the edge ofthe terrace above him, and in a moment more Josefa dropped into herlover's arms. One long kiss, one long, rapturous embrace, was all theydared delay for; and then without a word, hand in hand and side by side,they fled with stealthy steps up the street.
Perhaps it was the fact of a woman's being abroad at that hour of thenight that excited the suspicions of the dogs; but whatever it was, thewhole hundred-and-odd of them belonging to the pueblo seemed to begin tobark just then. The clamour brought one or two Indians to their doors,but they saw nothing; the lovers had already disappeared.
Up along the acequia they ran. They reached the peach orchard. The horsewas there all right. Felipe bridled him in a moment and then sprangacross the acequia with the lariat in his hand. He pulled at the rope,but the horse refused to follow. "Hit him, Josefa," said he to the girl,"hit him." She shook the fold of her blanket at the animal, and with asnort he sprang across after Felipe. She bounded over lightly and stoodbeside him.
He lifted her to the saddle and vaulted on to the croup behind her. Heslipped his arms round her waist, both to hold her securely and to graspthe reins, and striking the horse's sides with his feet, he urged himforward. The noble creature made nothing of his double burden, andbounded forward.
"It's no use trying to dodge," said he as he guided the animal straighttowards the trail that led to the Rio Grande. "They'll track us anywhereto-morrow; but they can't see to trail before daylight, and by that timewe must be at Ensenada."
"Hark to those dogs," said she, as the chorus of barkings from thevillage rose and fell upon the night wind.
"Never mind; we're off now," said he, holding her closer to him. "Thedogs are always barking anyhow. They'll think it's only some Mexicangoing down the valley. Why, if they did wake up and miss us now, theymust wait till morning to know which way we've gone, so don't you befrightened, sweetheart."
They struck into the trail at last--a well-marked bridle-path, which ledacross the mesas. There was no fear of their missing it, dark as it wasafter the moon had set, for both the horse and his rider knew the trailwell enough. On they pushed, on, on, the keen night wind from the eastblowing freshly in their faces, and causing them to fold their blanketsmore closely to them. The stout little Indian horse was used to carryingdouble, as indeed most horses in those parts are, and he travelledonward without flinching or staggering under his burden, cantering wherethe ground was not too rough, and picking his way with wonderfulsure-footedness up and down the steep sides of the ravines, which hereand there intersected the broad table-lands.
Felipe had to tell Josefa of his vain attempts to borrow the mare of theAmerican, and he gave her a laughing description of the way in which hehad roused him at midnight to borrow the saddle. "I'm glad, though, hedidn't take the five dollars from me," said the boy. "Perhaps I shouldnot have had money enough left for the padre if he had."
"But you have enough?" inquired Josefa eagerly. "How much have you?"
"Oh, I have fifteen dollars," replied he. "I have saved my wages, everycent, since Don Estevan came here last autumn, and my father let me keephalf. Fifteen dollars is more than enough. It is only the rich peoplewho pay twenty and twenty-five dollars. Why, lots of poor people payonly ten. I am sure we are poor enough."
"I am afraid we are indeed," sighed she sadly.
"Never mind," said he cheerfully, trying to keep up her spirits, whichwere failing somewhat at the strangeness of this lonely ride over landsunknown to her, under the immense vault of night. "Never mind that. Why,I have sown six bushels of wheat more than last year, and I am going toput in plenty of corn too. There is plenty of land, and if we have notenough the head Turquoises must give us some more. There is lots ofwater now in the ditch to sow a thousand bushels more than we used to."
"Yes," said Josefa thoughtfully. "I know how hard you have worked, dearFelipe, and that you will not be slack now, but are you quite sure ofyour father? Will he not turn us out?"
"How can he?" said the boy scornfully. "You know he is too poor to hireanyone to work for him. He cannot do without me. He is getting old andcannot put in a crop by himself, and Tomas is too young to be much good.It is I who do the work on the land. You know, Josefa, I would work tentimes harder for you," and he pressed her closer to him again.
"Yes, yes, Felipe," she cried, "I know that. I am sure of that. I nevercould have trusted you so if I had not known you were good at home. But,Felipe dear, if they are cross to me at your house I shall hate it."
"They sha'n't be cross to you," he cried hotly. "I am a man now, andthey must listen to me. If I support them they must do what I say--atleast sometimes," he added, correcting himself. "Besides, my motherloves me, and when she sees how I love you, and how you are all theworld to me, she will love you too; I know she will."
"Ah, perhaps not, Felipe," said the girl doubtfully. "You talk like aman. Women are not always like that, you know."
"But she will; she must," said Felipe decidedly. He had a comfortablemasculine conviction that women's feelings were something that couldalways be put down or got round. He felt that he was acting a man's partnow, and that it was time for him to assert himself. How could he feelotherwise with his arms round his sweetheart's waist, with the free skyabove them and the broad mesas around, fifteen dollars in his pocket topay the padre, and a good horse (he did not stop to think whose) tocarry them to Ensenada! For the first time in his life he felt himself aman and free. They had left behind them the village with its narrow,cramping laws and customs, its parental tyrannies, and its hatefuldistinction of rich and poor. To Felipe, Ignacio with thirty cows was anodious monopolist. How delightful it was to have hoodwinked the watchfulguardian of Josefa and baffled his miserly rival!
While the
fugitives thus sped onward through the night, peace once morereigned supreme over the pueblo. The barking of the dogs at theirdeparture had soon ceased, and no one took the trouble to inquireseriously into the source of their wrath. They might have been barkingat a hungry coyote, come to explore the heaps of household refusedeposited day by day outside the village by the tidy squaws, or at somebelated Mexican passing up or down the valley, or even at some straydonkey escaped from his owner's corral. At any rate, no one cared enoughto prosecute his inquiries, and no movement was perceptible in thevillage till the first grey dawn.
Dawn caught the lovers descending the long hill that leads from themesas down to the wide flats of the Rio Grande valley. The light was toodim as yet to do more than show vaguely the broad line of the woodedbanks of the river, still some distance ahead of them. The sun rose asthey were pushing across the sandy flats and passing through thepoverty-stricken hovels of the Mexican village of La Boca, past asurprised-looking, unkempt peon, who blinked drowsily at the couple fromhis doorway. On they pressed and still onward, making for the pointwhere the road forded the river.
But what roar was this that met their ears as they neared the grove ofcottonwood trees through which the road to the ford ran,--a dull strongroar as of the rushing of many waters? Felipe recognised it, and on theinstant his heart felt like lead in his breast.
"_Valgame Dios_, Josefa!" said he, "I believe the river is up. Oh! whatluck! what luck!"