CHAPTER V
"OJOS AZULES NO MIRAN"
"_Ojos azules no miran_--Blue eyes don't see," said a soft voice toStephens in gently rallying tones. He was sitting on Captain Jinks inthe roadway, nearly opposite to the first house in San Remo, with hiseyes shaded under his arched hands, and gazing fixedly back across thelong levels of the Indian lands over which he had just ridden.
"_Si, miran_,--Yes, they do see," he answered coolly, without eitherlooking at the speaker or removing his hands from his forehead, as hestill continued his searching gaze. He was trying to make out whetherthe animals he had left in Felipe's charge were kept by him stillgrazing safely in the meadow, or if they had been allowed to wander offinto the young wheat. The distance to where he had left them feeding wasnearer two miles than one, but nature had gifted him with singularlykeen vision, and the frontiersman's habit of being perpetually on thelookout had developed this power to the utmost. He was able to identifypositively his own stock amongst the other animals at pasture, and toassure himself that, so far, they were all right.
He took his hands from his forehead, straightened himself in his saddle,and looked down at the person who had ventured to speak in sodisrespectful a way of the quality of his eyesight. The speaker was ayoung Mexican woman, and he encountered the glance of a pair of eyes assoft as velvet and as black as night, set in a face of rich olive tint.At that pleasant sight his firm features relaxed into a smile, and hetook up her bantering challenge.
"_Si, miran_," he repeated,--"Yes, they do see, senorita; they see avery pretty girl"; and with a ceremonious sweep of his arm he took offhis broad sombrero, as the conventional way of emphasising theconventional gallantry.
The girl blushed with pleasure at the American's compliment. She had adark scarf drawn over her head, and she now tossed the end of itcoquettishly across her face, and kept up her bantering tone.
"Then," replied she, "as you had them directed straight towards theIndian pueblo, I suppose it was a pretty little Indian squaw they weregazing back at so earnestly."
"No," he returned bluntly, matter-of-fact Anglo-Saxon that he was; "Iwas looking back towards Santiago in order to make out whether my horseshad got into the Indians' wheat. But they're all right. And how is yourfather, Don Nepomuceno?" he added civilly.
"He is very well, senor; he is now at home. Won't you come in and seehim? He said he hoped you would be coming down this morning, as it wasmail day."
"I am much obliged to him," answered Stephens. "I am on my way now tothe stage station, and I will look in as I return."
San Remo was the place where the weekly mail from Santa Fe to FortWingate crossed the Santiago River. It was a village of the Mexicans,and lay just outside the boundary of the four square leagues of theIndian grant.
"That is where we two were going," she answered, "my little sister andmyself," and she laid her hand on a little brown maiden of ten years orso, who had come out of the house and now stood shyly behind the eldersister, holding on to her dress. "We have to buy some sugar," shecontinued, "and there is a new storekeeper at the stage station, andthey say he sells cheap."
"Then with your permission, senorita, I'll walk along there with you,"said the American. He suited the action to the word, throwing his rightleg lightly over the neck of his mule and then dropping both feettogether to the ground so as to alight facing the girl.
"Say, Chiquita," and he addressed the younger girl, "don't you want aride? Let me put you up"; but the child only smiled, showing her ivoryteeth and clinging more closely behind her sister.
"Don't be a silly, Altagracia," cried the latter, bringing her round tothe front. "Why don't you say 'thank you' to the American senor for hiskindness in giving you a ride on his mule?" and she pushed her, in spiteof her affected reluctance, into the hands of Stephens, who raised herfrom the ground and placed her, sitting sideways, in the wide Californiasaddle, and gave her the reins to hold. Then, resting his right hand onthe mule's neck, he walked forward towards the store beside the eldergirl.
"I heard a new man had moved in and taken charge of the stage stationand post-office this week," he said. "Has he got a good stock?--manypretty things for the senoras?"
"They say he has beautiful things,--velvet dresses and splendid shawls,"she replied; "but I haven't seen them yet. I've only been in with myaunt to buy things for the house, not to see his dress goods. But I hopemy father will take us there soon, before all the best of them are gone.The wife of Ramon Garcia got a lovely pink muslin there. She showed itto me yesterday in her house. He's a very clever man, too, is the newstorekeeper; he is a Texan, but he speaks Spanish beautifully, just likeourselves. He has a Mexican wife."
"Ah," remarked Stephens, "has he? What's his name, do you know?"
"Bah-koose," answered the girl, giving full value to the broad Spanishvowels which she imported into the somewhat commonplace name of"Backus." "Don Tomas Bah-koose is his name," she repeated. "He is notold, he appears to be about thirty, and he has three children. Butperhaps you have met him; is he a friend of yours?"
"Backus," said Stephens reflectively; "Thomas Backus. No, I can't saythat he is; I don't remember ever meeting anyone of that name."
"It sounds almost like our Spanish name, Baca," said she; "but he is notone of the Bacas, though he has been living at Pena Blanca, where somany of them live." The Bacas of New Mexico are a fine old family,sprung from the loins of Cabeza de Vaca, the comrade of Ponce de Leon,one of the heroes of the Spanish conquest.
"Well," said Stephens, "we'll soon see what he looks like, anyhow, forhere we are at the store." He lifted the child down from the saddle,and the two girls at once went inside while he tied up his mule to ahitching-post that was set in front of the door.
After he had finished doing so, he followed them in; and stepping acrossthe threshold he was instantly aware of a surprised glance ofhalf-recognition darted at him by a man who stood behind the counter,where he was showing some cotton prints to three shawl-clad Mexicanwomen. "Mornin', mister," said the storekeeper, in English. "Excuse meif I keep you waitin' a minute while I 'tend on these ladies."
"All right," answered Stephens briefly, and he leaned quietly backagainst the mud-plastered adobe wall till the other should be atleisure. He ran his eye over the shelves, which, like those of mostMexican country village shops, contained a varied assortment that rangedfrom tenpenny nails to the tin saints whose shrines decorate even thepoorest hovel in New Mexico. His gaze reverted to the storekeeper, whowas a tall, dark, spare man, with a clean-shaven face, a biliouscomplexion, and snaky black hair. This, then, was Mr. Thomas Backus, anAmerican citizen married to a Mexican wife. She had certainly helped himto a fluent command of her mother tongue, and Stephens could not helpenvying the easy way in which he poured out lavish praises of his newgoods to the customers whom he was serving. The purchases of theseladies were presently completed, but they still remained in the storecarrying on an animated conversation with Don Nepomuceno's daughter, whohad joined them in discussing the patterns they had chosen.
"And now what can I do for you?" inquired the storekeeper, lookingStephens in the face as he turned to him.
"Surely I have met this man before, but where?" said Stephens tohimself, while he answered Mr. Backus's question by remarking politely,"Oh, I'm not in any hurry, thank you. Won't you serve this young ladyfirst?" and with a slight gesture he indicated Manuelita, who was stillabsorbed in the muslins of her friends. Rack his memory as he would, hecould not recall the occasion when he and Backus had met previously, yethe felt almost certain it had occurred.
"Why certainly, certainly," returned the storekeeper cheerily; "so longas you don't mind waitin' a few minutes," and he turned to the girl."Then what may I have the pleasure of being allowed to show you,senorita?"
"Two peloncillos, Don Tomas, if you will be so kind," answered the younglady; and two conical loaves of the brown Mexican sugar so popular inthe Territory were accordingly wrapped in paper and handed over to her;but it was manifest that the pre
tty frocks were what were nearest to herheart, and she and her three friends still continued to discuss thesubject with all the ardour of connoisseurs.
Meantime Stephens became more and more convinced in his own mind notonly that this was not his first encounter with Backus, but that thelatter was also engaged in watching him as closely as possible. Hechose, however, not to call attention to this by any inquiry when atlength the storekeeper announced himself ready to wait upon him,contenting himself with simply explaining the object of his visit to thestore.
"I just wanted to see," he said quietly, "if you happened to have aparcel here for me by the stage to-day from Santa Fe. Stephens is myname, John Stephens. It's a parcel from Spiegelberg's," he addedexplanatorily, "that I'm looking for; a small, heavy parcel; it'sWinchester cartridges."
"Oh yes, they're here; the stage driver left 'em for you all right,"said Mr. Backus promptly, reaching down for them under the counter andhanding them over. "And I think there's some mail matter too for you;I'll just see"; with which remark he disappeared into the littlepost-office that was boarded off at one end of the store, returning fromthere presently with some papers in his hand. "I reckon this letter'sfor you"; he read out the address with the laboured enunciation of a manof limited education. "To Mr. John Stephens, living among the PuebloIndians, Santiago, N.M."
"Yes, that'll be for me," said Stephens, putting out his hand for it.
"I reckoned as how you must be the man as soon as I seed you come in,"answered Backus, handing over the letter along with a newspaper and apostal packet, "'cos by what I hear thar' aint no other American livingin this valley."
"Just so," assented the prospector; "I'm the only one there is anywherearound here. I've been playing a lone hand down in these parts allwinter. For six months I haven't spoken to an American except thestage-driver."
It was a relief to him to talk English to anyone again after so long aninterval, although he was not exactly prepossessed by Mr. Backus'slooks, nor by the only thing he knew for certain about him, namely, thathe had gone and married a Mexican wife, a decidedly eccentric thing foran American to do, in Stephens's eyes. But the mere sound of his nativelanguage again was music in his ears, even though it were spoken by aman as illiterate as the storekeeper. For, compared to the other,Backus was illiterate. And it was a thing worth noting about Stephens,who had had the advantage of a high-school education, that though he nowfreely made use of the rude, vigorous colloquialism of the West,--somuch so, indeed, that he talked to himself in it,--yet he could drop itin a moment on occasion. Before a stranger for whom he felt aninstinctive distaste, he at once became formal, and his language took ona precision and his tone a punctiliousness that were foreign to his morefamiliar discourse. As he would have said of himself, "If I don't cottonto a man at once, I always feel like putting on a lot of frills."
"You bin long in these parts?" inquired Mr. Backus carelessly.
"About a year now in New Mexico," replied Stephens; "but I've been inthis Western country a good deal longer than that. I'm not a tenderfoot,exactly, if I may say so; I didn't come to this country for my health."
Many men whose lungs are affected have hoped to shake off their dreadmalady by breathing the pure, thin, dry air of Colorado and New Mexico.The hardy Western pioneer pities the consumptive patient; he succourshim freely in distress; and, above all things, he hates to be mistakenfor one himself. Stephens was determined that his fellow-countrymanshould be under no misapprehension on this point.
"No," laughed Mr. Backus lightly, "nor you don't look much like one ofthem pore health-seekers neither. Say, though," he continued, morewarily, "you'll excuse my axin', but was you never in New Mexico beforethis last year?"
"No," replied Stephens--"that is--yes, I should have said," correctinghimself, "I was once, but only for a short time, and that was some yearsago, and not in this part of the Territory." He shifted his positionagainst the adobe wall a little, and laid down on the counter in acasual sort of way the parcel and the mail matter which he was holding,as if to indicate that he was ready for a long chat. In reality he wassetting his hands free in case he might possibly need to use them. To beat all closely questioned about one's past life by an absolute strangeracts on the experienced Western man as a danger signal. He noted theintense glow in Backus's eyes, and as he did so he grew conscious of astrange sense of doubleness in his own brain, as if all this scene hadbeen enacted once before, and he ought to know what was coming next. Heshifted his waist-belt and left his thumbs resting lightly on the bucklein front; it was a perfectly natural thing to do, and yet it left hisright hand within six inches of the trusty Colt's revolver at his hip.Assuredly Stephens was no tenderfoot; he was watching every motion ofBackus out of the corner of his eye.
"Say, stranger," began the latter, leaning forward over the counter, andspeaking low and clear, "no offence, but I want to ax you a certainquestion. It's a little sudden-like, but I have a reason for it; allersno offence, you understand?"
"You can ask me any question you have a mind to, Mr. Backus," saidStephens coolly. "Of course, whether I answer it or not is my choice."
Mr. Backus might be his fellow-countryman, but he must learn not to bepresuming. Almost unconsciously to himself his tone hardened. Stephenscould stand the easy familiarity of races that were not his own, andtreat the Indians of Santiago with a friendliness that was all the morekindly for his own underlying sense of superiority, but for an Americanto treat him lightly was another matter. The pride and reserve that hadgrown up in solitude revolted at this man's inquisitiveness.
"Wal' then, stranger," continued Backus, with an apologetic manner thatwas due to the other's change of voice, "allers, as I said before,meanin' no offence, did you ever happen to kill a man?"
Manuelita, though apparently absorbed in a rose-sprigged muslin, caughta note in the Texan's tone that aroused her vigilance. She knew noEnglish, but her quick brain divined that when he asked, "Did you everkill a man?" he was putting no common question.
Stephens started at the abrupt query, and his face flushed. He paused amoment, looking hard at the other; then he slowly answered, "I don't_know_ that I have ever killed anyone."
"Meanin', I take it," rejoined the other, "that you don't know forcertain, neither, that you haven't. I ax yer pardon again, stranger, butas sure as God made little apples I've got a reason for what I'm saying.That ar' time you was in New Mexico years ago that you spoke of justnow, was you, by any chance, at the battle of Apache Canyon?"
The words "Apache Canyon" sent a thrill through Manuelita; she knew wellthat there had been a bloody fight there.
"Yes," answered Stephens, a strange new light beginning to dawn uponhim; "I fought at Apache Canyon, if you must know."
"You was on the Northern side, warn't you?" queried the storekeeperagain.
"Yes," said the prospector quietly; "I was a volunteer in the SecondColorado Regiment."
"By gum, then, I knowed it!" cried the Texan excitedly; "you was one ofthe Pet Lambs."
At the beginning of the Civil War the Colorado troops, a pretty toughlot, were sometimes sportively alluded to as the "Pet Lambs."
A dry smile came to Stephens's lips at the sound of the old name. "I wasa Lamb," said he.
"And I was one of Baylor's Babes," returned the other.
"Baylor's Babes" was the nickname bestowed upon a force of Texas rangerswho invaded New Mexico, and had the audacity to propose to conquer thewhole Rocky Mountain country for Jefferson Davis off their own bats.
"Yes, you bet I was a Babe," he repeated, "and a whale of a Babe atthat, and hurrahed for Jeff Davis as long as I could stand. But that'sall over and done with now, and we've buried the war hatchet. But say,stranger, do you happen to recollect what kind of a wepping you wascarrying at Apache Canyon? There warn't no Winchesters in them days,"he added, patting the parcel of cartridges that lay on the counter.
"I was armed with a muzzle-loading Springfield U.S. rifle, altered inDenver to fire with a tape cap," replied Stephens
. His nerves grewtense, and he braced himself for a possible struggle to the death, forhe thought the Texan was about to spring on him; but he only asked withquaint earnestness:
"Du tell; what's a tape cap, mister?"
"Why, did you never see one?" said Stephens. "But of course they're outof date now. It was a dodge for capping a gun automatically. There wasa tape fitted with caps that was fed forward on top of the tube infront of the hammer. It worked like a charm. You bet there was no timelost fumbling around in your pouch for a cap with your fingers if youhad one of them fixed on your gun."
"Great Scot!" cried Backus, "then now I know how't was."
He raised his hands so suddenly to the neck of his shirt that he madeStephens think he was reaching for the bowie-knife which some fightingmen carry in a sheath under the coat at the back of the neck. Manuelitathought the same thing, and drew her breath hard, feeling her heart leapwith terror. Instinctively Stephens's fingers found the butt of hisrevolver, but he felt paralysed at the thought of the defenceless womenby the counter. If there was to be a fuss, how could they make theirescape before it began?
But Mr. Backus was not preparing to start a fuss, and he was not feelingfor a weapon. He tore open the front of his shirt excitedly and baredhis breast, and showed a livid bluish mark close beside the collarbone.
"Strange!" he cried, "'t was you as give me that; 't was that darnedtape cap of yourn as done me. Now, don't you remember?"
"By thunder, I do!" exclaimed Stephens. "You were the man I shot thatday at close quarters. I recall your face now. I thought I'd seen youbefore."
"I knowed you the minute you set foot inside this door," answered theTexan, drawing himself up, and eyeing Stephens keenly. "You see, yougive me a good argyment for remembering you that day. Shake, partner,"he added quickly, thrusting out his bony right hand across the counter."Bygones is bygones. As I said just now, we've buried the war hatchetfor good, and _I_ don't bear _you_ no ill-will."
Was this a move to get him off his guard? Stephens felt more than halfdoubtful, but he decided to chance it, especially as he had a stoutsheath-knife handy at his left hip. He loosed his fingers from the readyrevolver butt, and the two strong hands met in a vigorous clasp.