CHAPTER V
The two men kept their secret. Mr. Poindexter convinced Mrs. Tucker thatthe sale of Los Cuervos could not be effected until the notoriety of herhusband's flight had been fairly forgotten, and she was forced to accepther fate. The sale of her diamonds, which seemed to her to have realizeda singularly extravagant sum, enabled her to quietly reinstate thePattersons in the tienda and to discharge in full her husband'sliabilities to the rancheros and his humbler retainers.
Meanwhile the winter rains had ceased. It seemed to her as if the cloudshad suddenly one night struck their white tents and stolen away, leavingthe unvanquished sun to mount the vacant sky the next morning alone,and possess it thenceforward unchallenged. One afternoon she thoughtthe long sad waste before her window had caught some tint of gayercolor from the sunset; a week later she found it a blazing landscape ofpoppies, broken here and there by blue lagoons of lupine, by pools ofdaisies, by banks of dog-roses, by broad outlying shores of dandelionsthat scattered their lavish gold to the foot of the hills, where thegreen billows of wild oats carried it on and upwards to the darker crestof pines. For two months she was dazzled and bewildered with color. Shehad never before been face to face with this spendthrift CalifornianFlora, in her virgin wastefulness, her more than goddess-likeprodigality. The teeming earth seemed to quicken and throb beneathher feet; the few circuits of a plough around the outlying corral wereenough to call out a jungle growth of giant grain that almost hid thelow walls of the hacienda. In this glorious fecundity of the earth,in this joyous renewal of life and color, in this opulent youth andfreshness of soil and sky, it alone remained, the dead and sterile Past,left in the midst of buoyant rejuvenescence and resurrection, like anempty churchyard skull upturned on the springing turf. Its bronzed adobewalls mocked the green vine that embraced them, the crumbling dust ofits courtyard remained ungerminating and unfruitful; to the thousandstirring voices without, its dry lips alone remained mute, unresponsiveand unchanged.
During this time Don Jose had become a frequent visitor at Los Cuervos,bringing with him at first his niece and sister in a stately precisionof politeness that was not lost on the proud Blue Grass stranger.She returned their visit at Los Gatos, and there made the formalacquaintance of Don Jose's grandmother, a lady who still regarded thedecrepit Concha as a giddy muchacha, and who herself glittered as withthe phosphorescence of refined decay. Through this circumstance shelearned that Don Jose was not yet fifty, and that his gravity ofmanner and sedateness was more the result of fastidious isolation andtemperament than years. She could not tell why the information gaveher a feeling of annoyance, but it caused her to regret the absence ofPoindexter, and to wonder, also somewhat nervously, why he had latelyavoided her presence. The thought that he might be doing so from arecollection of the innuendoes of Mrs. Patterson caused a little tremorof indignation in her pulses. "As if--" but she did not finish thesentence even to herself, and her eyes filled with bitter tears.
Yet she had thought of the husband who had so cruelly wronged her lessfeverishly, less impatiently than before. For she thought she loved himnow the more deeply, because, although she was not reconciled to hisabsence, it seemed to keep alive the memory of what he had been beforehis one wild act separated them. She had never seen the reflection ofanother woman's eyes in his; the past contained no haunting recollectionof waning or alienated affection; she could meet him again, and,clasping her arms around him, awaken as if from a troubled dream withoutreproach or explanation. Her strong belief in this made her patient;she no longer sought to know the particulars of his flight, and neverdreamed that her passive submission to his absence was partly due toa fear that something in his actual presence at that moment would havedestroyed that belief forever.
For this reason the delicate reticence of the people at Los Gatos, andtheir seclusion from the world which knew of her husband's fault, hadmade her encourage the visits of Don Jose, until from the instinctalready alluded to she one day summoned Poindexter to Los Cuervos, onthe day that Don Jose usually called. But to her surprise the two menmet more or less awkwardly and coldly, and her tact as hostess was triedto the utmost to keep their evident antagonism from being too apparent.The effort to reconcile their mutual discontent, and some other feelingshe did not quite understand, produced a nervous excitement which calledthe blood to her cheek and gave a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, twocircumstances not unnoticed nor unappreciated by her two guests. Butinstead of reuniting them, the prettier Mrs. Tucker became, the moredistant and reserved grew the men, until Don Jose rose before the usualhour, and with more than usual ceremoniousness departed.
"Then my business does not seem to be with HIM?" said Poindexter,with quiet coolness, as Mrs. Tucker turned her somewhat mystified facetowards him. "Or have you anything to say to me about him in private?"
"I am sure I don't know what you both mean," she returned with a slighttremor of voice. "I had no idea you were not on good terms. I thoughtyou were! It's very awkward." Without coquetry and unconsciously sheraised her blue eyes under her lids until the clear pupils coyly andsoftly hid themselves in the corners of the brown lashes, and added,"You have both been so kind to me."
"Perhaps that is the reason," said Poindexter, gravely. But Mrs. Tuckerrefused to accept the suggestion with equal gravity, and began to laugh.The laugh, which was at first frank, spontaneous, and almost child-like,was becoming hysterical and nervous as she went on, until it wassuddenly checked by Poindexter.
"I have had no difficulties with Don Jose Santierra," he said, somewhatcoldly ignoring her hilarity, "but perhaps he is not inclined to be aspolite to the friend of the husband as he is to the wife."
"Mr. Poindexter!" said Mrs. Tucker quickly, her face becoming paleagain.
"I beg your pardon!" said Poindexter, flushing; "but--"
"You want to say," she interrupted coolly, "that you are not friends, Isee. Is that the reason why you have avoided this house?" she continuedgently.
"I thought I could be of more service to you elsewhere," he repliedevasively. "I have been lately following up a certain clue ratherclosely. I think I am on the track of a confidante of--of--that woman."
A quick shadow passed over Mrs. Tucker's face. "Indeed!" she saidcoldly. "Then I am to believe that you prefer to spend your leisuremoments in looking after that creature to calling here?"
Poindexter was stupefied. Was this the woman who only four months agowas almost vindictively eager to pursue her husband's paramour! Therecould be but one answer to it--Don Jose! Four months ago he would havesmiled compassionately at it from his cynical pre-eminence. Now hemanaged with difficulty to stifle the bitterness of his reply.
"If you do not wish the inquiry carried on," he began, "of course--"
"I? What does it matter to me?" she said coolly. "Do as you please."
Nevertheless, half an hour later, as he was leaving, she said, with acertain hesitating timidity, "Do not leave me so much alone here, andlet that woman go."
This was not the only unlooked-for sequel to her innocent desire topropitiate her best friends. Don Jose did not call again upon his usualday, but in his place came Dona Clara, his younger sister. When Mrs.Tucker had politely asked after the absent Don Jose, Dona Clara woundher swarthy arms around the fair American's waist and replied, "But whydid you send for the abogado Poindexter when my brother called?"
"But Captain Poindexter calls as one of my friends," said the amazedMrs. Tucker. "He is a gentleman, and has been a soldier and an officer,"she added with some warmth.
"Ah, yes, a soldier of the law, what you call an oficial de policia,a chief of gendarmes, my sister, but not a gentleman--a camarero toprotect a lady."
Mrs. Tucker would have uttered a hasty reply, but the perfect andgood-natured simplicity of Dona Clara withheld her. Nevertheless, shetreated Don Jose with a certain reserve at their next meeting, untilit brought the simple-minded Castilian so dangerously near the point ofdemanding an explanation which implied too much that she was obliged torestore him temporaril
y to his old footing. Meantime she had a brilliantidea. She would write to Calhoun Weaver, whom she had avoided since thatmemorable day. She would say she wished to consult him. He would come toLos Cuervos; he might suggest something to lighten this weary waiting;at least she would show them all that she had still old friends. Yet shedid not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had diedsince she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined lifebefore the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions.
Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, andcordially, but a little coarsely. He had--did she remember?--expectedthis from the first. Spencer had lost his head through vanity, andhad attempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, as hehimself--who had lately made successful "combinations" which she mightperhaps have heard of--well knew. But Spencer had got the "big head.""As to that woman--a devilish handsome woman too!--well, everybody knewthat Spencer always had a weakness that way, and he would say--but ifshe didn't care to hear any more about her--well, perhaps she was right.That was the best way to take it." Sitting before her, prosperous,weak, egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vaguekindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception ofher own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of her utterisolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze her.
"Nat'rally you feel bad," he continued, with the large air of a profoundstudent of human nature. "Nat'rally, nat'rally you're kept in anuncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. There ain't but onething to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer.Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in California that wouldn't give itto you right off the nail, without asking questions. Why, you 'ld get itby default if you wanted to; you 'ld just have to walk over the course!And then, Belle," he drew his chair still nearer her, "when you'vesettled down again--well!--I don't mind renewing that offer I once madeye, before Spencer ever came round ye--I don't mind, Belle, I swear Idon't! Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!"
Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an hourlater Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of tears on hisfoolish face, a broken falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental andmoral disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition remainedsufficiently to enable him to suggest the magical words "Blue Grass"mysteriously to Concha, with an indication of his hand to the erectfigure of her pale mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silentbut half-compassionate farewell.
At about this time a slight change in her manner was noticed by the fewwho saw her more frequently. Her apparently invincible girlishness ofspirit had given way to a certain matronly seriousness. She appliedherself to her household cares and the improvement of the hacienda witha new sense of duty and a settled earnestness, until by degrees shewrought into it not only her instinctive delicacy and taste, but partof her own individuality. Even the rude rancheros and tradesmen who werepermitted to enter the walls in the exercise of their calling began tospeak mysteriously of the beauty of this garden of the almarjal. Shewent out but seldom, and then accompanied by the one or the other of herfemale servants, in long drives on unfrequented roads. On Sundays shesometimes drove to the half-ruined mission church of Santa Inez, andhid herself, during mass, in the dim monastic shadows of the choir.Gradually the poorer people whom she met in these journeys began toshow an almost devotional reverence for her, stopping in the roads withuncovered heads for her to pass, or making way for her in the tiendaor plaza of the wretched town with dumb courtesy. She began to feel astrange sense of widowhood, that, while it at times brought tears toher eyes, was, not without a certain tender solace. In the sympathy andsimpleness of this impulse she went as far as to revive the mourning shehad worn for her parents, but with such a fatal accenting of her beauty,and dangerous misinterpreting of her condition to eligible bachelorsstrange to the country, that she was obliged to put it off again. Herreserve and dignified manner caused others to mistake her nationalityfor that of the Santierras, and in "Dona Bella" the simple Mrs.Tucker was for a while forgotten. At times she even forgot it herself.Accustomed now almost entirely to the accents of another language andthe features of another race, she would sit for hours in the corridor,whose massive bronzed inclosure even her tasteful care could only makean embowered mausoleum of the Past, or gaze abstractedly from the darkembrasures of her windows across the stretching almarjal to the shininglagoon beyond that terminated the estuary. She had a strange fondnessfor this tranquil mirror, which under sun or stars always retained thepassive reflex of the sky above, and seemed to rest her weary eyes. Shehad objected to one of the plans projected by Poindexter to redeem theland and deepen the water at the embarcadero, as it would have drainedthe lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the improvement to gratifyher fancy. So she kept it through the long summer unchanged save by theshadows of passing wings or the lazy files of sleeping sea-fowl.
On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage leavethe high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the lagoon. Ifit contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shortercut without waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected thehighway at right angles a mile farther on. It was with some sense ofannoyance and irritation that she watched the trespass, and finally sawthe vehicle approach the house. A few moments later the servant informedher that Mr. Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered thecorridor, which in the dry season served as a reception hall, shewas surprised to see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stooda well-dressed handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humoredadmiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity.
"It don't look much like it did two years ago," said the strangercheerfully. "You've improved it wonderfully."
Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. Patterson.But that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared to beintensified by the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed deeply andrubbed his leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction.
"Well! go on, then," said the woman, laughing and nudging him. "Goon--introduce me--can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. Youwon't? Well, I'll introduce myself." She laughed again, and then, withan excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious accents, said, "Mr.Spencer Tucker's wife that IS, allow me to introduce you to Mr. SpencerTucker's sweetheart that WAS! Hold on! I said THAT WAS. For true asI stand here, ma'am--and I reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn'ttrue--I haven't set eyes on him since the day he left you."
"It's the Gospel truth, every word," said Patterson, stirred into asudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. "It's the frozentruth, and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that there youngwoman was sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in my barroom; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, give him a hoss and sethim in his road to Monterey that very night."
"Then, where is he now?" said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly facing them.
They looked at each other, and then looked at Mrs. Tucker.Then both together replied slowly and in perfect unison,"That's--what--we--want--to--know." They seemed so satisfiedwith this effect that they as deliberately repeated,"Yes--that's--what--we--want--to--know."
Between the shock of meeting the partner of her husband's guilt andthe unexpected revelation to her inexperience, that in suggestion andappearance there was nothing beyond the recollection of that guilt thatwas really shocking in the woman--between the extravagant extremesof hope and fear suggested by their words, there was something sogrotesquely absurd in the melodramatic chorus that she with difficultysuppressed a hysterical laugh.
"That's the way to take it," said the woman, putting her owngood-humored interpretation upon Mrs. Tucker's expression. "Now, lookhere! I'll tell you all about it." She carefully selected the mostcomfortable chair, and sitting down, lightly crossed her hands in herlap. "Well, I left here on the 13th of last January on the ship Argo,calculating that your husband would join the ship just inside the Heads.That w
as our arrangement, but if anything happened to prevent him, hewas to join me in Acapulco. Well! He didn't come aboard, and we sailedwithout him. But it appears now he did attempt to join the ship, but hisboat was capsized. There, now, don't be alarmed! he wasn't drowned, asPatterson can swear to--no, catch HIM! not a hair of him was hurt; butI--I was bundled off to the end of the earth in Mexico, alone, without acent to bless me. For true as you live, that hound of a captain, when hefound, as he thought, that Spencer was nabbed, he just confiscated allhis trunks and valuables and left me in the lurch. If I hadn't met a mandown there that offered to marry me and brought me here, I might havedied there, I reckon. But I did, and here I am. I went down there asyour husband's sweetheart, I've come back as the wife of an honest man,and I reckon it's about square!"
There was something so startlingly frank, so hopelessly self-satisfied,so contagiously good-humored in the woman's perfect moralunconsciousness, that even if Mrs. Tucker had been less preoccupied herresentment would have abated. But her eyes were fixed on the gloomy faceof Patterson, who was beginning to unlock the sepulchres of his memoryand disinter his deeply buried thoughts.
"You kin bet your whole pile on what this Mrs. Capting Baxter--ez usedto be French Inez of New Orleans--hez told ye. Ye kin take everythingshe's unloaded. And it's only doin' the square thing to her to say, shehain't done it out o' no cussedness, but just to satisfy herself, nowshe's a married woman and past such foolishness. But that ain't neitherhere nor there. The gist of the whole matter is that Spencer Tucker wasat the tienda the day after she sailed and after his boat capsized." Hethen gave a detailed account of the interview, with the unnecessary buttruthful minutiae of his class, adding to the particulars already knownthat the following week he visited the Summit House and was surprisedto find that Spencer had never been there, nor had he ever sailed fromMonterey.
"But why was this not told to me before?" said Mrs. Tucker, suddenly."Why not at the time? Why," she demanded almost fiercely, turning fromthe one to the other, "has this been kept from me?"
"I'll tell ye why," said Patterson, sinking with crushed submission intoa chair. "When I found he wasn't where he ought to be, I got to lookin'elsewhere. I knew the track of the hoss I lent him by a loose shoe. Iexamined; and found he had turned off the high road somewhere beyond thelagoon, jist as if he was makin' a bee line here."
"Well," said Mrs. Tucker, breathlessly.
"Well," said Patterson, with the resigned tone of an accustomed martyr,"mebbe I'm a God-forsaken idiot, but I reckon he DID come yer. And mebbeI'm that much of a habitooal lunatic, but thinking so, I calkilatedyou'ld know it without tellin'."
With their eyes fixed upon her, Mrs. Tucker felt the quick blood rushto her cheeks, although she knew not why. But they were apparentlysatisfied with her ignorance, for Patterson resumed, yet moregloomily:--
"Then if he wasn't hidin' here beknownst to you, he must have changedhis mind agin and got away by the embarcadero. The only thing wantin' toprove that idea is to know how he got a boat, and what he did with thehoss. And thar's one more idea, and ez that can't be proved," continuedPatterson, sinking his voice still lower, "mebbe it's accordin' to God'slaws."
Unsympathetic to her as the speaker had always been and still was, Mrs.Tucker felt a vague chill creep over her that seemed to be the result ofhis manner more than his words. "And that idea is . . . ?" she suggestedwith pale lips.
"It's this! Fust, I don't say it means much to anybody but me. I'veheard of these warnings afore now, ez comin' only to folks ez hear themfor themselves alone, and I reckon I kin stand it, if it's the will o'God. The idea is then--that--Spencer Tucker--WAS DROWNDED in that boat;the idea is"--his voice was almost lost in a hoarse whisper--"that itwas no living man that kem to me that night, but a spirit that kem outof the darkness and went back into it! No eye saw him but mine--no earsheard him but mine. I reckon it weren't intended it should." He paused,and passed the flap of his hat across his eyes. "The pie, you'll say, isagin it," he continued in the same tone of voice,--"the whiskey is aginit--a few cuss words that dropped from him, accidental like, may havebeen agin it. All the same they mout have been only the little signs andtokens that it was him."
But Mrs. Baxter's ready laugh somewhat rudely dispelled the infectionof Patterson's gloom. "I reckon the only spirit was that which you andSpencer consumed," she said, cheerfully. "I don't wonder you're a littlemixed. Like as not you've misunderstood his plans." Patterson shookhis head. "He'll turn up yet, alive and kicking! Like as not, then,Poindexter knows where he is all the time."
"Impossible! He would have told me," said Mrs. Tucker, quickly.
Mrs. Baxter looked at Patterson without speaking. Patterson replied by along lugubrious whistle.
"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Tucker, drawing back with colddignity.
"You don't?" returned Mrs. Baxter. "Bless your innocent heart! Why washe so keen to hunt me up at first, shadowing my friends and all that,and why has he dropped it now he knows I'm here, if he didn't know whereSpencer was?"
"I can explain that," interrupted Mrs. Tucker, hastily, with a blush ofconfusion. "That is--I--"
"Then mebbe you kin explain too," broke in Patterson with gloomysignificance, "why he has bought up most of Spencer's debts himself, andperhaps you're satisfied it ISN'T to hold the whip hand of him and keephim from coming back openly. Pr'aps you know why he's movin' heaven andearth to make Don Jose Santierra sell the ranch, and why the Don don'tsee it all."
"Don Jose sell Los Cuervos! Buy it, you mean?" said Mrs. Tucker. "Ioffered to sell it to him."
Patterson arose from the chair, looked despairingly around him, passedhis hand sadly across his forehead, and said: "It's come! I knew itwould. It's the warning! It's suthing betwixt jim-jams and dodderingidjiocy. Here I'd hev been willin' to swear that Mrs. Baxter here toldme SHE had sold this yer ranch nearly two years ago to Don Jose, and nowyou--"
"Stop!" said Mrs. Tucker, in a voice that chilled them.
She was standing upright and rigid, as if stricken to stone. "I commandyou to tell me what this means!" she said, turning only her blazing eyesupon the woman.
Even the ready smile faded from Mrs. Baxter's lips as she repliedhesitatingly and submissively: "I thought you knew already that Spencerhad given this ranch to me. I sold it to Don Jose to get the money forus to go away with. It was Spencer's idea--"
"You lie!" said Mrs. Tucker.
There was a dead silence. The wrathful blood that had quickly mountedto Mrs. Baxter's cheek, to Patterson's additional bewilderment, faded asquickly. She did not lift her eyes again to Mrs. Tucker's, but, slowlyraising herself from her seat, said, "I wish to God I did lie; but it'strue. And it's true that I never touched a cent of the money, but gaveit all to him!" She laid her hand on Patterson's arm, and said, "Come!let us go," and led him a few steps towards the gateway. But herePatterson paused, and again passed his hand over his melancholy brow.The necessity of coherently and logically closing the conversationimpressed itself upon his darkening mind. "Then you don't happen to haveheard anything of Spencer?" he said sadly, and vanished with Mrs. Baxterthrough the gate.
Left alone to herself, Mrs. Tucker raised her hands above her head witha little cry, interlocked her rigid fingers, and slowly brought herpalms down upon her upturned face and eyes, pressing hard as if to crushout all light and sense of life before her. She stood thus for a momentmotionless and silent, with the rising wind whispering without andflecking her white morning dress with gusty shadows from the arbor.Then, with closed eyes, dropping her hands to her breast, still pressinghard, she slowly passed them down the shapely contours of her figure tothe waist, and with another cry cast them off as if she were strippingherself of some loathsome garment. Then she walked quickly to thegateway, looked out, returned to the corridor, unloosening and takingoff her wedding-ring from her finger as she walked. Here she paused,then slowly and deliberately rearranged the chairs and adjusted thegay-colored rugs that draped them, and quietly re-entered her chamber.
r /> Two days afterwards the sweating steed of Captain Poindexter wasturned loose in the corral, and a moment later the captain entered thecorridor. Handing a letter to the decrepit Concha, who seemed to beutterly disorganized by its contents, and the few curt words with whichit was delivered, he gazed silently upon the vacant bower, still freshand redolent with the delicacy and perfume of its graceful occupant,until his dark eyes filled with unaccustomed moisture. But his reveriewas interrupted by the sound of jingling spurs without, and the oldhumor struggled back in his eyes as Don Jose impetuously entered. TheSpaniard started back, but instantly recovered himself.
"So I find you here. Ah! it is well!" he said passionately, producing aletter from his bosom. "Look! Do you call this honor? Look how you keepyour compact!"
Poindexter coolly took the letter. It contained a few words of gentledignity from Mrs. Tucker, informing Don Jose that she had only thatinstant learned of his just claims upon Los Cuervos, tendering him hergratitude for his delicate intentions, but pointing out with respectfulfirmness that he must know that a moment's further acceptance of hiscourtesy was impossible.
"She has gained this knowledge from no word of mine," said Poindexter,calmly. "Right or wrong, I have kept my promise to you. I have as muchreason to accuse you of betraying my secret in this," he added coldly,as he took another letter from his pocket and handed it to Don Jose.
It seemed briefer and colder, but was neither. It reminded Poindexterthat as he had again deceived her she must take the government of heraffairs in her own hands henceforth. She abandoned all the furniture andimprovements she had put in Los Cuervos to him, to whom she now knewshe was indebted for them. She could not thank him for what his habitualgenerosity impelled him to do for any woman, but she could forgive himfor misunderstanding her like any other woman, perhaps she should say,like a child. When he received this she would be already on her way toher old home in Kentucky, where she still hoped to be able by her ownefforts to amass enough to discharge her obligations to him.
"She does not speak of her husband, this woman," said Don Jose, scanningPoindexter's face. "It is possible she rejoins him, eh?"
"Perhaps in one way she has never left him, Don Jose," said Poindexter,with grave significance.
Don Jose's face flushed, but he returned carelessly, "And the rancho,naturally you will not buy it now?"
"On the contrary, I shall abide by my offer," said Poindexter, quietly.
Don Jose eyed him narrowly, and then said, "Ah, we shall consider ofit."
He did consider it, and accepted the offer. With the full control of theland, Captain Poindexter's improvements, so indefinitely postponed, wereactively pushed forward. The thick walls of the hacienda were the firstto melt away before them; the low lines of corral were effaced, and theearly breath of the summer trade winds swept uninterruptedly across thenow leveled plain to the embarcadero, where a newer structure arose. Amore vivid green alone marked the spot where the crumbling adobe wallsof the casa had returned to the parent soil that gave it. The channelwas deepened, the lagoon was drained, until one evening the magic mirrorthat had so long reflected the weary waiting of the Blue Grass Penelopelay dull, dead, lustreless, an opaque quagmire of noisome corruptionand decay to be put away from the sight of man forever. On this spotthe crows, the titular tenants of Los Cuervos, assembled in tumultuouscongress, coming and going in mysterious clouds, or laboring in thickand writhing masses, as if they were continuing the work of improvementbegun by human agency. So well had they done the work that by the endof a week only a few scattered white objects remained glittering onthe surface of the quickly drying soil. But they were the bones of themissing outcast, Spencer Tucker!
*****
The same spring a breath of war swept over a foul, decaying quagmire ofthe whole land, before which such passing deeds as these were blown asvapor. It called men of all rank and condition to battle for a nation'slife, and among the first to respond were those into whose boyishhands had been placed the nation's honor. It returned the epaulets toPoindexter's shoulder with the addition of a double star, carried himtriumphantly to the front, and left him, at the end of a summer'sday and a hard-won fight, sorely wounded, at the door of a Blue Grassfarmhouse. And the woman who sought him out and ministered to his wantssaid timidly, as she left her hand in his, "I told you I should live torepay you."
LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN.