_IT OCCURRED AT TUCSON._
Well, perhaps it isn't much of a place, after you get there, thoughharder to describe than many a town of fifty times its size andimportance. But it is the capital of Arizona, and a fair representationof the whole Territory. Could you be lifted from the midst ofcivilization, and "let down" in Tucson over night, you would know atonce what the rest of Arizona is.
How like a _fata morgana_ it looks when you first see it in thisenchanted atmosphere: the intensely blue sky overhead, the plain aboutit covered with sparse grass and fantastic cactus, that hide the sandand make the earth look verdant; the low, white dome and the picturesquebuildings clustering about it; the _adobe_ garden-walls, with archedgateways, sometimes whitened, sometimes left in their native mud color,toned down by age and the glare of the sun; a tall mesquite-tree or agroup of cotton-woods striving heavenward from among the _adobe_ houses;Saddle Mountain, with its ever-changing tints and its strong lights andshades in the far distance, and Sugar-loaf or Sentinel Hill to theimmediate left. On the plain between town and the Sugar-loaf, the ruinsof what, in any other country, I should pronounce to have been amonastery, lift themselves from the fresh, dewy green--venerable, gray,and stately--some wild vine creeping stealthily in at the framelesswindow, and out again at the roofless top.
Having purposely avoided a close inspection of this spot, for fear ofbeing compelled to see that the ruins were only coarse mud-walls,standing in a wilderness of hideous sand and clay, flecked with stiffbunch-grass, the contemplation of it, with my mind's eye, is one of thepleasures of memory to me, even at this day. Could I have avoidedpassing through the streets of Tucson, perhaps I could think of it, too,as a charming and delightful place. There are gardens down on our left,as we come in from this side, that "blossom as the rose," and areovershadowed by just such beautiful, waving trees as we see in among thehouses yonder; and, from these "indications," we are justified insupposing that we will find _parterres_ of flowers in the gardenssurrounded by those high walls. But we have forgotten to take intoaccount that a stream of water flows along those fields; that gardensdon't flourish here without water, and that water in the town can onlybe had by digging deep down into the hard ground.
The _elite_ of the Spanish population pride themselves on theirgardens--flower-beds in the inclosed court-yards; flower-beds raisedsome three or four feet from the ground and walled around withstones--but if the flowers that grow on these elevations are "few andfar between," they make up in color and fragrance what they lack innumbers. The court-yard is usually flagged, like the best room in thehouse, and the whole is kept cool and fresh by continual sprinkling andirrigating. This, however, is correct only of a very few houses; theaverage Mexican, even though his family consist of twenty head, lives ina single dark _adobe_ room, without window or fireplace--the hard, dry,yellow clay within a continuation of the hard, dry, yellow claywithout--not divided even by a jealous door. In summer, the family liveinside the house, rolling around on the bare floor, or the straw mattingspread in one corner--careful not to venture into the sun that bakes thebarren ground by their _casa_ harder and harder every day. In winter,the day is passed on the outside, the different members of the familyshifting their position with the sun--huddling together, flat on theground, with their backs against the wall that is warmest from its rays.What they do for a living, I don't know: could they harvest nectar andambrosia, instead of wine and bread, from the land surrounding theirmiserable houses, they could not be induced to till it; and, as fortrade or handicraft, they have never flourished in Tucson. The onlything that swarthy, black-eyed lad there will ever learn, is to lassohis starved _bronco_, or shoulder his lockless gun, and start out withthe pack-train, just loading for Sonora, in front of the largest storein town. If he returns from there without losing his scalp, he willnever rest till the last _paso_ has been spent with his _compadres_, atthe _baila_, or the new American bar and billiard saloon at the corner.Nor will he begrudge his sister, or any other lass to whom he isattached, the many-colored shawl in the show-window of the Americandry-goods store at the other corner; and, should anything be left then,he will conscientiously devote it toward promoting the bull-fight thatis to come off next Sunday.
"Miserable people, a miserable place, and a miserable life!" came frombetween the set, white teeth of a little personage at the window of ahouse lying on something of an eminence, in the "fashionable" quarter ofthe town, as she absently gazed on the fields, bright and alive with thestir and the sun of this pleasant July afternoon.
The fact of the house having windows, and the windows being set withglass, marks it as one of the "aristocratic" houses, though the man whobuilt it, only two years ago, had come empty-handed and broken in heartand spirit from scenes of desolation and wretchedness in the SouthernStates. If ever a man buried hope, ambition, and life-energy with theLost Cause, that man was Oray Granville. Even before the rebellion brokeout, he had lost his all through the North (as he reasoned); for allthat life seemed worth living for, was the woman he had loved. Awealthy Northern man had led to the altar the queenly form which to himhad been an embodiment of all that is graceful and divine. The form,life, and soul seemed to have fled from the eyes into which he had gazedjust once after the binding words had been spoken.
When the war broke out, he was among the first in the field; and, thoughfighting for what he deemed his rights, he asked, at the end of eachbloody affray--as did St. Arnaud at the Crimea--"And is there no bulletfor me?" And after each such day did the look he had caught from thosesad, black orbs settle down deeper into the shadows of his own grayeyes. Returning to the home of his youth once more, before starting outon his dangerous journey over the plains to Arizona--where he was tojoin an older brother--he found domiciled at his father's house hiscousin, a young girl of eighteen.
In Miss Jenny's eyes, the vague rumor that Cousin Ray had been "crossedin love" lent an additional charm to his handsome presence, and themelancholy, half-reserved air that made him almost unapproachable.Though there was apparently little in common between the world-weary,disappointed man and the little elfish creature that looked so joyfullyout upon the world with her light-blue eyes, he unconsciously fell underthe influence of her restless, but most cheerful spirit. Not that hertemper was always sunny and even--far from it: but too often her eyeswould flash fire, and the quivering flanks of the fine-chiselled nosedistend and almost flatten in the hot, flushed face. Just so her CousinRay's nostrils were wont to spread when angered or excited--only thathis face would grow white and more marble-like than usual.
On what ground these two spirits met, I cannot say; but when OrayGranville finally left his southern home, it was in company with hiswife, Mrs. Jenny. Nor can I recount, at length, how love workedwonders, and the petted, white-fingered little lady learned to takethought for the morrow and the comfort of her lord and master; andthough often flying into one of her sudden fits of passion, when a batchof "sad" bread was the reward for all her pains and patience, or a burnon her wrist or fingers, she never once breathed a word of regret athaving come with her husband. Her husband never attempted to subdue hertemper or soothe her ruffled feelings; but if, when worn out with theday's toil (of which he bore his honest share), she crept up beside him,he had most always a kind word for her; or, if more chary of words thanusual, a soft pressure of the little hand that had stolen into his, toldher that her affection was felt and appreciated.
Shortly after their arrival in Tucson, he was prostrated by the horriblefever which this place has in store for most strangers. The _petite_frame of the wife resisted the enemy to whom the stalwart man was forcedto yield; and with untiring devotion she watched by him through the longdays and the lonely nights. He needed sleep, the doctor said; and shecrept about like a little mouse. But, hanging over him, and listening tohis low, irregular breathing, such a terror would seize her that,bending close to his ear, she would plead, "Ray--Cousin Ray--are youalive? Speak to me, please." Then the heavy eyes would open for amoment, and she remain quiet, till her
fears got the better of herjudgment again. But never a look of reproach came into the weary eyes,and never a word from the white lips, though his life had nearly been aforfeit to her loving, but impatient spirit.
Nor did she once fly into a passion during the long days of hisconvalescence; but when he had quite recovered, she proved that she hadnot left her temper behind her in the South, where he, according to heraccusation, had left his tongue. There were days in which he seemed tolive only in a dream, so silent were his lips; but the office which hadbeen bestowed upon him, almost against his will, was ably and faithfullyfilled--though a bend of the head or a single terse sentence was given,where other men would have deemed volumes of speech necessary. It was nowonder that his wife flew into a rage, when, as sometimes happened, shehad recounted to him the troubles and trials of the day--which were notfew--and found, at the end of an hour's harangue, that he had neitherheard nor understood a word of what she had said, but seemed to wakenfrom a trance at the little pettish shake she gave his arm. Then shewould accuse him of not loving her, bewail her sad lot, and vow to growsilent and unloving like himself. After a season of storming on herpart, and utter silence on his, she would creep back to her old placebeside him, to find her kiss returned, and any cunningly devisedquestion, calculated and shaped toward reconciliation, answered by him,kindly and calmly as ever.
One afternoon, while Cousin Ray sat in his office--silent, preoccupied,and moody as usual--the din and confusion of an extensive dog-fightdisturbed his reveries. A cloud of dust and dogs rolled up to theoffice-door, and the next moment the attorney of the Territory stood inthe street, a club in one hand and a "rock" in the other. A fewwell-aimed blows soon freed "the under-dog in the fight" from hishalf-dozen assailants; and with a half-sneaking, half-confident air, thelittle ugly thing--part cur, part _coyote_, with a slight tinge ofsheep-dog--followed his deliverer to the office. When evening came, thedog shyly, but persistently, followed his newly-elected master home; andMrs. Jenny, after first bitterly railing both at her husband and thedog, proceeded to set supper before them with equal care andconscientiousness. Next morning she found occasion to anathematizeArizona in general and Tucson in particular; and, her eye falling on thenew acquisition, she instantly attacked him.
"Get away with you! Of all things in creation you're the ugliest, and_your_ name should be Tucson, too."
And Tucson it was, from that day out. The dog soon learned to understandMrs. Jenny as his master did, only he could not be brought to endure herbursts of temper with the same gentlemanly calmness. His meals were aswell and regularly provided as though he had a well-founded claim to thebest of treatment; and of an evening, when Cousin Ray was absent, he wasleft at home, and admitted to the sitting-room, where a small piece ofMrs. Jenny's dress-skirt was tacitly admitted to be his privilege duringhis master's absence. But only during his absence: as soon as hisfootstep was heard approaching from the street, Mrs. Jenny seemedsuddenly to discover the dog's proximity, and with a threatening "Youget out!" the dress-skirt was quickly withdrawn, while Tucson, made wiseby experience, would spring to a safe distance, and there flash defianceat her, with his white teeth and his glittering black eyes.
Last night, however, the edge of the dress-skirt had been carefullygathered up from the floor, and Tucson, on growling his dissatisfaction,had been turned into the cold, open hall, where he met his master with alittle whine when he came home, late, and more moody and buried inthought than ever. Nevertheless, he stooped to pat the dog's shaggyhead, before entering the room, with a half-drawn sigh. Mrs. Jenny hadwell merited the reproach she always flung at her husband, this night,so silently and noiselessly she moved around the room. Cousin Ray caston her just one look--that said more than all the words she had spokenfor years; but she did not heed it, and, with another sigh, at theremembrance of the letter signed "Margaret," which she had found in hispocket that morning, he sought the couch where neither sleep nor peacecame to the two. Early the next morning he had gone to the office, butreturned before noon, and mounted his stout _bronco_, being accompaniedby a small number of Americans and an old Mexican guide.
It was not the first time Mrs. Jenny had helped equip and furnish acavalcade of this kind, for a prospecting or mining expedition; and,unbidden, she brought out her husband's warmest wraps and her beststores from the larder. For a moment her cheeks blanched, as, from a fewchance words she caught, she was led to believe that the object of thejourney was the finding of the firmly-believed-in Jesuit, or HiddenSilver-mine. But her husband volunteered no explanation; and she wouldshow him, for once, that she could refrain from asking questions. As heapproached and bent over her to bid her good-by, the fatal whiteenvelope that had so angered her yesterday, again gleamed from an insidepocket; and, hastily drawing back, she spoke sharply in answer to hiscordial words:
"You need _never_ come back to me with that letter in your pocket.Never--never!"
And, passing in through the hall-door, she saw Tucson quenching histhirst eagerly, as preparing for a long run, at his basin on the floor.Quick as thought she had caught him up in her arms, and, carrying him tothe door, she flung him with all her force against Cortez, who was justmoving off, with his master on his back.
"Go along with your master, you ugly brute. _I_ never want to see youagain--never, never!" and the heavy door closed with a loud bang.
Then she went back to her household duties, never heeding that the sunhad reached the meridian, and never pausing till material and strengthtogether were thoroughly exhausted. At last, after obstinately brushingdown the curls that would as obstinately spring up again, she drew nearto the window. She never knew how long she stood there; but when thewomen by the _acequia_, in the tree-bordered field, away down from thehouse, packed the linen they had made a pretence of washing all day,into their large, round baskets to carry home for the night, Mrs.Jenny--uttering her verdict on the people and the place--turned sharplyon her heel, and opened the box containing her outdoor garments. Her hatwas soon tied on, and a heavy shawl thrown over her arm, to guardagainst the cool of the night that might overtake her. Pleasantlyreturning the greeting that all who met her offered, she went unmolestedon her way till she reached the last huts of the Papagoes--who burrowhere, half underground, at a respectable distance from the better classof Mexicans. From the door of a stray _adobe_, that looked like anadvance-post of rude civilization among these wicker-huts, a femalevoice, in the musical language that the roughest of these Mexicans use,called after her:
"Holy Virgin, _senora_, are you not afraid of the Apaches?"
But, like the youth who bore "the banner with the strange device," shepassed on, heedless and silent, to all appearances, but saying, withinher stubborn little heart, "Indians or no Indians, _I'm_ going to CousinWill's."
In less than an hour's time, the barking of dogs fell on her ear, and,though no trace of fence, orchard, or barn could be seen, she knew thatin and beyond that grove of mesquite-trees lay Cousin Will'spossessions--counted one of the finest farms in the Territory. Directlyshe turned from the road into an open space, where a low, solid _adobe_house and two or three dilapidated _jacales_ represented a comfortablefarm-house and extensive out-buildings, to the right of which a largefield of waving corn stretched downward to the river. Back of the houseblossomed a little garden, the scarlet geranium covering almost thewhole wall; from the garden the ground fell abruptly to the water, wherea clump of willows and cotton-woods shaded a large cool spring. But themost surprising feature of this Arizona scene was a spring-house,which, though built of _adobe_, looked just as natural, and held just asrich, sweet milk as any spring-house found in the Western States.
Mrs. Jenny, however, had no time to advance to this spot, even had suchbeen her intention. The barking of the dogs had called a dozen or two ofswarthy little Cupids from the _jacales_ and other resorts of the_peones_, who, with a simultaneous shout, had rushed in a body to thehouse of the master, announcing the coming of the unexpected visitor.Cousin Will and his wife--one of those grand, blac
k-eyed women, with thebearing of a princess, whom we find among the old Spanish families--metthe sister-in-law long before she reached the house. Cousin Will's wifegreeted her sister-in-law cordially as "Juana;" while Mrs. Jenny held tothe more formal "Dona Inez," which she had never yet dropped--perhaps onaccount of a fancied likeness between her and Margaret, of whom she hadsecretly begged a most minute description from one of the youngerbrothers in her uncle's house, at home.
"Why did Brother Ray let you come out here alone?" asked the olderbrother, almost indignantly.
Dona Inez, who understood English, smiled a good-humored, but expressivesmile; noticing which, Mrs. Jenny supplemented, without the leastresentment: "And, besides, he wasn't at home to try. He started out thismorning with Blake, and Goodwin, and old Pedrillo."
"To look for the Hidden Mine of the Padres? Oh, the foolish, foolishboy! Had I known how determined he was to go, I should not have left himlast night. Will he never stop dreaming and chasing after shadows?"
Cousin Will was full twenty years his brother's senior; and it was,perhaps, the recollection of the almost fatherly love he had alwaysshown for the younger brother that made Mrs. Jenny suddenly, when DonaInez had left the room, fling her hat on the floor, herself on thelounge, and give way to the tears that had gathered in her heart allday. Cousin Will knew her too well to offer a single word of comfort orconsolation; but when her convulsive sobs had ceased at last, he toldher, in answer to her quick, impatient questions, all he knew of theletter, its contents and consequences.
In the old archives of Tucson, to which Ray, by virtue of his office,had access, he thought he had found sufficient proof of the existence ofthe old silver ledge, and sufficiently clear advices of its location, towarrant him in making a search for it. Fully aware of the many dangersto which any party he might organize for that purpose would be exposed,he had long hesitated--hesitated, too, partly on account of his wife'sviolent opposition, and partly because there were few, whom he wouldselect, willing to go with him, where hundreds had already perished fromthe Indian's arrow and the want of food and water. Three days ago, theletter from Margaret had found its way to him. She was not long for thisworld, she said, and, poor and in distress--abandoned by her husband,who had been beggared by the war--she pleaded that Ray should care forthe two children she must leave to the cold charity of strangers, if shedied.
"What will you do about it?" his brother had asked. And then Ray hadunfolded to him what the brother called one of his day-dreams. He wouldfind the mine, load Jenny with the treasures its discovery would bring,and send her back to the States, to find Margaret, or the children (ifshe were dead), while he remained behind to develop and finally disposeof the mine, before joining his wife. He knew what Jenny had undergonein this country, for his sake; he knew how well she loved him, and hetrusted that, with her noble instincts, she would aid him in carryingout his projects in regard to Margaret and her children--neither of whomhe ever intended to see.
Since she had once given way to softer feelings, Jenny's better selfarose against the hard, cruel spirit that had prompted her to turn fromall of Ray's attempts at kindly explanation. Bitterly she regretted theharsh words she had uttered when her eyes first fell on that miserableletter; and, like serpent's fangs, the words she had called after him onparting, struck again and again into her own bleeding heart. Restlesslyshe tossed on her bed all night--the first to discover the approach of aband of Apaches, from the uneasy stamping and the frightened wickeringof the mules--she was the only one who insisted that Tucson's bark couldbe heard among the gang of _coyotes_ that made night hideous with theirhowls. With the first gleam of the coming day she was up; and, in spiteof all her brother-in-law could say, in spite of the suspiciousfootprints that marked the ground in the neighborhood of themule-_corral_, she started for home, alone and unprotected, as she hadcome the night before.
The gorgeous sunrise had no charm for her; unheeding, her eye passedover the landscape, that was like the smile of a fair, false woman--softand alluring to the eye--a bright mask only, veiling death anddestruction from those who were blinded by it. When near the town, asmall, ragged-looking object came ambling swiftly toward her.
"What--Tucson?" and then, apostrophizing the dog, who crouched in thesand at her feet with a pitiful whine: "You mean little deserter!Couldn't you hold out as long as your master? And I know your master hasnot come back yet." Nor _had_ he--though she entered the house with aninsane hope that she might meet the grave eyes peering out from thegloom of the darkened hall. After another sharp reprimand, she preparedTucson's breakfast from a part of her own; and then flew into a passionand drove the dog from the house, because, instead of tasting amouthful, he insisted on dragging her to the door by the dress-skirt,and barking and howling in turn, when she refused to come.
Later in the morning, when she had occasion to go "down town" forsomething, she recounted how the dog had shrunk from the fatigues of theprospecting-trip, and had returned to his comfortable quarters at home."But I drove him from the house; and I guess he has gone to overtake hismaster now--I don't see him around any more."
He _had_ gone to overtake his master--but not alone. The dog's strangebearing had excited suspicion--here, where people are always on thealert for danger and evil of all kinds. Before the sun was well up, alittle band of well-armed citizens was on the trail that Oray Granvilleand his friends had travelled but the day before.
Well for Jenny that her eye never caught the meaning of the looks thrownon her as she passed through the straggling streets back to her ownhome; well for her that the soft-voiced _senoras_, who came to her inthe dusk of the evening, could check the word of sympathy that rose fromthe heart to the lip. Ah, me!
And in Jenny's voice there was a new tone; a new light was in her eye,and--a new greeting in her heart for Cousin Ray. If he would only comesoon! Of course, he could not return for a day or two; perhaps not for aweek; but when he did come--
"Petra," said Jenny, "you must play me Oray's favorite airto-night"--and she hastened to the corner where the harp of the girl,who was a pet of Mrs. Jenny's, and Ray's too, was generally kept.
"No, _senora_--no; not this night," remonstrated the girl. "The windhowls so dismally--and there is no moon in the sky; and then, you know,I cannot sing."
Petra was whimsical, and what she said was true: the wind passed with alow, sobbing sound through the bare, wide hall, and swept up to thedoor, where it shook the lock as with living fingers.
Mrs. Jenny drew back the curtain and laughed.
"In our country, people don't like to own that they're moon-struck; butyou are right--the night is black as ink, and--why--there is quite acompany coming up the hill toward us, with lights and torches. Going tothe governor's house, probably; but who can they be?"
"We can slip out of the back-door, directly, and look over to the house:then the men cannot say that we have undue curiosity," suggested Anita,desperately; and Mrs. Jenny dropped the curtain.
Petra's blanched face drooped low, over a book she had snatched up fromthe table; and Anita's hands were clasped in a silent prayer to the HolyVirgin. But the train came nearer, and--"Hark! they stop here--at thisdoor--it is Ray--Cousin Ray!" And Jenny was on the threshold--where halfa dozen gloomy, earnest faces met her gaze.
There was a horse there, too--stamping with a half-frightened motion,and a low, shivering neigh; and as she sprang forward with a shriek--aterrified question rising unconsciously to her lips--a dog flew at herwith an angry howl, tearing at her garments, and making frantic effortsto prevent her touching the motionless form on the back of the horse.
To Jenny's ear the dog's wild yells spoke terribly plain her own cruel"Never--never--never!" but among the men there was a hasty murmur thatthe beast had gone mad, from running so long without food and water.There was a flash and a sharp report--Tucson's career had come to aclose. And Jenny lay fainting in the arms of the sobbing women.