CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE FANDANGO.
In the evening I sat in my room waiting for Saint Vrain. His voicereached me from without--
"`Las ninas de Durango Commigo bailandas, Al cielo--!'
"Ha! Are you ready, my bold rider?"
"Not quite. Sit down a minute and wait."
"Hurry, then! the dancing's begun. I have just come that way. What!that your ball-dress? Ha! ha! ha!" screamed Saint Vrain, seeing meunpack a blue coat and a pair of dark pantaloons, in a tolerable stateof preservation.
"Why, yes," replied I, looking up; "what fault do you find? But is thatyour ball-dress?"
No change had taken place in the ordinary raiment of my friend. Thefringed hunting-shirt and leggings, the belt, the bowie, and thepistols, were all before me.
"Yes, my dandy; this is my ball-dress: it ain't anything shorter; and ifyou'll take my advice, you'll wear what you have got on your back. Howwill your long-tailed blue look, with a broad belt and bowie strappedround the skirts? Ha! ha! ha!"
"But why take either belt or bowie? You are surely not going into aball-room with your pistols in that fashion?"
"And how else should I carry them? In my hands?"
"Leave them here."
"Ha! ha! that would be a green trick. No, no. Once bit, twice shy.You don't catch this 'coon going into any fandango in Santa Fe withouthis six-shooters. Come, keep on that shirt; let your leggings sweatwhere they are, and buckle this about you. That's the _costume du bal_in these parts."
"If you assure me that my dress will be _comme il faut_, I'm agreed."
"It won't be with the long-tailed blue, I promise you."
The long-tailed blue was restored forthwith to its nook in myportmanteau.
Saint Vrain was right. On arriving at the room, a large sala in theneighbourhood of the Plaza, we found it filled with hunters, trappers,traders, and teamsters, all swaggering about in their usual mountainrig. Mixed among them were some two or three score of the natives, withan equal number of senoritas, all of whom, by their style of dress, Irecognise as poblanas, or persons of the lower class,--the only class,in fact, to be met with in Santa Fe.
As we entered, most of the men had thrown aside their serapes for thedance, and appeared in all the finery of embroidered velvet, stampedleather, and shining "castletops." The women looked not lesspicturesque in their bright naguas, snowy chemisettes, and small satinslippers. Some of them flounced it in polka jackets; for even to thatremote region the famous dance had found its way.
"Have you heard of the electric telegraph?"
"No, senor."
"Can you tell me what a railroad is?"
"Quien sabe?"
"La polka?"
"Ah! senor, la polka, la polka! cosa buenita, tan graciosa! vaya!"
The ball-room was a long, oblong sala with a banquette running all roundit. Upon this the dancers seated themselves, drew out their huskcigarettes, chatted, and smoked, during the intervals of the dance. Inone corner half a dozen sons of Orpheus twanged away upon harp, guitar,and bandolin; occasionally helping out the music with a shrillhalf-Indian chant. In another angle of the apartment, puros, and Taoswhisky were dealt out to the thirsty mountaineers, who made the salaring with their wild ejaculations. There were scenes like thefollowing:--
"Hyar, my little muchacha! vamos, vamos, ter dance! Mucho bueno! Muchobueno? Will ye?"
This is from a great rough fellow of six feet and over, addressed to atrim little poblana.
"Mucho bueno, Senor Americano!" replies the lady.
"Hooraw for you! Come along! Let's licker fust! You're the gal for mybeaver. What'll yer drink? Agwardent or vino?"
"Copitita de vino, senor." (A small glass of wine, sir.)
"Hyar, yer darned greaser! Set out yer vino in a squ'll's jump! Now,my little un', hyar's luck, and a good husband!"
"Gracias, Senor Americano!"
"What! you understand that? You intende, do yer?"
"Si, senor!"
"Hooraw, then! Look hyar, little 'un, kin yer go the b'ar dance?"
"No entiende."
"Yer don't understan' it! Hyar it is; thisa-way;" and the clumsy hunterbegan to show off before his partner, in an imitation of the grizzlybear.
"Hollo, Bill!" cries a comrade, "yer'll be trapped if yer don't looksharp."
"I'm dog-gone, Jim, if I don't feel queery about hyar," replies thehunter, spreading his great paw over the region of the heart.
"Don't be skeert, man; it's a nice gal, anyways."
"Hooray for old Missouri!" shouts a teamster.
"Come, boys! Let's show these yer greasers a Virginny break-down.`Cl'ar the kitchen, old folks, young folks.'"
"Go it hoe and toe! `Old Virginny nebir tire!'"
"Viva el Gobernador! Viva Armijo! Viva! viva!"
An arrival at this moment caused a sensation in the room. A stout, fat,priest-like man entered, accompanied by several others, it was theGovernor and his suite, with a number of well-dressed citizens, who wereno doubt the elite of New Mexican society. Some of the new-comers weremilitaires, dressed in gaudy and foolish-looking uniforms that were soonseen spinning round the room in the mazes of the waltz.
"Where is the Senora Armijo?" I whispered to Saint Vrain.
"I told you as much. She! she won't be out. Stay here; I am going fora short while. Help yourself to a partner, and see some tun. I will beback presently. _Au revoir_!"
Without any further explanation, Saint Vrain squeezed himself throughthe crowd and disappeared.
I had been seated on the banquette since entering the sala, Saint Vrainbeside me, in a retired corner of the room. A man of peculiarappearance occupied the seat next to Saint Vrain, but farther into theshadow of a piece of furniture. I had noticed this man as we entered,and noticed, too, that Saint Vrain spoke to him; but I was notintroduced, and the interposition of my friend prevented me from makingany further observation of him until the latter had retired. We werenow side by side; and I commenced a sort of angular reconnaissance of aface and figure that had somewhat strangely arrested my attention. Hewas not an American; that was evident from his dress; and yet the facewas not Mexican. Its outlines were too bold for a Spanish face, thoughthe complexion, from tan and exposure, was brown and swarth. His facewas clean-shaven except his chin, which carried a pointed, darkishbeard. The eye, if I saw it aright under the shadow of a slouched brim,was blue and mild; the hair brown and wavy, with here and there a strandof silver. These were not Spanish characteristics, much lessHispano-American; and I should have at once placed my neighbourelsewhere, but that his dress puzzled me. It was purely a Mexicancostume, and consisted of a purple manga, with dark velvet embroideryaround the vent and along the borders. As this garment covered thegreater part of his person, I could only see that underneath was a pairof green velveteen calzoneros, with yellow buttons, and snow-whitecalzoncillos puffing out along the seams. The bottoms of the calzoneroswere trimmed with stamped black leather; and under these were yellowboots, with a heavy steel spur upon the heel of each. The broad peakedstrap that confined the spur, passing over the foot, gave to it thatpeculiar contour that we observe in the pictures of armed knights of theolden time. He wore a black, broad-brimmed sombrero, girdled by a thickband of gold bullion. A pair of tags of the same material stuck outfrom the sides: the fashion of the country.
The man kept his sombrero slouched towards the light, as I thought orsuspected, for the concealment of his face. And vet it was not anill-favoured one. On the contrary, it was open and pleasing; no doubthad been handsome beforetime, and whatever caused its melancholyexpression had lined and clouded it. It was this expression that hadstruck me on first seeing the man.
Whilst I was making these observations, eyeing him cross-wise all thewhile, I discovered that he was eyeing me in a similar manner, and withan interest apparently equal to my own. This caused us to face round toeach other, when the stranger drew from under his mang
a a small beadedcigarero, and, gracefully holding it out to me, said--
"Quiere a fumar, caballero?" (Would you smoke, sir?)
"Thank you, yes," I replied in Spanish, at the same time taking a cigarfrom the case.
We had hardly lit our cigarettes when the man again turned to me withthe unexpected question--
"Will you sell your horse?"
"No."
"Not for a good price?"
"Not for any price."
"I would give five hundred dollars for him."
"I would not part with him for twice the amount."
"I will give twice the amount."
"I have become attached to him: money is no object."
"I am sorry to hear it. I have travelled two hundred miles to buy thathorse."
I looked at my new acquaintance with astonishment, involuntarilyrepeating his last words.
"You must have followed us from the Arkansas, then?"
"No, I came from the Rio Abajo."
"The Rio Abajo! You mean from down the Del Norte?"
"Yes."
"Then, my dear sir, it is a mistake. You think you are talking tosomebody else, and bidding for some other horse."
"Oh, no! He is yours. A black stallion with red nose and long fulltail, half-bred Arabian. There is a small mark over the left eye."
This was certainly the description of Moro; and I began to feel a sortof superstitious awe in regard to my mysterious neighbour.
"True," replied I; "that is all correct; but I bought that stallion manymonths ago from a Louisiana planter. If you have just arrived from twohundred miles down the Rio Grande, how, may I ask, could you have knownanything about me or my horse?"
"Dispensadme, caballero! I did not mean that. I came from below tomeet the caravan, for the purpose of buying an American horse. Yours isthe only one in the caballada I would buy, and, it seems, the only onethat is not for sale!"
"I am sorry for that; but I have tested the qualities of this animal.We have become friends. No common motive would induce me to part withhim."
"Ah, senor! it is not a common motive that makes me so eager to purchasehim. If you knew that, perhaps--" he hesitated a moment; "but no, no,no!" and after muttering some half-coherent words, among which I couldrecognise the "Buenos noches, caballero!" the stranger rose up with thesame mysterious air that had all along characterised him, and left me.I could hear the tinkling of the small bells upon the rowels of hisspurs, as he slowly warped himself through the gay crowd, anddisappeared into the night.
The vacated seat was soon occupied by a dusky manola, whose brightnagua, embroidered chemisette, brown ankles, and small blue slippers,drew my attention. This was all I could see of her, except theoccasional flash of a very black eye through the loophole of the rebozotapado. By degrees, the rebozo became more generous, the loopholeexpanded, and the outlines of a very pretty and very malicious littleface were displayed before me. The end of the scarf was adroitlyremoved from the left shoulder; and a nude, plump arm, ending in a bunchof small jewelled fingers, hung carelessly down.
I am tolerably bashful; but at the sight of this tempting partner, Icould hold in no longer, and bending towards her, I said in my bestSpanish, "Do me the favour, miss, to waltz with me."
The wicked little manola first held down her head and blushed; then,raising the long fringes of her eyes, looked up again, and wits a voiceas sweet as that of a canary-bird, replied--
"Con gusto, senor." (With pleasure, sir.)
"Nos vamos!" cried I, elated with my triumph; and pairing off with mybrilliant partner, we were soon whirling about in the mazy.
We returned to our seats again, and after refreshing with a glass ofAlbuquerque, a sponge-cake, and a husk cigarette, again took the floor.This pleasurable programme we repeated some half-dozen times, onlyvarying the dance from waltz to polka, for my manola danced the polka asif she had been a born Bohemian.
On one of my fingers was a fifty-dollar diamond, which my partner seemedto think was _muy buenito_. As her igneous eyes softened my heart, andthe champagne was producing a similar effect upon my head, I began tospeculate on the propriety of transferring the diamond from the smallestof my fingers to the largest of hers, which it would, no doubt, havefitted exactly. All at once I became conscious of being under thesurveillance of a large and very fierce-looking lepero, a regularpelado, who followed us with his eyes, and sometimes _in persona_, toevery part of the room. The expression of his swarth face was a mixtureof jealousy and vengeance, which my partner noticed, but, as I thought,took no pains to soften down.
"Who is he?" I whispered, as the man swung past us in his chequeredserape.
"Esta mi marido, senor," (It is my husband, sir), was the cool reply.
I pushed the ring close up to the root of my finger, shutting my handupon it tight as a vice.
"Vamos a tomar otra copita!" (Let us take another glass of wine!) saidI, resolving to bid my pretty poblana, as soon as possible, agood-night.
The Taos whisky had by this time produced its effect upon the dancers.The trappers and teamsters had become noisy and riotous. The leperos,who now half-filled the room, stimulated by wine, jealousy, old hatreds,and the dance, began to look more savage and sulky. The fringedhunting-shirts and brown homespun frocks found favour with the dark-eyedmajas of Mexico, partly out of a respect for, and a fear of, courage,which is often at the bottom of a love like theirs.
Although the trading caravans supplied almost all the commerce of SantaFe, and it was clearly the interest of its inhabitants to be on goodterms with the traders, the two races, Anglo-American andHispano-Indian, hated each other thoroughly; and that hate was nowdisplaying itself on one side in bullying contempt, on the other inmuttered _carrajos_ and fierce looks of vengeance.
I was still chatting with my lively partner. We were seated on thebanquette where I had introduced myself. On looking casually up, abright object met my eyes. It appeared to be a naked knife in the handsof _su marido_ who was just then lowering over us like the shadow of anevil spirit. I was favoured with only a slight glimpse of thisdangerous meteor, and had made up my mind to "'ware steel," when someoneplucked me by the sleeve, and turning, I beheld my quondam acquaintanceof the purple magna.
"Dispensadme, senor," said he, nodding graciously, "I have just learnedthat the caravan is going on to Chihuahua."
"True, there is no market here for our goods."
"You go on then, of course?"
"Certainly, I must."
"Will you return this way, senor?"
"It is very likely; I have no other intention at present."
"Perhaps then you might be willing to part with your horse? You willfind many as good in the great valley of the Mississippi."
"Neither is likely."
"But, senor, should you be inclined to do so, will you promise me therefusal of him?"
"Oh! that I will promise you, with all my heart."
Our conversation was here interrupted by a huge, gaunt, half-drunkenMissourian, who, tramping rudely upon the stranger's toes, vociferated--
"Ye--up, old greaser! gi' mi a char."
"Y porque?" (And why?) demanded the Mexican, drawing in his feet, andlooking up with astonished indignation.
"I'm tired jumpin'. I want a seat, that's it, old hoss."
There was something so bullying and brutal in the conduct of this man,that I felt called upon to interfere.
"Come!" said I, addressing him, "you have no right to deprive thisgentleman of his seat, much less in such a fashion."
"Eh, mister? who asked you to open yer head? Ye--up, I say!" and at theword, he seized the Mexican by the corner of his manga, as if to draghim from his seat.
Before I had time to reply to this rude speech and gesture, the strangerleaped to his feet, and with a well-planted blow felled the bully uponthe floor.
This seemed to act as a signal for bringing several other quarrels to aclimax. There was a rush through all parts of the sala, drunken shou
tsmingled with yells of vengeance, knives glanced from their sheaths,women screamed, pistols flashed and cracked, filling the rooms withsmoke and dust. The lights went out, fierce struggles could be heard inthe darkness, the fall of heavy bodies amidst groans and curses, and forfive minutes these were the only sounds.
Having no cause to be particularly _angry_ with anybody, I stood where Ihad risen, without using either knife or pistol, my frightened _maja_all the while holding me by the hand. A painful sensation near my leftshoulder caused me suddenly to drop my partner; and with thatunaccountable weakness consequent upon the reception of a wound, I feltmyself staggering towards the banquette. Here I dropped into a sittingposture, and remained till the struggle was over, conscious all thewhile that a stream of blood was oozing down my back, and saturating myundergarments.
I sat thus till the struggle had ended. A light was brought, and Icould distinguish a number of men in hunting-shirts moving to-and-frowith violent gesticulations. Some of them were advocating the justiceof the "spree," as they termed it; while others, the more respectable ofthe traders, were denouncing it. The leperos with the women, had alldisappeared, and I could perceive that the Americanos had carried theday. Several dark objects lay along the floor: they were bodies of mendead or dying! One was an American, the Missourian who had been theimmediate cause of the fracas; the others were pelodos. I could seenothing of my late acquaintance. My fandanguera, too--_con su marido_--had disappeared; and on glancing at my left hand, I came to theconclusion that so also had my diamond ring!
"Saint Vrain! Saint Vrain!" I called, seeing the figure of my friendenter at the door.
"Where are you, H., old boy. How is it with you? all right, eh?"
"Not quite, I tear."
"Good heavens! what's this? why, you're stabbed in the hump ribs! Notbad, I hope. Off with your shirt and let's see."
"First, let us to my room."
"Come, then, my dear boy, lean on me--so, so!"
The fandango was over.