Part 34 (1/2)
”Ay, true, Will; everything vile and vulgar. Don't it make you mad to think of it?”
”No, not mad. That isn't the feeling I have; rather fear.”
”Fear! Of what!”
”That the scoundrels may do some harm to our dear girls. As we know now, they're up to anything. Since they don't stick at a.s.sa.s.sination, they won't at abduction. I hope your letter to Don Gregorio may open his eyes about them, and put him on his guard. My Inez! who's to protect her? I'd give all I have in the world to be sure of her getting safely embarked in that Chilian s.h.i.+p. Once there, dear old Harry Blew will take care of her--of them both.”
Cadwallader's words seem strangely to affect his companion, changing the expression upon his countenance. It is still shadowed, but the cloud is of a different kind. From anger it has altered to anxiety!
”You've struck a chord, Will, that, while not soothing the old pain, gives me a new one. I wasn't thinking of that; my thoughts were all occupied with the other trouble--you understand?”
”I do. At the same, I think you make too much of the other trouble, as you call it. I confess it troubles me too a little; though, perhaps, not as it does you. And luckily less, the more I reflect on it. After all, there don't seem so much to be bothered about. As you know, Ned, it's a common thing among Spanish-Americans, whose customs are altogether unlike our own--to have gamblers going into their best society. Besides, I can tell you something that may comfort you a little--a bit of information I had from Inez, as we were _platicando_ along the road on our ride. It was natural she should speak about the sky-blue fellow and my sticking his horse in the hip.”
”What did she say?” asks Crozier, with newly awakened interest.
”That he was a gentleman by birth; but falling fast, and indeed quite down.”
”And De Lara; did she say aught of him?”
”She did; she spoke of him still more disparagingly, though knowing him less. She said he had been introduced to them by the other, and they were accustomed to meet him on occasions. But of late they had learned more of him; and learning this, her aunt--your Carmen--had become very desirous of cutting his acquaintance, as indeed all of them. And that they intended doing so--even if they had remained in California. But now--so soon leaving it, they did not like to humiliate De Lara by giving him the _conge_ he deserves.”
Crozier, with eyes earnestly fixed upon Cadwallader, has listened to the explanation. At its close he cries out, grasping his comrade's hand:
”Will! you've lifted a load from my heart. I now see daylight where all seemed darkness; and beholding yonder hill feel the truth of Campbell's splendid lines:--
”A kiss can consecrate the ground, Where mated hearts are mutual bound; The spot, where love's first links are wound, That ne'er are riven, Is hallowed down to Earth's profound, And up to Heaven!”
After repeating the pa.s.sionate words, he stands gazing on a spot so consecrated to him--the summit of the hill--where, just twenty-four hours ago, he spoke love's last appeal to Carmen Montijo. For the _Crusader_ has pa.s.sed out through the Golden Gate, and is now beating down the coast of the Pacific.
Cadwallader's eyes, with equal interest, are turned upon the same spot, and for a time both are silent, absorbed in sweet reflections; recalling all that had occurred in a scene whose slightest incident neither can ever forgot.
Only when the land looms low, and the outlines of the San Bruno Mountains begin to blend with the purpling sky, does a shadow again show itself on the countenances of the young officers. But now it is different, no longer expressing chagrin, nor the rancour of jealousy; but doubt, apprehension, fear, for the loved ones left behind. Still the cloud has a silver lining, and that is--Harry Blew.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO.
A SOLEMN COMPACT.
A Cottage of the old Californian kind--in other words, a _rancho_; one of the humblest of these humble dwellings--the homes of the Spanish-American poor. It is a mere hut, thatched with a species of sea-sh.o.r.e gra.s.s, the ”broombent” seen growing in the sand-dunes near by.
For it is by the sea, or within sight of it; inconspicuously placed by reason of rugged rocks, that cl.u.s.ter around, and soar up behind, forming a background in keeping with the rude architectural style of the dwelling. From the land side it is only approachable by devious and difficult paths, known but to a few familiar friends of its owner.
From the sh.o.r.e, equally difficult, for the little cove leading up to it would not have depth sufficient to permit the pa.s.sage of a boat, but for a tiny stream trickling seaward, which has furrowed out a channel in the sand. That by this boats can enter the cove is evident from one being seen moored near its inner end, in front of, and not far from, the hovel. As it is a craft of the kind generally used by Californian fishermen--more especially those who chase the fur-seal--it may be deduced that the owner of the hut is a seal-hunter.
This is his profession reputedly; though there are some who ascribe to him callings of a different kind; among others, insinuating that he occasionally does business as a _contrabandista_.
Whether true or not, Rafael Rocas--for he is the owner of the hut--is not the man to trouble himself about denying it. He would scarce consider smuggling an aspersion on his character; and indeed, under old Mexican administration, it would have been but slight blame, or shame, to him. And not such a great deal either under the new, at the time of which we write, but perhaps still less. Compared with other crimes then rife in California, contrabandism might almost be reckoned an honest calling.
But Rafael Rocas has a repute for doings of a yet darker kind. With those slightly acquainted with him it is only suspicion; but a few of his more intimate a.s.sociates can say for certain that he is not disinclined to a stroke of road robbery or a job at housebreaking; so that, if times have changed for the worse, he has not needed any change to keep pace with them.