Part 8 (2/2)
”You don't say so, Don Ernesto!” said his podgy, putty-faced little Highness. ”Where was it? When was------ By heavens, somebody shall suffer for this! Just let me or any of my soldiers catch the thieves, and not one of them shall reach Santa Fe alive. Now, I'll tell you what.
Just leave it to me, and don't you worry nor think any more about the matter, much less mention it to a soul. In less than two days I'll have the thief or thieves here in the stocks.”
I told him plainly that that was not my programme, and that, whatever he did, I was not going to leave that fence unpatrolled until I could move the stock out of the paddock.
”Then this is what we'll do, Don Ernesto. You shall be one of us. You come and dine with me at six o'clock this evening, and afterwards we'll go out with the sergeant and five or six men and catch 'em.”
It was about the equinox, if I remember rightly--the springtime, when everything is lovely and lovable: the camp flowers all in bloom, the aroma of the trees burdening the air with delicious perfume, the fresh verdure and plenty of gra.s.s, the powerful, stout-hearted bounding of the horse (no longer ”poor”) beneath one, and, above all, the great issue expected of the business in hand, the most important business to me in the world at the time--all these combined spelled but one word, ”Hope!”
Carbine in hand, Colt in holster, I arrived at his residence. There he was, sitting at the door of his corner house, whence he could look down three streets at once. How like a spider, I thought.
His welcome was cordial, but he seemed to smile at my eagerness, and told me that he never dined before eight.
”But let us sit here in the cool of the evening,” said he, handing out a chair for me to sit by him on the footpath, ”and let us take some refreshment to while away the time. But, tell me, where did you say that the fence was cut? But did you really see signs that cattle had pa.s.sed?
Preposterous! The sons of guns shall suffer for this. Eh well, I'm glad of it in a way--glad to have a little work, and perhaps a little excitement. It doesn't do to have a too orderly district, for the Governor and his satellites in Santa Fe imagine I'm lazy and not looking after my business if they hear of no commotions. That black fellow you sent me the other day, Don Ernesto--the fellow that was molesting a mad woman in the camp--- I've got him seventeen years in the line for that.
I wish you would send me a few more, for hardly a letter comes from Santa Fe in which I am not asked to send in recruits, so hard up are they for Provincial soldiers.”
Just then a poor Italian colonist came up, hat in hand. He, too, and all his cla.s.s were pioneers in those days, and G.o.d knows what they suffered.
”Well, what d'ye want?” asked my companion.
”Sir,” said the wretched man, stuttering in his nervousness, ”one of my bullocks has been stolen, and I know the thief. I have been to the Justice of the Peace, and he told me to bring the thief to him; but, sir, the th-thief refuses to come.”
”_Bueno_! Ten dollars, and ten dollars _down_,” roared the majesty of law.
”But, sir,----”
”No! But me no buts! Ten dollars at once, or I'll call the sergeant to lock you up until you can get it.”
I could see that the poor fellow's heart was breaking as he drew the money from his pocket and handed it over. Smilingly the bully turned to me and said, as his victim walked slowly away, ”I'll bet you that that man doesn't come around to molest me again. I'll guarantee to you, Don Ernesto, that there isn't a district in the whole province where so few appeals for justice are made.”
At last it was dinner-time, and, being ushered into a dirty room with a brick floor, dim light and grimy tablecloth, I seated myself at the table with my host, his secretary, the doctor, and a clerk. The dinner was in the usual native style of those days: ribs of beef roasted on the gridiron, beef and pumpkin boiled together, to finish up with ”caldo,” which is simply the water in which the beef and vegetables have been boiled, with a good thick coating of grease.
No sooner had we begun dinner than it was noticed that we had no wine.
”No wine! How's this? What d'ye mean?” as he angrily turned to the sergeant who was waiting.
”If you please, sir, So-and-so and So-and-so,” mentioning the name of a local firm of storekeepers, ”say that they can supply no more wine until they can get some of their accounts settled.”
”How dare you bring me such a message as that! Take the corporal with a couple of men and bring a half-barrel at once--in less than three minutes, or I'll know the reason why.”
The barrel was brought, and, with a bit and brace, quickly tapped, and the wine set flowing round the table.
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