Part 5 (2/2)
As other ranches grew under the hands of such unregenerate owners, so also under ”Old Ed” Austin's management did Las Palmas increase and prosper. The estate took its name from a natural grove of palms in which the house was built; it comprised an expanse of rich river-land backed by miles of range where ”Box A” cattle lived and bred. In his later years the old man sold much land, and some he leased; but when he handed Las Palmas to his son, ”Young Ed,” as a wedding gift, the ranch still remained a property to be proud of, and one that was known far and wide for its size and richness. Leaving his boy to work out of it a fortune for himself and his bride, the father retired to San Antonio, whither the friends and cronies of his early days were drifting. There he settled down and proceeded to finish his allotted span exactly as suited him best. The rancher's ideal of an agreeable old age comprised three important items--to wit, complete leisure, unlimited freedom of speech, and two pints of rye whisky daily. He enjoyed them all impartially, until, about a year before this story opens, he died profanely and comfortably. He had a big funeral, and was sincerely mourned by a coterie of gouty old Indian-fighters.
Las Palmas had changed greatly since Austin, senior, painfully scrawled his slanting signature to the deed. It was a different ranch now to what the old man had known; indeed, it was doubtful if he would have recognized it, for even the house was new.
Alaire had some such thought in mind as she rode up to the gate on the afternoon following her departure from the water-hole, and she felt a thrill of pride at the acres of sprouting corn, the dense green fields of alfalfa so nicely fitted between their fences. They were like clean, green squares of matting spread for the feet of summer.
A Mexican boy came running to care for her horse, a Mexican woman greeted her as she entered the wide, cool hall and went to her room.
Alaire had ridden far. Part of the night had been spent at the Balli goat-ranch, the remainder of the journey had been hot and dusty, and even yet she was not wholly recovered from her experience of the outward trip.
The house servants at Las Palmas were, on the whole, well trained, and Mrs. Austin's periodic absences excited no comment; in the present instance, Dolores fixed a bath and laid out clean clothes with no more than a running accompaniment of chatter concerned with household affairs. Dolores, indeed, was superior to the ordinary servant; she was a woman of some managerial ability, and she combined the duties of personal maid with those of housekeeper. She was a great gossip, and possessed such a talent for gaining information that through her husband, Benito, the range boss, she was able to keep her mistress in fairly intimate touch with ranch matters.
Alaire, however, was at this moment in no mood to resume the tiresome details of management; she quickly dismissed her servitor and proceeded to revel in the luxury of a cool bath, after which she took a nap.
Later, as she leisurely dressed herself, she acknowledged that it was good to feel the physical comforts of her own house, even though her home-coming gave her no especial joy. She made it a religious practice to dress for dinner, regardless of Ed's presence, though often for weeks at a time she sat in solitary state, presiding over an empty table. Nevertheless, she kept to her custom, for not only did the formality help her to retain her own self-respect, but it had its influence upon the servants. Without companions.h.i.+p one needs to be ever upon guard to retain the nice refinements of gentle breeding, and any one who has exercised authority in savage countries soon learns the importance of leaving unbridged the gulf of color and of cla.s.s.
But Alaire looked forward to no lonely dinner to-night, for Ed was at home. It was with a grave preoccupation that she made herself ready to meet him.
Dolores bustled in for a second time and straightway launched herself into a tirade against Juan, the horse-boy.
”Devil take me if there was ever such a shameless fellow,” she cried, angrily. ”He delights in tormenting me, and--Dios!--he is lazier than a snake. Work? Bah! He abhors it. All day long he snaps his revolver and pretends to be a bandido, and when he is not risking h.e.l.l's fire in that way he is whirling his riata and jumping through it. Useless capers! He ropes the dog, he ropes the rose-bushes, he ropes fat Victoria, the cook, carrying a huge bowl of hot water to scald the ants' nest. Victoria's stomach is boiled red altogether, and so painful that when she comes near the stove she curses in a way to chill your blood. What does he do this morning but fling his wicked loop over a calf's head and break off one of its little horns. It was terrible; but Senor Austin only laughed and told him he was a fine vaquero.”
”Has Mr. Austin been here all the time?”
”Yes.”
”Has he--drunk much?”
”Um-m. No more than common. He is on the gallery now with his c.o.c.ktails.”
”He knows I am at home?”
”I told him.”
Alaire went on dressing. After a little she asked: ”Has Benito finished branding the calves in the south pasture?”
”He finished yesterday and sent the remuda to the Six Mile. Jose Sanchez will have completed the rodeo by this afternoon. Benito rode in last night to see you.”
”By the way, you know Jose's cousin, Panfilo?”
”Si.”
”Why did he leave Las Palmas?”
Dolores hesitated so long that her mistress turned upon her with a look of sharp inquiry.
”He went to La Feria, senora.” Then, in a lowered tone: ”Mr. Austin ordered it. Suddenly, without warning, he sent him away, though Panfilo did not wish to go, Benito told me all about it.”
”Why was he transferred? Come! What ails your tongue, Dolores?”
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