Part 23 (1/2)
”That is so,” he struck in, pleased with my ready intelligence; ”the mouth is the spigot.”
”I should have thought the nose more like the spigot,” I replied.
”No,” he gravely returned. ”You can make a loud noise with the nose when you snore or blow it in a handkerchief; but it has no door of communication with the brain. The things that are in the brain flow out by the mouth.”
”Very well,” said I, getting impatient, ”call the mouth spigot, bung-hole, or what you like, and the nose merely an ornament on the cask. The thing is this: Dona Demetria has entrusted you with some liquor to pa.s.s on to me; now pa.s.s it, thick or clear.”
”Not thick,” he answered stubbornly.
”Very well; clear then,” I shouted.
”To give it to you clear I must give it off and not on my horse, sitting still and not moving.”
Anxious to have it over without more beating about the bush, I reined up my horse, jumped off, and sat down on the gra.s.s without another word.
He followed my example, and, after seating himself in a comfortable position, deliberately drew out his tobacco-pouch and began making a cigarette. I could not quarrel with him for this further delay, for without the soothing, stimulating cigarette an Oriental finds it difficult to collect his thoughts. Leaving him to carry out his instructions in his own laborious fas.h.i.+on, I vented my irritation on the gra.s.s, plucking it up by handfuls.
”Why do you do that?” he asked, with a grin.
”Pluck gra.s.s? What a question! When a person sits down on the gra.s.s, what is the first thing he does?”
”Makes a cigarette,” he returned.
”In my country he begins plucking up the gra.s.s,” I said.
”In the Banda Oriental we leave the gra.s.s for the cattle to eat,” said he.
I at once gave up pulling the gra.s.s, for it evidently distracted his mind, and, lighting a cigarette, began smoking as placidly as I could.
At length he began: ”There is not in all the Banda Oriental a worse person to express things than myself.”
”You are speaking the truth,” I said.
”But what is to be done?” he continued, staring straight before him and giving as little heed to my interruption as a hunter riding at a stiff fence would pay to a remark about the weather. ”When a man cannot get a knife, he breaks in two an old pair of sheep-shears, and with one of the blades makes himself an implement which has to serve him for a knife.
This is how it is with Dona Demetria; she has no one but her poor Santos to speak for her. If she had asked me to expose my life in her service, that I could easily have done; but to speak for her to a man who can read the almanac and knows the names of all the stars in the sky, that kills me, senor. And who knows this better than my mistress, who has been intimate with me from her infancy, when I often carried her in my arms? I can only say this, senor; when I speak, remember my poverty and that my mistress has no instrument except my poor tongue to convey her wishes. Words has she told me to say to you, but my devil of a memory has lost them all. What am I to do in this case? If I wished to buy my neighbour's horse, and went to him and said, 'Sell me your horse, neighbour, for I have fallen in love with it and my heart is sick with desire, so that I must have it at any price,' would that not be madness, senor? Yet I must be like that imprudent person. I come to you for something, and all her expressions, which were like rare flowers culled from a garden, have been lost by the way. Therefore I can only say this thing which my mistress desires, putting it in my own brute words, which are like wild flowers I have myself gathered on the plain, that have neither fragrance nor beauty to recommend them.”
This quaint exordium did not advance matters much, but it had the effect of rousing my attention and convincing me that the message entrusted to Santos was one of very grave import. He had finished his first cigarette and now began slowly making himself a second one; but I waited patiently for him to speak, my irritation had quite vanished, those ”wild flowers”
of his were not without beauty, and his love and devotion for his unhappy mistress made them smell very sweet.
Presently he resumed: ”Senor, you have told my mistress that you are a poor man; that you look upon this country life as a free and happy one; that above all things you would like to possess an _estancia_ where you could breed cattle and race-horses and hunt ostriches. All this she has revolved in her mind, and because it is in her power to offer you the things you desire does she now ask you to aid her in her trouble. And now, senor, let me tell you this. The Peralta property extends all the way to the Rocha waters; five leagues of land, and there is none better in this department. It was formerly well stocked. There were thousands of cattle and mares; for my master's party then ruled in the country; the Colorados were shut up in Montevideo, and that cut-throat Frutos Rivera never came into this part. Of the cattle only a remnant remains, but the land is a fortune for any man, and, when my old master dies, Dona Demetria inherits all. Even now it is hers, since her father has lost his calabash, as you have seen. Now let me tell you what happened many years ago. Don Hilario was at first a peon--a poor boy the Colonel befriended. When he grew up he was made _capatas,_ then _mayordomo._ Don Calixto was killed and the Colonel lost his reason, then Don Hilario made himself all-powerful, doing what he liked with his master, and setting Dona Demetria's authority aside. Did he protect the interests of the _estancia?_ On the contrary, he was one with our enemies, and when they came like dogs for our cattle and horses he was behind them. This he did to make friends of the reigning party, when the Blancos had lost everything. Now he wishes to marry Dona Demetria to make himself owner of the land. Don Calixto is dead, and who is there to bell the cat? Even now he acts like the only owner; he buys and sells and the money is his.
My mistress is scarcely allowed clothes to wear; she has no horse to ride on and is a prisoner in her own house. He watches her like a cat watching a bird shut in a room; if he suspected her of an intention to make her escape he would murder her. He has sworn to her that unless she marries him he will kill her. Is not this sad? Senor, she asks you to deliver her from this man. Her words I have forgotten, but imagine that you see her before you a suppliant on her knees, and that you know what the thing is she asks, and see her lips move, though you do not hear her words.”
”Tell me how I can deliver her?” I said, feeling very much moved at what I had heard.
”How! By carrying her off forcibly--do you understand? Is it not in your power to return in a few days' time with two or three friends to do this thing? You must come disguised and armed. If I am in the way I will do what I can to protect her, but you will easily knock me down and stun me--do you understand? Don Hilario must not know that we are in the plot. From him fear nothing, for, though he is brave enough to threaten a woman with death, before armed men he is like a dog that hears thunder. You can then take her to Montevideo and conceal her there. The rest will be easy. Don Hilario will fail to find her; Ramona and I will take care of the Colonel, and when his daughter is out of his sight perhaps he will forget her. Then, senor, there will be no trouble about the property; for who can resist a legal claim?”
”I do not understand you, Santos,” said I. ”If Demetria wishes me to do what you say, and there is no other way to save her from Don Hilario's persecutions, I will do it. I will do anything to serve her, and I have no fear of that dog Hilario. But when I have placed her in concealment, who in Montevideo, where she is without a friend, will take up her cause and see that she is not defrauded of her rights? I can give her liberty, but that will be all.”
”The property will be the same as yours when you marry her,” said he.