Part 8 (1/2)
”Saved!” repeated Guest, with incredulous contempt.
”Ay!” said Pereo, haughtily, drawing his figure erect; ”ay, saved!
Senor.” He stopped and shrugged his shoulders. ”But let it pa.s.s--I say--let it pa.s.s. Take an old man's advice, friend: show not your gold hereafter to strangers lightly, no matter how lightly you have come by it. Good-night!”
Guest for a moment hesitated whether to resent the old man's speech, or to let it pa.s.s as the incoherent fancy of a brain maddened by drink.
Then he ended the discussion by turning his back abruptly and continuing his way to the high-road.
”So!” said Pereo, looking after him with abstracted eyes, ”so! it was only a fancy. And yet--even now, as he turned away, I saw the same cold insolence in his eye. Caramba! Am I mad--mad--that I must keep forever before my eyes, night and day, the image of that dog in every outcast, every ruffian, every wayside bully that I meet? No, no, good Pereo! Softly! this is mere madness, good Pereo,” he murmured to himself; ”thou wilt have none of it; none, good Pereo. Come, come!”
He let his head fall slowly forward on his breast, and in that action, seeming to take up again the burden of a score more years upon his shoulders, he moved slowly away.
When he entered the fonda half an hour later, the awe in which he was held by the half superst.i.tious ruffians appeared to have increased.
Whatever story the fugitive Miguel had told his companions regarding Pereo's protection of the young stranger, it was certain that it had its full effect. Obsequious to the last degree, the landlord was so profoundly touched, when Pereo, not displeased with this evidence of his power over his countrymen, condescendingly offered to click gla.s.ses with him, that he endeavored to placate him still further.
”It is a pity your wors.h.i.+p was not here earlier,” he began, with a significant glance at the others, ”to have seen a gallant young stranger that was here. A spice of wickedness about him, truly--a kind of Don Caesar--but bearing himself like a very caballero always. It would have pleased your wors.h.i.+p, who likes not those canting Puritans such as our neighbor yonder.”
”Ah,” said Pereo, reflectively, warming under the potent fires of flattery and aguardiente, ”possibly I HAVE seen him. He was like--”
”Like none of the dogs thou hast seen about San Antonio,” interrupted the landlord. ”Scarcely did he seem Americano, though he spoke no Spanish.”
The old man chuckled to himself viciously. ”And thou, thou old fool, Pereo, must needs see a likeness to thine enemy in this poor runaway child--this fugitive Don Juan! He! he!” Nevertheless, he still felt a vague terror of the condition of mind which had produced this fancy, and drank so deeply to dispel his nervousness that it was with difficulty he could mount his horse again. The exaltation of liquor, however, appeared only to intensify his characteristics: his face became more lugubrious and melancholy; his manner more ceremonious and dignified; and, erect and stiff in his saddle from the waist upwards, but leaning from side to side with the motion of his horse, like the tall mast of some laboring sloop, he ”loped” away towards the House of the Lost Mission. Once or twice he broke into sentimental song.
Strangely enough, his ditty was a popular Spanish refrain of some matador's aristocratic inamorata:--
Do you see my black eyes?
I am Manuel's d.u.c.h.ess,--
sang Pereo, with infinite gravity. His horse's hoofs seemed to keep time with the refrain, and he occasionally waved in the air the long leather thong of his bridle-rein.
It was quite late when he reached La Mision Perdida. Turning into the little lane that led to the stable-yard, he dismounted at a gate in the hedge which led to the summerhouse of the old Mision garden, and, throwing his reins on his mustang's neck, let the animal precede him to the stables. The moon shone full on the inclosure as he emerged from the labyrinth. With uncovered head he approached the Indian mound, and sank on his knees before it.
The next moment he rose, with an exclamation of terror, and his hat dropped from his trembling hand. Directly before him, a small, gray, wolfish-looking animal had stopped half-way down the mound on encountering his motionless figure. Frightened by his outcry, and unable to retreat, the shadowy depredator had fallen back on his slinking haunches with a snarl, and bared teeth that glittered in the moonlight.
In an instant the expression of terror on the old man's ashen face turned into a fixed look of insane exaltation. His white lips moved; he advanced a step further, and held out both hands towards the crouching animal.
”So! It is thou--at last! And comest thou here thy tardy Pereo to chide? Comest THOU, too, to tell the poor old man his heart is cold, his limbs are feeble, his brain weak and dizzy? that he is no longer fit to do thy master's work? Ay, gnash thy teeth at him! Curse him!--curse him in thy throat! But listen!--listen, good friend--I will tell thee a secret--ay, good gray friar, a secret--such a secret!
A plan, all mine--fresh from this old gray head; ha! ha!--all mine! To be wrought by these poor old arms; ha! ha! All mine! Listen!”
He stealthily made a step nearer the affrighted animal. With a sudden sidelong snap, it swiftly bounded by his side, and vanished in the thicket; and Pereo, turning wildly, with a moan sank down helplessly on the grave of his forefathers.
CHAPTER VI
To the open chagrin of most of the gentlemen and the unexpected relief of some of her own s.e.x, Maruja, after an evening of more than usual caprice and willfulness, retired early to her chamber. Here she beguiled Enriquita, a younger sister, to share her solitude for an hour, and with a new and charming melancholy presented her with mature counsel and some younger trinkets and adornments.
”Thou wilt find them but folly, 'Riquita; but thou art young, and wilt outgrow them as I have. I am sick of the Indian beads, everybody wears them; but they seem to suit thy complexion. Thou art not yet quite old enough for jewelry; but take thy choice of these.” ”'Ruja,” replied Enriquita, eagerly, ”surely thou wilt not give up this necklace of carved amber, that was brought thee from Manilla--it becomes thee so!
Everybody says it. All the caballeros, Raymond and Victor, swear that it sets off thy beauty like nothing else.” ”When thou knowest men better,” responded Maruja, in a deep voice, ”thou wilt care less for what they say, and despise what they do. Besides, I wore it to-day--and--I hate it.” ”But what fan wilt thou keep thyself? The one of sandal-wood thou hadst to-day?” continued Enriquita, timidly eying the pretty things upon the table. ”None,” responded Maruja, didactically, ”but the simplest, which I shall buy myself. Truly, it is time to set one's self against this extravagance. Girls think nothing of spending as much upon a fan as would buy a horse and saddle for a poor man.” ”But why so serious tonight, my sister?” said the little Enriquita, her eyes filling with ready tears. ”It grieves me,”
responded Maruja, promptly, ”to find thee, like the rest, giving thy soul up to the mere glitter of the world. However, go, child, take the heads, but leave the amber; it would make thee yellower than thou art; which the blessed Virgin forbid! Good-night!”
She kissed her affectionately, and pushed her from the room.