A Daughter of the Dons: A Story of New Mexico Today

  CHAPTER V

  "AN OPTIMISTIC GUY"

  Dick Gordon hobbled up the road, quite unaware for some time that he hada ricked knee. His thoughts were busy with the finale that had just beenenacted. He could not keep from laughing ruefully at the differencebetween it and the one of his day-dreams. He was too much of a Westernernot to see the humor of the comedy in which he had been forced to take aleading part, but he had insight enough to divine that it was much morelikely to prove melodrama than farce.

  Don Manuel was not the man to sit down under such an insult as he hadendured, even though he had brought it upon himself. It would too surelybe noised round that the _Americano_ was the claimant to the estate, inwhich event he was very likely to play the part of a sheath for restlessstilettos.

  This did not trouble him as much as it would have done some men. Thereal sting of the episode lay in Valencia Valdes' attitude toward him.He had been kicked out for his unworthiness. He had been cast aside as aspy and a sneak.

  The worst of it was that he felt his clumsiness deserved no less anissue to the adventure. Confound that little Don Manuel for bobbing upat such an inconvenient time! It was fierce luck.

  He stopped his tramp up the hill, and looked back over the valley.Legally it was all his. So his Denver lawyers had told him, afterlooking the case over carefully. The courts would decide for him in allprobability; morally he had not the shadow of a claim. The valley injustice belonged to those who had settled in it and were using it fortheir needs. His claim was merely a paper one. It had not a scintilla ofnatural justice back of it.

  He resumed his journey. By this time his knee was sending telegrams ofpain to headquarters. He cut an aspen by the roadside and trimmed it toa walking-stick and, as he went forward, leaned more and more heavilyupon it.

  "I'm going to have a game leg for fair if I don't look out," he toldhimself ruefully. "This right pin surely ain't good for a twelve-miletramp."

  It was during one of his frequent stops to rest that a buggy appearedround the turn from the same direction he had come. It drew to a halt infront of him, and the lad who was driving got out.

  "Senorita Maria sends a carriage for Senor Gordon to take him toCorbett's," he said.

  Dick was on hand with a sardonic smile.

  "Tell the _senorita_ that Mr. Gordon regrets having put her to so muchtrouble, but that he needs the exercise and prefers to walk."

  "The _senorita_ said I was to insist, _senor_."

  "Tell your mistress that I'm very much obliged to her, but have madeother arrangements. Explain to her I appreciate the offer just thesame."

  The lad hesitated, and Dick pushed him into decision.

  "That's all right, Juan--Jose--Pedro--Francisco--whatever your name is.You've done your levelest. Now, hike back to the ranch. _Vamos! Sabe._"

  "_Si, senor._"

  Dick heard the wheels disappear in the distance, and laughed aloud.

  "That young woman's conscience is hurting her. I reckon this tramp toCorbett's is going to worry her tender heart about as much as it doesme, and I've got to sweat blood before I get through with it. Here goesagain, Dicky."

  Every step sent a pain shooting through him, but he was the last man togive up on that account what he had undertaken.

  "She let me go without any lunch," he chuckled. "I'll bet that troublesher some, too, when she remembers. She's got me out of the house, butI'll bet the last strike in the Nancy K. against a dollar Mex that sheain't got me out of her mind by a heap."

  A buggy appeared in sight driven by a stout, red-faced old man.Evidently he was on his way to the ranch.

  "Who, hello, Doctor! I'm plumb glad to see you; couldn't wait till youcame, and had just to start out to meet you," cried Dick.

  He stood laughing at the amazement in the face of the doctor, who was intwo minds whether to get angry or not.

  "Doggone your hide, what are you doing here? Didn't I tell you not towalk more than a few steps?" that gentleman protested.

  "But you didn't leave me a motor-car and, my visit being at an end, Ice'tainly had to get back to Corbett's." As he spoke he climbed slowlyinto the rig. "That leg of mine is acting like sixty, Doctor. When youhappened along I was wondering how in time I was ever going to make it."

  "You may have lamed yourself for life. It's the most idiotic thing Iever heard of. I don't see why Miss Valdes let you come. Dad blame it,have I got to watch my patients like a hen does its chicks? Ain't any ofyou got a lick of sense? Why didn't she send a rig if you had to come?"the doctor demanded.

  "Seems to me she did mention a rig, but I thought I'd rather walk,"explained Gordon casually, much amused at Dr. Watson's chagrined wonder.

  "Walk!" snorted the physician. "You'll not walk, but be carried into anoperating-room if you're not precious lucky. You deserve to lose thatleg, and I don't say you won't."

  "I'm an optimistic guy, Doctor. I'll say it for you. I ain't got anylegs to spare."

  "Huh! Some people haven't got the sense of a chicken with its head cutoff."

  "Now you're shouting. Go for me, Doc. Then, mebbe, I'll do better nexttime."

  The doctor gave up this incorrigible patient and relapsed into silence,from which he came occasionally with an explosive "Huh!" Once he brokeout with: "Didn't she feed you well enough, or was it just that youdidn't _know_ when you were well off?"

  For he was aware that his patient's fever was rising and, like a goodpractitioner, he fumed at such useless relapse.

  The knee had been doing fine. Now there would be the devil to pay withit. The utter senselessness of the proceeding irritated Watson. What inMexico had got into the young idiot to make him do such a fool thing?The doctor guessed at a quarrel between him and Miss Valdes. But theclose-mouthed American gave him no grounds upon which to base hissuspicion.

  The first thing that Dick did after reaching Corbett's was to send twotelegrams. One was addressed to Messrs. Hughes & Willets, 411-417Equitable Building, Denver, Colorado; the other went to Stephen Davis,Cripple Creek, of the same state.

  Doctor Watson hustled his patient to bed and did his best to relieve theincreasing pain in the swollen knee. He swore gently and sputtered andfumed as he worked, restraining himself only when Mrs. Corbett came intothe room with hot water, towels, compresses, and other supplies.

  "What about a nurse?" Watson wanted to know of Mrs. Corbett, a largemotherly woman whose kind heart always found room in it for the weak andhelpless.

  "I got no room for one. Juanita and I will take care of him. The work'sslack now. We'll have time."

  "He's going to take a heap of nursing," the doctor answered, rubbing hisunshaven chin dubiously with the palm of his hand. "See how the fever'sclimbed up even in the last half hour. That boy's going to be a mightysick _hombre_."

  "I'm used to nursing, and Juanita is the best help I ever had, if she_is_ a Mexican. You may trust him to us."

  "Hmp! I wasn't thinking of him, but of you. Couldn't be in better hands,but it's an imposition for him to go racing all over these hills with agame leg and expect you to pull him through."

  Before midnight Dick was in a raging fever. In delirium he tossed fromside to side, sometimes silent for long stretches, then babblingfragments of forgotten scenes rescued by his memory automatically fromthe wild and picturesque past of the man. Now he fancied himself again aschoolboy, now a ranger in Arizona, now mushing on the snow trails ofAlaska. At times he would imagine that he was defending his mine againstattacking strikers, or that he was combing the Rincons for horsethieves. Out of his turbid past flared for an instant dramatic momentsof comedy or tragedy. These passed like the scenes of a motion-picturestory, giving place to something else.

  In the end he came back always to the adventure he was still living.

  "You're a spy.... You're a liar and a cheat.... You imposed yourselfupon my hospitality under false pretenses.... I hate myself forbreathing the same air as you." He would break off to laugh foolishly,in a high-pitched note of derision at himself. "Stand up, Di
ck Gordon,and hear the lady tell you what a coyote you are. Stan' up and face themusic, you quitter. Liar ... spy ... cheat! That's you, Dick Gordon,un'erstand?"

  Or the sick mind of the man would forget for the moment that they hadquarreled. His tongue would run over conversations that they had had,cherishing and repeating over and over again her gay little quips andsallies or her light phrases.

  "Valencia Valdes is as God made her. Now you're throwing sixes, ma'am.Sure she's like that. The devil helped a heap to make most of us what weare, but I reckon God made that little lady early in the mo'ning when Hewas feeling fine.... Say, I wish you'd look at me like that again andlight up with another of them dimply smiles. I got a surprise for you,Princess of the Rio Chama. Honest, I have. Sure as you're a foothigh.... Never you mind what it is. Just you wait a while and I'llspring it when the time's good and ready. I got to wait till the paperscome. See? ... Oh, shucks, you're sore at me again! Liar ... cheat ...spy! Say, I know when I've had a-plenty. She don't like me. I'm goin' topull my freight for the Kotzebue country up in Alaska.

  '_On the road to Kotzebue, optimistic through and through, We'll hit the trail together, boy, once more, jest me an' you_.'

  Funny how women act, ain't it? Stand up and take your medicine--liar ...cheat ... spy! She said it, didn't she? Well, then, it must be so. Whatyou kickin' about?"

  So he would run on until the fever had for the hour exhausted itself andhe lay still among the pillows. Sometimes he talked the strong languageof the man in battle with other men, but even in his oaths there wasnothing of vulgarity.

  Mrs. Corbett took the bulk of the nursing on her own broad fatshoulders, but during the day she was often relieved by her maid whileshe got a few hours of sleep.

  Juanita was a slim, straight girl not yet nineteen. Even before hissickness Dick, with the instinct for deference to all women ofself-respect that obtains among frontiersmen, had won the gratitude ofthe shy creature. There was something wild and sylvan about her sweetgrace. The deep, soft eyes in the brown oval face were as appealing asthose of a doe wounded by the hunter.

  She developed into a famous nurse. Low-voiced and soft-footed, she wouldcoax the delirious man to lie down when he grew excited or to take hismedicine according to the orders of the doctor.

  It was on the third day after Gordon's return to Corbett's that Juanitaheard a whistle while she was washing dishes after supper in thekitchen. Presently she slipped out of the back door and took the trailto the corral. A man moved forward out of the gloom to meet her.

  "Is it you, Pablo?"

  A slender youth, lean-flanked and broad-shouldered, her visitor turnedout to be. His outstretched hands went forward swiftly to meet hers.

  "Juanita, light of my life?" he cried softly. "_Corazon mia!_"

  She submitted with a little reluctant protest to his caress. "I have buta minute, Pablo. The _senora_ wants to walk over to Dolan's place. I amto stay with the sick American."

  He exploded with low, fierce energy. "A thousand curses take the gringo!Why should you nurse him? Is he not an enemy to the _senorita_--to allin the valley who have bought from her or her father or her grandfather?Is he not here to throw us out--a thief, a spy, a snake in the grass?"

  "No, he is not. _Senor_ Gordon is good ... and kind."

  "Bah! You are but a girl. He gives you soft words--and so----" Thejealousy in him flared suddenly out. He caught his sweetheart tightly bythe arm. "Has he made love to you, this gringo? Has he whispered soft,false lies in your ear, Juanita? If he has----"

  She tried to twist free from him. "You are hurting my arm, Pablo," thegirl cried.

  "It is my heart you hurt, _nina_. Is it true that this thief has stolenthe love of my Juanita?"

  "You are a fool, Pablo. He has never said a hundred words to me. Allthrough his sickness he has talked and talked--but it is of _Senorita_Valdes that he has raved."

  "So. He will rob her of all she has and yet can talk of loving her. Doyou not see he is a villain, that he has the forked tongue, as old BearPaw, the Navajo, says of all gringoes? But let Senor Gordon beware. Histime is short. He will not live to drive us from the valley. So say I.So say all the men in the valley."

  "No--no! I will not have it, Pablo. You do not know. This _Senor_ Gordonis good. He would not drive us away." Her arms slid around the neck ofher lover and she pleaded with him impetuously. "You must not let themhurt him, for it is a kind heart he has."

  "Why should I interfere? He is only a gringo. Let him die. I tell you hemeans harm to all of us."

  "I do not know my Pablo when he talks like this. My Pablo was alwayskind and good and of a soft heart. I do not love him when he is cruel."

  "It is then that you love the American," he cried. "Did I not know it?Did I not say so?"

  "You say much that is foolish, _muchacho_. The American is a stranger tome ... and you are Pablo. But how can I love you when your heart is fullof cruelty and jealousy and revenge? Go to the Blessed Virgin andconfess before the good priest your sins, _amigo_."

  "_Amigo!_ Since when have I been friend to you and not lover, Juanita? Iknow well for how long--since this gringo with the white face crossedyour trail."

  Suddenly she flung away from him. "_Muy bien!_ You shall think as youplease. Adios, my friend with the head of a donkey! _Adios, icabron!_"

  She was gone, light as the wind, flying with swift feet down the trailto the house. Sulkily he waited for her to come out again, but the girldid not appear. He gave her a full half hour before he swung to thesaddle and turned the head of his pony toward the Valdes' hacienda. Anew and poignant bitterness surged in his heart. Had this stranger, whowas bringing trouble to the whole valley, come between him and littleJuanita, whom he had loved since they had been children? Had he stolenher heart with his devilish wiles? The hard glitter in the black eyes ofthe Mexican told that he would punish him if this were true.

  His younger brother Pedro took the horse from him as he rode into theranch plaza an hour later.

  "You are to go to the _senorita_ at once and tell her how the gringo is,Pablo." After a moment he added sullenly: "_Maldito_, how is the son ofa thief?"

  "Sick, Pedro, sick unto death. The devil, as you say, may take him yetwithout any aid from us," answered Pablo Menendez brusquely.

  "Why does the _senorita_ send you every day to find out how he is? Canshe not telephone? And why should she care what becomes of the traitor?"demanded Pedro angrily.

  His brother shrugged. "How should I know?" He had troubles enough withthe fancies of another woman without bothering about those of the_senorita_.

  Valencia Valdes was on the porch waiting for her messenger.

  "How is he, Pablo? Did you see the doctor and talk with him? What doeshe say?"

  "_Si, senorita_. I saw Doctor Watson and he send you this letter. Theysay the American is a sick man--oh, very, very sick!"

  The young woman dismissed him with a nod and hurried to her room. Sheread the letter from the doctor and looked out of one of the deep adobewindows into the starry night. It happened to be the same window fromwhich she had last seen him go hobbling down the road. She rose and putout the light so that she could weep the more freely. It was hard forher to say why her heart was so heavy. To herself she denied that shecared for this jaunty debonair scoundrel. He was no doubt all she hadtold him on that day when she had driven him away.

  Yes, but she had sent him to pain and illness ... perhaps to death. Thetears fell fast upon the white cheeks. Surely it was not her fault thathe had been so obstinate. Yet--down in the depth of her heart she knewshe loved the courage that had carried him with such sardonic derisionout upon the road for the long tramp that had so injured him. And therewas an inner citadel within her that refused to believe him the sneakingpup she had accused him of being. No man with such honest eyes, whostood so erect and graceful in the image of God, could be socontemptible a cur. There was something fine about the spirit of theman. She had sensed the kinship of it without being able to put a fingerexactly upon
the quality she meant. He might be a sinner, but it washard to believe him a small and mean one. The dynamic spark ofself-respect burned too brightly in his soul for that.