Читать книгу The Squatter and the Don - María Amparo Ruiz de Burton - Страница 7

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Darrell was not the man to make any delay in putting into practice a project, when once adopted. He therefore immediately wrote home saying that he “had located,” and wished Clarence to come down as soon as home matters permitted it. All the crops must be in first, so that Everett and Webster could take care of the farm when Clarence left. They had two good farm hands and a man to take care of the dairy, but still, Darrell made his boys give their personal attention to all the work on the farm. He wrote to Clarence that he would build a small house quickly, which afterwards could be used for the hired men, and would wait until he came down to begin building their dwelling house. That he would level the ground for the house, sink a couple of wells and put up two windmills, the running stream not being sufficient.

“I think I had better buy the lumber for the house up here and charter a schooner to send it down,” Clarence said to his mother, after reading his father's letter.

“Did he say anything to you about the condition of the title?” Mrs. Darrell asked.

“Not a word. I suppose the land is vacant,” Clarence replied. Mrs. Darrell shook her head, as if in doubt.

“I want you to see to that, before there is any house built in which I shall be expected to reside,” she said. “The first thing you do when you get there is to inquire whether the land has been finally rejected and there is no litigation for it. If there is, I want you to pay for it to the owner. And if he will not or cannot sell, write to me at once.”

“Very well, mother, I shall do as you say, and I assure you I do not wish father to take up any land claimed by any one under a Mexican title. I think those Spanish people ought to be allowed to keep the land that their government gave them. We ought not to have made any laws that would place their titles in a bad light and be questioned. We should have accepted the legality they had before their own Mexican government, without making some other legality requisite, to please ourselves,” Clarence said.

“That has always been my opinion, but I have failed to convince your father. However, with our combined efforts, we might dissuade him from his present way of thinking,” said Mrs. Darrell.

Clarence would not be able to leave home for a few weeks yet. In the meantime, his father had not been idle, he had lost no time in carrying out his plans, and shortly after making his “location” in the manner described, he had several men engaged in different employments at his place. When he had already begun building the small house, of which he spoke in his letter to Clarence, Don Mariano, accompanied by his two sons, rode up to the place where he was then superintending his workmen.

“Good morning, Mr. Darrell,” said Don Mariano.

“Good morning,” Darrell answered, laconically.

“Can I speak a few words with you?”

“Certainly,” he said, going a few steps nearer.

“I see you have taken up some land here, and I suppose you think it is government land, but if so, you are misinformed. This land belongs to me,” Don Mariano said.

“Why is it reported rejected then? I have seen the law report, stating that your title was rejected.”

“Yes, I know that such is the case. For some mistake or other the entry was made placing my title in the list of those rejected, but I assure you that it is a mistake. My title is now before the attorney general in Washington, because, having been approved, the settlers took an appeal. If the attorney general sustains the appeal, I suppose he will remand the case for a new trial, but I have reasons to suppose he will dismiss the appeal and affirm the decision of the District Court in my favor.”

“We will see about that,” Darrell said.

“Undoubtedly we will; meantime I thought it was best to undeceive you, and give you warning that you are building on my land.”

“Your land if you get it,” was the answer.

“If you knew the condition of my title I don't think that you would doubt that this land is mine. However, all I wish to do is to prevent you from spending money here and then naturally get into litigation with me to defend your property,” said Don Mariano.

Darrell thought of his wife, and her earnest injunctions. He wished to keep his promise to her. He said:

“If the courts say that this land rightfully belongs to you, I shall pay you for your land or vacate.”

“But, Mr. Darrell, you will get me into litigation with you, and I wish to avoid that.”

“No, I shall not get you into any law suit with me. I shall buy your land or leave.”

“Very well, Mr. Darrell, I shall rely on your word. I shall remember what you say; please do the same.”

“I am not in the habit of forgetting what I say.”

Don Mariano and his two sons lifted their hats, bowed slightly, turned their horses' heads and moved off.

Darrell returned their bow, muttering to himself, “They take off their hats and bow like gentlemen, anyway.”

While he was talking with Don Mariano, Mathews, Hughes, Gasbang, Miller and Pittikin had come. They heard all that was said and looked disappointed. They evidently had counted upon Darrell to help them to fight the rightful owner.

“Did I understand you to say to the Don that you will not maintain your claim, if the attorney general dismisses our appeal?” asked Gasbang.

“I don't know what you understood, or what you did not understand. What I said was that if the Don's title is decided to be right and legal, I shall not contest it. Why should I, if the land is his? I came here to take up government land, believing his title was rejected. He says it is not.”

“He lies; it was rejected,” Gasbang said.

“That is why we appealed,” Mathews added.

“Very well; we will wait. For my part, I think that if his title was rejected he will find it hard to get it back,” said Darrell.

The fact of his going on with his building ought to have been sufficient proof to the other settlers that he had cast his lot with them. But it was not. They feared that at any time he might pay the Don for his land, and cease to be one of them; cease to be a “squatter.” These doubts, these fears, were the perennial theme of endless discussion with the settlers of Alamar.

With date of February 14, 1872, the Honorable Legislature of California passed a law “To protect agriculture, and to prevent the trespassing of animals upon private property in the County of Los Angeles, and the County of San Diego, and parts of Monterey County.”

In the very first section it recited, that “every owner or occupant of land, whether it is enclosed or not,” could take up cattle found in said land, etc., etc. It was not stated to be necessary that the occupant should have a good title. All that was required seemed to be that he should claim to be an occupant of land, no matter who was the owner.

Before this law came out, Don Mariano had already had a great deal of trouble with the squatters, who kept killing his cattle by the hundred head at times. After this law passed, he had the additional annoyance of having to pay money for the release of cattle taken up by occupants who would not fence their ten-acre crops. Thus, the alternative was, that if cattle were not taken up, he was sure to find them shot dead by some invisible hand. He had hoped that the Legislature would pass a law saying that “unless occupants of land put fences around their fields, they would not be authorized to take up cattle.” But, instead of this, the above-mentioned law was enacted.

This was, of course, ruinous to Don Mariano, as well as to all owners of cattle ranchos where settlers had seen fit to locate homesteads. Now any one man, by planting one acre of grain to attract cattle to it, could make useless thousands of acres around it of excellent grazing, because it became necessary to drive cattle away from the vicinity of these unfenced fields.

In view of all this, and seeing that the new law would confirm the right to plant fields without fencing, and take up cattle, horses or any other animals found therein, Don Mariano thought he would call together all the settlers in his rancho, and make some proposition to them that would be fair to everybody, and by which he would save his cattle from getting killed or captured (when he must ransom them) all the time.

He told his idea to Mr. Mechlin, who thought it was a good plan, and volunteered to see some of the settlers with whom he was acquainted, thinking that these could see others, and in this manner a meeting be arranged. He started in the morning on his errand, and in the evening Don Mariano called to learn the result.

“These men are meaner and lower than I had supposed,” said Mr. Mechlin, whose very fine nervous organization ill-fitted him for the rough contact of Gasbangs. “Would you believe it, they suspected I wanted to lay a trap in which the innocent lambs would fall, and you—the wolf—catch them. If it had not been that I saw Darrell, I would have been utterly discouraged. And I suspect he would not have been half so polite and considerate but for the influence of his son, who has just arrived.”

“I heard he had. You saw him?”

“Yes; and a very gentlemanly, handsome young fellow he is. He made his father promise to go with him to see the settlers in person, and arrange for you to meet them; he will report to me in the evening the result of their embassy.”

Clarence kept his word to Mr. Mechlin, and immediately after breakfast he had his buggy and horses (a fine turnout he had brought from San Francisco) at the door. Darrell smiled, and good-naturedly took his seat beside his son, saying it would be best to begin by seeing Gasbang and Mathews. Fortunately they met these men, who were driving to see him, to ask his opinion about agreeing to meet Don Mariano. Darrell promptly told them that he thought no one of the settlers should refuse a request so easy to grant.

“But don't you think there is a trap in it?” Mathews asked.

“None whatever. We are not children,” Darrell replied.

“But suppose he makes us promise something?” Mathews argued.

“How can he coerce any one against his will,” said Darrell.

“No one will be obliged to accede unwillingly,” said Clarence. “Let us at least be courteous.”

“Certainly. Have you any idea what it is that he wants to say?” asked Gasbang.

“He wants to make some proposition to the settlers, by which he hopes that the interests of all concerned will be subserved,” said Clarence.

“Visionary!” exclaimed Gasbang, tapping his forehead with his forefinger; “not practical.”

“But his intentions are perfectly kind and fair,” Clarence said.

“That is to say, Mr. Mechlin thinks they are.”

“Why shouldn't they be? He certainly can't coerce anybody. Here we are on what he believes to be his land, and we don't think it is. Well, what of that?”

“He certainly won't propose to fight us single-handed. We are the majority,” said Darrell.

“All right. We'll see Hager and Miller, and the other fellows in that valley. But we think Mr. Clarence will do better with Hancock, Pittikin and Hughes. The female element is strong there, but it will weaken in his hands, and in that malleable condition, he can shape it to suit himself, with one look out of his eyes at the whole troop of girls,” said Gasbang.

“Goodness! You don't suppose I would go to play the sweet fellow to those ugly old girls, and make a fool of myself,” said Clarence, with so genuine a look of thorough disgust, that it made John Gasbang indulge in one of his loudest fits of hilarity. “Don't be alarmed, my young friend. There is no harm for you there. I could turn you loose among those girls and you would be as safe as Daniel among ‘lions’ or in ‘fiery furnace.’ You would not get a single scratch, or feel any flames at all,” said he.

“What a low, vulgar fellow this is, even too low for a squatter,” said Clarence, driving off.

“Phew!” ejaculated the elder Darrell, “you speak like a Don. Your idea of a squatter is not flattering.”

“It is flattering thus far, that I think Gasbang is too low for the settler, who means no wrong-doing—the average squatter. As for Mathews, I am sure he is a cut-throat by instinct.”

“That may be; but I think their idea of your seeing Pittikin and Hughes is good. You can have more effect on them than Gasbang or Mathews.”

“O, I am willing to go to speak to the old men, but why should I see the girls?”

“You manage that part to suit yourself. And now stop. I'll drop here; you needn't go out of your way. I'll walk home. I want to see this piece of land near by. It has not been located. I might put a claim there for Everett and another for Webster.”

Clarence sighed, and silently drove on. He had passed by the Pittikin and Hughes farms the day he arrived, as his father had taken him to see how nicely the settlers were doing in Southern California; all expecting their prosperity to increase by the building of the railroad. Clarence saw the two houses and began to feel like a mariner of old between Scylla and Charybdis. There might be a troop of ugly old girls in each house. If he could only see some men out in the fields. But the fields looked deserted. Where could the men be—this being no Sunday nor Fourth of July, that they should leave off work? On looking about for some human being to guide him, he saw in the distance, under a clump of dark trees, several wagons, and horses unhitched, standing harnessed near them.

He was about to turn to the left, to take the road between two fields, when he heard voices, shouting loudly. He supposed they were calling some one. The shouts were followed by a man on horseback galloping towards him. Clarence stopped and waited. The rider was no other than Mr. Pittikin, who came in person to invite him to join their picnic, in honor of his daughter's wedding. The opportunity to see the men together would be excellent, but the girls would be there, too, thought Clarence, not over pleased.

“Please excuse me, I am not dressed to appear in company. I came to see you on business,” said he.

“The girls said I must bring you.” Clarence felt a qualm. “And even if I have to fight you I must obey; obey the ladies, you know. There ain't many there. Only our two families—Hughes and mine, and neighbor Hancock's and a few friends. Indeed, we will feel slighted if you don't join us. We will feel you think us too humble a class for you to associate with.”

“Nothing of the kind. If I thought so, I would not hesitate to present myself before the ladies in this dress.”

“Come along, anyhow. We'll make all the allowance you want. But you see, this is my daughter Fanny's birthday and her wedding day. She was married to Romeo Hancock this morning. So we wanted a room as big as all out doors to celebrate the occasion. We thought the best thing would be to have a picnic under those beautiful trees. Come, please. If you ain't with us, you are against us.”

“I'll go home and put on other dress and come back immediately,” said Clarence.

Pittikin laughed. “Just what Fanny said. I tell you she is an awfully smart girl. She said, ‘He'll tell you he is going home to change his clothes, but don't you let him, because he'll only give us the slip.’ So you see, I can't let you go. Besides, they are setting the table—I mean to say, spreading the eatables—so you have no time to go home now.”

“But, look here, Mr. Pittikin, what is to become of my mission? I came to see you and Mr. Hughes on business, and not on a picnic.”

“Can't the business wait till to-morrow?”

“Not very well, as I promised Mr. Mechlin.”

“Oh! I know; Hughes told me,” interrupted Pittikin. “The Don wants to make speeches to the settlers to fool us into a—into—some terms of his, so that we'll kick ourselves out of our farms.”

“Nothing of the kind. He is not going to make any foolish propositions, but even if he were, you can lose nothing by being polite and listening to him.”

“I don't know but what you are right. I like always to be polite; and as for Hughes, he is the politest man going, and no mistake. He never speaks loud, and he always listens to you. I think it will be the best thing, perhaps, to see Hughes, now. Then there is neighbor Hancock, and neighbor Miller and Jackson, and the boys. Come along, we'll collar them in a bunch.”

“Then, I can count upon your help?”

“Certainly you can; for when it is a question of politeness, I won't be left behind, and if I give you my word, you can bet on me.”

Clarence was received with loud demonstrations of pleasure.

“Here he is,” said Pittikin, on arriving at the picnic ground; “I got him; but as he has some business to talk to us about, I promised him we would attend to that too, and mix business with pleasure, as it were. So, you talk to them girls, Mr. Darrell, while we old men see what can be done and how, and we'll let you know.”

Clarence was presented by Mr. Pittikin to Mrs. Pittikin, and this lady presented him to the company, saying that he must make himself at home, which Clarence did not see well how he could do.

But the young ladies could not boast of having often the good fortune to entertain a young gentleman as elegant, handsome and rich as Clarence, and they made good use of their golden opportunity. Sweet glances and complimentary expressions of pleasure, because the Darrell family were to be their neighbors, showered upon him, until he was ready to laugh outright. But he was too kind to have done anything so discourteous, and took it all in good part, thinking it was all meant in kindness.

“Come, let us show to Mr. Darrell our ice fountain; it is, I think, a great natural curiosity,” said Mrs. Romeo Hancock, the heroine of the day, being the lady in whose honor the hymeneal festivities took place. “Come girls and boys,” said she, and accompanied by Clarence, and followed by eight or ten others, she guided them to a little cave under a large oak, from which a muffled sound of tiny bells that seemed to tinkle and sigh and whisper, came forth. It seemed to Clarence as if the little fountain was in sympathy with the dispossessed owners, but did not dare to raise its timid voice in behalf of the vanquished, who no longer had rights in their patrimony, and must henceforth wander off disinherited, despoiled, forgotten.

“This is a lovely place,” said Clarence.

“Yes, and Mathews wanted to kill me for it,” said Romeo.

“Why so?” asked Clarence.

“Because he had just sold his place to Mr. Mechlin, intending to locate here. So when he went to town to sign his conveyance, I put some boards in a wagon and came here, and in two hours my father and myself had put up my cabin. Then we put up this fence around one acre, and by nightfall we had placed my boundary stakes. That night I brought my blankets and my rifle, to sleep in my cabin. Mother sent father to keep me company, and we slept soundly, in splendid style. I wasn't afraid of Mathews. Next morning, at daybreak, we heard the rumbling of a wagon, and soon after we spied old Mathews sitting on the top of his boards. He came smack against my fence.

“What the devil is this?” said he, and began to swear a perfect blue streak. Then he took a hammer from his wagon, and began hammering.

I jumped up, took my rifle and hallooed to him, as if I didn't know him, “Who is there, hammering my fence?”

“Your fence?” said he; “your fence?”

“Yes, sir, mine. I located here yesterday.”

“You! you! Get a beard first,” said he, and with another streak of oaths, began hammering again.

I came up nearer, holding my rifle in good position. I said, “Look here, Mr. Mathews, leave my fence alone, or you will get into trouble.” I leveled my rifle at him. “Will you stop? I give you just two minutes.”

He stopped.

“You have no right to locate—you are a minor,” said he, livid with rage.

“You just inform yourself better, by asking a polite question or two of my parents. They will tell you that I am just twenty-one years and two days old, and I can prove it by our family Bible and certificate of baptism. I am a Christian, I am, though you don't seem to be, judging by your cursing—and as for my beard, you be patient, and you'll see it, for it is coming as fast as your gray hairs.”

“Why didn't you say you wanted this place?” he growled.

“What a question!” I answered. “You ask it because you don't see my beard, but I feel it pushing ahead with all its might. I didn't tell you, because we ain't exactly bosom friends, and because that is not the style in which we settlers do business. I kept dark, hoping that you would hold on a while longer, trying to get a bigger price for your place from Mr. Mechlin. I watched you, and when you let Saturday pass I knew this sweet little spot was mine—for on Saturday I was twenty-one, and you couldn't sign your conveyance to Mr. Mechlin until Monday. To-day is Tuesday, Mr. Mathews, I shall be twenty-one years and three days old at 11 o'clock A.M. this day, if I live five hours longer.”

“I don't believe a word. You ain't twenty-one. 'Tis a lie!”

“No, it ain't,” my father said, coming from the cabin.

“Then he is a jumper. He's jumped my claim.”

“No, he ain't. Look here, Mathews,” said father, dragging his rifle along as if it was a dead cat, “you know well it is yourself who is lying when you say that. You had no right to this claim while you held the other.”

“But I put up my notice that I was going to locate here.”

“Now, don't be silly,” said father, leaning on his rifle. “It is painful to my feelings to hear a grey-headed man talk like a child. You might have put twenty notices—what of that? The law don't allow any circus performances like that, and if it did, you ain't a good enough performer to ride two horses at once.”

“I think it is a mean performance on your part, too, coming here to steal a march on me.”

“A mean performance, you say? Do you remember how I had my notices up and my stakes on the ground, six years ago, and when I went to town to bring my lumber, you jumped my claim? My boy has just barely returned the compliment.”

“I'll be even with you yet,” said he, climbing into his wagon, and beginning to whip his horses, and swear at us worse than ever.

“The same to you; the same to you,” father would say, as if answering prayers, and then we both laughed heartily.

“That is not the worst, but that you jumped the claim of his affections,” said Tom, whereupon all laughed, and Fanny bashfully hung down her head.

Voices calling them to dinner were now heard, and they returned to the picnic grounds.

No banquet of the Iliad warriors surpassed this, showing that the settlers of Alamar had found the Don's land and the laws of Congress very good.

The elder Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Pittikin were proud of having given a banquet which no other settler would dare surpass in Alamar.

When the dessert was being served, Clarence said, “We must drink to the bride and groom.” All agreed that it should be done.

He arose and made a neat little speech, which was so “sweetly pretty,” Mr. P. said, that it brought tears to the eyes of Mrs. Pittikin and Mrs. Hancock, the elder.

This put Clarence's popularity beyond doubt.

“Fill your glasses, for I have something to say to Mr. Clarence Darrell, but we must first drink his health,” said Mr. Pittikin.

“Here is to our friends, the Darrell family, but more particularly to Mr. Clarence. We respect him, we like him, we are proud of him;”—all drank—“and I now take the occasion to say to Mr. Darrell, in the presence of our friends here, that I fulfilled my promise to him, and have spoken to our friends here, the heads of families, and they will speak to those who are not present, and we will meet to hear what the Don has to say.”

“But we don't promise to accept any proposition, if it don't suit each one, no matter what anybody votes,” said old Hughes.

“That is understood; we want to be polite, that's all,” explained Mr. Pittikin.

“And that is all I have requested,” Clarence said. “I do not ask any one to accept any proposition against his will.”

“That is fair enough,” said old Hancock.

“And little enough, considering we are in possession of land that the Don believes to be his own,” said Romeo.

“But it ain't,” said old Hager.

“It has been for more than fifty years,” Romeo asserted.

“But he lost it by not complying with the law,” said Hughes.

“Yes, if he had not neglected his rights, his title would not have been rejected; he went to sleep for eight years, and his right was outlawed,” said Miller.

“That was the fault of his lawyers, perhaps,” Clarence said.

“Of course it was, but he should have watched his lawyers. The trouble is, that you can't teach ‘an old dog new tricks.’ Those old Spaniards never will be business men,” said Pittikin, sententiously.

It was finally agreed that Clarence would call on Mr. Mechlin that evening, to notify him that the settlers would meet the Don on Monday afternoon at 2 o'clock on the porch of Gasbang's house.