Читать книгу For the Soul of Rafael - Marah Ellis Ryan - Страница 5

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Over the valley of the Mission of the Tragedies, the grass was knee-deep in March that year. The horses galloping from the mesa trail down to Boca de la Playa (the mouth of the ocean) were fat and sleek and tricky as they ran neck and neck past the corral of the little plain, and splashed in glee through the San Juan River, where it ends its short run from the Sierras to the Pacific.

Where the west trail hugged the hill, two men sat their broncos, watching that no strays break for the mesa above; and beyond the cross on Avila's hill, other vaqueros guarded El Camino Real (the road royal), lest in the whirl and dash of the round-up rebels might break for the open and a stampede undo all the riding since dawn of day.

High above on the western cliff a giant head of cactus reared infernal arms and luminous bloom. One immense clump threw a shadow across the cliff road where it leaves the river plain and winds along the cañon to the mesa above the sea,—the road over which in the old days the Mission Indians bore hides to the ships and flung them from the cliffs to the waiting boats below.

A man stood back of the cactus watching with tireless eyes the dividing of the herds and the quick work of the vaqueros as their excited mustangs raced for a stray or a rebel from the ranks. A dark serape was at his feet, the dust of the roads on his face, and when he removed his sombrero to light a cigarro in its shelter, there was disclosed a great shock of black hair worn unusually long, and matching in unkemptness the full beard covering his face almost to his black velvety eyes.

They were the one youthful feature in an otherwise weather-worn visage, and at the sound of horse hoofs on the road, they opened wider, listening, alert, yet he did not turn to look whence the sounds came. Instead, he dropped silently to the serape, crushed the end of the cigarro against a cactus leaf, and waited, as still and as safe from detection as a lizard of the mesa in a sage thicket.

He could see clearly the face of Don Antonio, the major-domo, and instinctively his right hand reached for his gun. Then he shrugged his shoulders at his own folly, and bent his head to listen. Don Antonio was speaking Americano to a man riding beside him, and the man behind the cactus frowned impatiently,—the villanous tongue was an added grievance. A few rebellious animals had made a dash for the cliff, and Don Antonio waved his sombrero and ranged his horse across the road. His companion did the same, and to give the vaqueros time to cross the river after them, the two stood guard in the shadow of the cactus, and rolled cigarros and smoked leisurely, while the horsemen, in jingling spurs and all the bravery of the Mexican riders' outfit, circled and lassoed the pick of the herd for the Apache work of the government in the desert lands.

"It is quicker done than it was a year ago," the American remarked approvingly, "and the horses are in better condition. If you can let us have the five hundred from the La Paz ranges, there should be no trouble about making up the other five hundred from the San Mateo."

"Not any, señor," agreed Don Antonio, "I send a man down to have them round-up for next week. You no want that they begin sooner than that?"

"To-morrow," returned the other with smiling decision.

"To-morrow! Holy Maria and José! You will cut out the fiesta and the barbecue always given for the army men? Señor Bryton, the Don Miguel and Don Rafael Arteaga will feel offend if you refuse their hospitality except for the little—little while, the horse herd is arranged for."

"Sorry to offend the young men," observed the other. "But since Don Miguel is ranging in some other part of California, and your Don Rafael is in Mexico getting married or making love,—which is it?—I reckon they will not miss us much."

"No, señor, it is not to marry down there, only to make it all arrange. His mother, the Doña Luisa, is there in Mexico since San Pascual; but Doña Luisa will be more old and crippled than she is now, before she lets Don Rafael be marry outside her own Mission."

"So they come back here for the ceremony?"

"Sure! Doña Luisa she marry Don Vicente, here in San Juan Capistrano. It is here he have the big trouble with the padre, and the padre put the curse on him that long time ago. It is here that he is brought back dead from San Pascual. And now when the sons have make much trouble, all are dead but two, and when Doña Luisa, who was so proud, has only Indian grandchildren, she wants to marry Rafael to a señorita who is half a nun, that the curse may be lifted. She think that girl do more to keep him from walking in Miguel's shoes than prayers to the saints can do; and it may be,—who knows? I hear you talking of the padre's curse to the Alcalde, so I know you hearing the story."

"Um—something of church property south of here, wasn't it?" remarked the American. "Yes, I remember. There goes a mare that is a beauty for a mustang."

"Some few years, and you no getting that strong, wild stock some more," he observed. "Miguel and Rafael want English stallions and such other breeds. They will have English stock and American customs. The saints keep Doña Luisa from hearing them all. I mean no discourtesy, señor, but she is an old woman now, and left her home because she would not live in your government. She comes back for duty and the marriage; but the old never change, señor, and she is hating it till she die."

The American cast his eyes northward where the heights of San Jacinto stood guard over the beautiful valley. Willows marked the course of Trabuco Creek and San Juan River, and on the plateau between them gleamed the ruined dome of the old mission, a remnant of beauty such as the ranging American meets with in Latin lands, seldom in his own, and admires, and wonders if it was worth while, and drifts away again, but never quite forgets.

Yellow-white it gleamed like an opal in a setting of velvety ranges under turquoise skies. About its walls were the clustered adobes of the Mexicans, like children creeping close to the feet of the one mother; and beyond that the illimitable ranges of mesa and valley, of live-oak groves and knee-deep meadows, of countless springs and cañons of mystery, whence gold was washed in the freshets; and over all, eloquent, insistent, appealing, the note of the meadow-lark cutting clearly through the hoof-beats of the herd and the calls of the vaqueros.

"I think I should hate it, too," he said at last. "They lived like kings and made their own laws in those days. After being a queen of all this, it would be hard to be subject to new forms."

"That is it, señor, she never get used to like the American flag. That why she want always that Don Rafael marry South, a good Catholic, and a señorita of Mexico. She only living for that, they say. Now when it is done she die in peace."

"And Rafael, how will he manage his American deals when—"

Don Antonio shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.

"Who knows? I glad I living my young life in other days. The fences have make ruin of the country in the north; after a while it is down here all the same. All cut up in little gardens. Who knows?"

The American restrained a smile as he thought of the sixty-five miles they had ridden across, and only one little German colony where fence or hedges were in evidence. For the rest all was fenced on the east by the mountains and on the west by the sea. On the north the Santa Barbara range would perhaps serve as a barricade, and south even the Mexican line raised no obstacle to roving herds.

"The fences will not come in our day, and it is all now to be a pleasure ground for your gay Don Rafael."

"Not so much of a pleasure ground as it looks, señor," observed Don Antonio dryly. "The same curse works still. It is good he marries a convent girl; it takes the prayers of Doña Luisa, and a saint besides, to clear these ranges of Barto Nordico, el Capitan."

The man on the serape shrugged his shoulders and lifted his head, resting it on his hands to listen better.

"Nordico? Oh, yes! the man with an eye for good horses."

"If it were only an eye," grumbled Don Antonio, "but the devil seems to have a hundred hands, and his reata touches only the first stock on the Arteaga ranches."

"Not only the Arteagas', I suppose?"

"Oh, you not hearing that?" and the older man's tone expressed surprise. "It going with the curse, maybe, we not knowing. Old Don Vicente have the brother Ramon, but Vicente buy up all Ramon's land some way. Ramon goes crazy mad, loco, on that account. And then his son, Barto, he study for the priest, that is when the war comes, and he is only little yet. He running away from school to fight; but all he can do is to carry the letters, he is so little and can ride so like the devil. He never is content to the American flags, no more than Doña Luisa, so he just keeping on to fight, and the government no getting him."

"Do they try?" asked the American.

"Do they—do they try? Since he joined Juan Flores, one dozen men in Capistrano have the sword cut or the bullet mark, who have gone to try for that reward. It is good money, but no one getting it. He is a devil."

"But I don't understand. You make him out an Arteaga, yet he is called Nordico?"

"Oh, he hating the Arteagas, so he taking his mother's name. He take the government mail sometimes, and he takes the Arteaga horses always, and no one ever finds him any place. While men follow his trail for the mountains, he is out in a boat on the sea. The saints send that he does not meet the marriage gifts of Don Rafael."

The man behind the cactus fairly held his breath.

"Whew! would he attack the Mission or the town?"

"It would not be the first time," returned Antonio, "but it is of the bride-chests on the journey that I speak. Sixty miles of land they must cover from San Diego, and they cost more than a herd of horses."

"Rafael can replace the gifts," observed the American, "so long as his bandit cousin does not kidnap the bride; but even that, I suppose, might be done in this land of lonely ranges."

The man under the cactus nodded and showed his teeth in an appreciative smile. He had met good fortune for his long vigil; it was a day of luck, and he crossed himself.

The vaqueros had circled the rebellious animals, and headed them back.

"It is true, the horses are in better condition this year," conceded the major-domo as they watched the horses loping along the river side. "Do you send them all together, or by the five hundred, across the range, Señor Bryton?"

"By the five hundred, I think the lieutenant said," replied Bryton. "It is not easy to feed more in one bunch on the journey."

The man behind the cactus arose stealthily and stretched his arms as the hoof-beats grew more faint.

"Señor Bryton—eh?" and he shrugged his shoulders contentedly. "The clever Bryton who put us off the track last year and took the stock by the north! This time he will not be so clever. Still, he gives a man ideas in the head,—may he have an easy death for that! Rafael's good friend who picks the good horses for the good government!"

Corre muchacho a la yglesia,

Dile al sacristan mayor,

Que repique las campanas, tan! tan!