Chapter 8
Don Andres Wants a Majordomo
“Señor, those things which you desired that I should bring, I have brought. All is of the best. Also have I brought a letter from the Señor Weelson, and what remains of the gold the señor will find laid carefully in the midst of his clothing. So I have done all as it would have been done for the patron himself.” In the downward sweep of Manuel’s sombrero one might read that peculiar quality of irony which dislike loves to inject into formal courtesy.
Behind Manuel waited a peon burdened with elegant riding gear and a bundle of clothing, and a gesture brought him forward to deposit his load upon the porch before the gringo guest, whose “Gracias” Manuel waved into nothingness; as did the quick shrug disdain the little bag of gold which Jack drew from his pocket and would have tossed to Manuel for reward.
“It was nothing,” he smiled remotely; and went his way to find the patron and deliver to him a message from a friend.
Behind Jack came the click of slipper-heels upon the hardwood; and he turned from staring, puzzled, after the stiff-necked Manuel, and gave the girl a smile such as a man reserves for the woman who has entered into his dreams.
“Santa Maria, what elegance! Now will the señor ride in splendor that will dazzle the eyes to look upon!” Teresita bantered, poking a slipper-toe tentatively towards the saddle, and clasping her hands in mock rapture. “On every corner, silver crescents; on the tapideros, silver stars bigger than Venus; riding behind the cantle, a whole milky way; José will surely go mad with rage when he sees. Stars has José, but no moon to bear him company when he rides. Surely the cattle will fall upon their knees when the señor draws near!”
“Shall we ride out and put them to the test?” he asked wishfully, shaking out the bridle to show the beautiful design of silver inlaid upon the leather cheek-piece, and stooping to adjust a big-roweled, silver-incrusted spur upon his boot-heel. “Manuel does exactly as he is told. I said he was to get the best he could find—”
“And so no vaquero in the valley will be so gorgeous—” She broke off suddenly to sing in lilting Spanish a fragment of some old song that told of the lilies of the field that “Toil not, neither do they spin.”
“That is not kind. I may not spin, but I toil—I leave it to Dade if I don’t.” This last, because he caught sight of Dade coming across from the row of huts, which was a short cut up from the corrals. “And I can show you the remains of blisters—” He held out a very nice appearing palm towards her, and looked his fill at her pretty face, while she bent her brows and inspected the hand with the gravity that threatened to break at any instant into laughter.
That sickening grip in the chest which is a real, physical pain, though the hurt be given to the soul of a man, slowed Dade’s steps to a lagging advance towards the tableau the two made on the steps. So had the señorita sent him dizzy with desire (and with hope to brighten it) in the two weeks and more that he had been the honored guest. So had she laughed and teased him and mocked him; and he had believed that to him alone would she show the sweet whimsies of her nature. But from the moment when he laid her gold thimble in her waiting hand and got no reward save an absent little nod of thanks, the dull ache had been growing in his heart. He knew what it was that had sent José off in that headlong rage against all gringos; though two days before he would have said that José’s jealousy was for him, and with good reason. There had been glances between those two who stood now so close together—swift measuring of the weapons which sex uses against sex, with quick smiles when the glances chanced to meet. José also had seen the byplay; and the fire had smoldered in his eyes until at last it kindled into flame and drove him cursing from the place. In his heart Dade could not blame José.
Forgotten while Teresita held back with one hand a black lock which the wind was trying to fling across her eyes, and murmured mocking commiseration over the half obliterated callouses on Jack’s hand, Dade loitered across the patio, remembering many things whose very sweetness made the present hurt more bitter. He might have known it would be like this, he told himself sternly; but life during the past two weeks had been too sweet for forebodings or for precaution. He had wanted Jack to see and admire Teresita, with the same impulse that would have made him want to show Jack any other treasure which Chance held out to him while Hope smiled over her shoulder and whispered that it was his.
Well, Jack had seen her, and Jack surely admired her; and the grim humor of Dade’s plight struck through the ache and made him laugh, even though his jaws immediately went together with a click of teeth and cut the laugh short. He might have known—but he was not the sort of man who stands guard against friend and foe alike.
And, he owned to himself, Jack was unconscious of any hurt for his friend in this rather transparent wooing. A little thought would have enlightened him, perhaps, or a little observation; but Dade could not blame Jack for not seeking for some obstacle in the path of his desires.
“She says I’m lazy and got these callouses grabbing the soft snaps last summer in the mines,” Jack called lightly, when finally it occurred to him that the world held more than two persons. “I’m always getting the worst of it when you and I are compared. But I believe I’ve got the best of you on riding outfit, old man. Take a look at that saddle, will you! And these spurs! And this bridle! The señorita says the cattle will fall on their knees when I ride past; we’re going to take a gallop and find out. Want to come along?”
“Arrogant one! The señorita did not agree to that ride! The señorita has something better to do than bask in the glory of so gorgeous a señor while he indulges his vanity—and frightens the poor cattle so that, if they yield their hides at killing time, there will be little tallow for the ships to carry away!”
The Señorita Teresita would surely never be guilty of a conscious lowering of one eyelid to point her raillery, but the little twist she gave to her lips when she looked at Dade offered a fair substitute; and the flirt of her silken skirts as she turned to run back into the house was sufficient excuse for any imbecility in a man.
Jack looked after her with some chagrin. “The little minx! A man might as well put up his hands when he hears her coming—huh? Unless he’s absolutely woman-proof, like you. How do you manage it, anyway?”
“By taking a squint at myself in the looking-glass every morning.” Dade’s face managed to wrinkle humorously. “H-m. You are pretty gorgeous, for a fact. Where’s the riata?”
Jack had forgotten that he had ever wanted one. He lifted the heavy, high-cantled saddle, flung it down upon the other side and untied the new coil of braided rawhide from its place on the right fork.
“A six-strand, eh? I could tell Manuel a few things about riatas, if he calls that the best! Four strands are stronger than six, any time. I’ve seen too many stranded—”
“The señor is not pleased with the riata?”
Manuel, following Don Andres across to the veranda, had caught the gesture and tone; and while his knowledge of English was extremely sketchy, he knew six and four when he heard those numerals mentioned, and the rest was easy guessing.
“The four strands are good, but the six are better—when Joaquin Murieta lays the strands. From the hide of a very old bull was this riata cut; perhaps the señor is aware that the hide is thus of the same thickness throughout and strong as the bull that grew it. Not one strand is laid tighter than the other strand; the wildest bull in the valley could not break it—if the señor should please to catch him! Me, I could have bought three riatas for the gold I gave for this one; but the señor told me to get the best.” His shoulders went up an inch, though Don Andres was frowning at the tone of him. “The señor can return it to the Mission and get the three, or he can exchange it with any vaquero in the valley for one which has four strands. I am very sorry that the señor is not pleased with my choice.”
“You needn’t be sorry. It’s a very pretty riata, and I have no doubt it will do all I ask of it. The saddle’s a beauty, and the bridle and spurs—I’m a thousand times obliged.”
“It is nothing and less than nothing,” disclaimed Manuel once more; and went in to ask the señora for a most palatable decoction whose chief ingredient was blackberry wine, which the señora recommended to all and sundry for various ailments. Though Manuel, the deceitful one, had no ailment, he did have a keen appreciation of the flavour of the cordial, and his medicine bottle was never long empty—or full—if he could help it.
A moment later Jack, hearing a human, feminine twitter from the direction of the rose garden, left off examining pridefully his belongings, and bolted without apology, after his usual headlong fashion.
Don Andres sat him down in an easy-chair in the sun, and sighed as he did so. “He is hot-tempered, that vaquero,” he said regretfully, his mind upon Manuel. “Something has stirred his blood; surely your friend has done nothing to offend him?”
“Nothing except remark that he has always liked a four-strand riata better than six. At the hut he was friendly enough.”
“He is not the only one whose anger is easily stirred against the gringos,” remarked the don, reaching mechanically for his tobacco pouch, while he watched Dade absently examining the new riata.
“Señor Hunter,” Don Andres began suddenly, “have you decided what you will do? Your mine in the mountains—it will be foolish to return there while the hands of the Vigilantes are reaching out to clutch you; do you not think so? More of the tale I have heard from Valencia, who returned with Manuel. Those men who died at the hand of your friend—and died justly, I am convinced—had friends who would give much for close sight of you both.”
“I know; I told Jack we’d have to keep away from town or the mine for a while. He wanted to go right back and finish up the fight!” Dade grinned at the absurdity. “I sat down hard on that proposition.” Not that phrase, exactly, did he use. One may be pardoned a free translation, since, though he spoke in excellent Spanish, he did not twist his sentences like a native, and he was not averse to making use of certain idioms quite as striking in their way as our own Americanisms.
Don Andres rolled a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully. “You were wise. Also, I bear in mind your statement that you could not long be content to remain my guest. Terribly independent and energetic are you Americanos.” He smoked through another pause, while Dade’s puzzled glance dwelt secretly upon his face and tried to read what lay in his mind. It seemed to him that the don was working his way carefully up to a polite hint that the visit might be agreeably terminated; and his uneasy thoughts went to the girl. Did her father resent—
“My majordomo,” the don continued, just in time to hold back Dade’s hasty assurance that they would leave immediately, “my majordomo does not please me. Many faults might I name, sufficient to make plain my need for another.” A longer wait, as if time were indeed infinite, and he owned it all. “Also I might name reasons for my choice of another, who is yourself, Señor Hunter. Perhaps in you I recognize simply the qualities which I desire my majordomo to possess. Perhaps also I desire that some prejudiced countrymen of mine shall be taught a lesson and made to see that not all Americanos are unworthy. However that may be, I shall be truly glad if you will accept. The salary we will arrange as pleases you, and your friend will, I hope, remain in whatever capacity you may desire. Further, when your government has given some legal assurance that my land is mine,” he smiled wrily at the necessity for such assurance, “as much land as you Americanos call a ‘section,’ choose it where you will—except that it shall not take my house or my cultivated land—shall be yours for the taking.”
“But—”
“Not so much the offer of a position would I have you consider it,” interrupted the other with the first hint of haste he had shown, “as a favor that I would ask. Times are changing, and we natives are high-chested and must learn to make room for others who are coming amongst us. To speak praises to the face of a friend is not my habit, yet I will say that I would teach my people to respect good men, whatever the race; and especially Americanos, who will be our neighbors henceforth. I shall be greatly pleased when you tell me that you will be my majordomo; more than ever one needs a man of intelligence and tact—”
“And are none of our own people tactful or intelligent, Don Andres Picardo?” demanded Manuel, having overheard the last sentence or two from the doorway. He came out and stood before his beloved “patron,” his whole fat body quivering with amazed indignation, so that the bottle which the señora had filled for him shook in his hand. “Amongst the gringos must you go to find one worthy? Truly it is as Don José tells me; these gringos have come but to make trouble where all was peace. To-day he told me all his thoughts, and me, I hardly believed it was as he said. Would the patron have a majordomo who knows nothing of rodeos, nothing of the cattle—”
“You’re mistaken there, Manuel,” Dade broke in calmly. “Whether I become majordomo or not, I know cattle. They have a few in Texas, where I came from. I can qualify in cowology any time. And,” he added loyally, “so can Jack. You thought he didn’t know what he was talking about, when he was looking at that riata; but I’ll back him against any man in California when it comes to riding and roping.
“But that needn’t make us bad friends, Manuel. I didn’t come to make trouble, and I won’t stay to make any. We’ve been friends; let’s stay that way. I’m a gringo, all right, but I’ve lived more with your people than my own, and if you want the truth, I don’t know but what I feel more at home with them. And the same with Jack. We’ve eaten and slept with Spaniards and worked with them and played with them, half our lives.”
“Still it is as José says,” reiterated Manuel stubbornly. “Till the gringos came all was well; when they came, trouble came also. Till the gringos came, no watch was put over the cattle, for only those who hungered killed and ate. Now they steal the patron’s cattle by hundreds, they steal his land, and if José speaks truly, they would steal also—” He hesitated to speak what was on his tongue, and finished lamely: “what is more precious still.
“And the patron will have a gringo for majordomo?” He returned to the issue. “Then I, Manuel, must leave the patron’s employ. I and half the vaqueros. The patron,” he added with what came close to a sneer, “had best seek gringo vaqueros—with the clay of the mines on their boots, and their red shirts to call the bulls!”
“I shall do what it pleases me to do,” declared the don sternly. “Advice from my vaqueros I do not seek. And you,” he said haughtily, “have choice of two things; you may crave pardon for your insolence to my guest, who is also my friend, and who will henceforth have charge of my vaqueros and my cattle, or you may go whither you will; to Don José Pacheco, I doubt not.”
He leaned his white-crowned head against the high chair-back, and while he waited for Manuel’s decision he gazed calmly at the border of red tiles which showed at the low eaves of the porch—calmly as to features only, for his eyes held the blaze of anger.
“Señors, I go.” The brim of Manuel’s sombrero flicked the dust of the patio.
“Come, then, and I will reckon your wage,” invited the don, coldly courteous as to a stranger. “You will excuse me, Señor? I shall not be long.”
Dade’s impulse was to protest, to intercede, to say that he and Jack would go immediately, rather than stir up strife. But he had served a stern apprenticeship in life, and he knew it was too late now to put out the fires of wrath burning hotly in the hearts of those two; however completely he might efface himself, the resentment was too keen, the quarrel too fresh to be so easily forgotten.
He was standing irresolutely on the steps when Jack came hack from the rose garden, whistling softly an old love-song and smiling fatuously to himself.
“We’re going to take that ride, after all,” he announced gleefully. “Want to come along? She’s going to ask her father to come, too—says it would be terribly improper for us two to ride alone. What’s the matter? Got the toothache?”
Dade straightened himself automatically after the slap on the back that was like a cuff from a she-bear, and grunted an uncivil sentence.
“Come over to the saddle-house,” he commanded afterward. “And take that truck off the señora’s front steps before she sees it and has a fit. I want to talk to you.”
“Oh, Lord!” wailed Jack, under his breath, but he shouldered the heavy saddle obediently, leaving Dade to bring what remained. “Cut it short, then; she’s gone to dress and ask her dad; and I’m supposed to order the horses and get you started. What’s the trouble?”
Dade first went over to the steps before their sleeping-room and deposited Jack’s personal belongings; and Jack seized the minute of grace to call a peon and order the horses saddled.
He turned from watching proudly the glitter of the trimmings on his new saddle as the peon bore it away on his shoulder, and confronted Dade with a tinge of defiance in his manner.
“Well, what have I done now?” he challenged. “Anything particularly damnable about talking five minutes to a girl in plain sight of her—”
Dade threw out both hands in a gesture of impatience. “That isn’t the only important thing in the world,” he pointed out sarcastically. If the inner hurt served to sharpen his voice, he did not know it. “Don Andres wants to make me his majordomo.”
Jack’s eyes bulged a little; and if Dade had not wisely side-stepped he would have received another one of Jack’s muscle-tingling slaps on the shoulder. “Whee-ee! Say, you’re getting appreciated, at last, old man. Good for you! Give me a job?”
“I’m not going to take it,” said Dade. “I was going to ask you if you want to pull out with me to-morrow.”
Jack’s jaw went slack. “Not going to take it!” He leaned against the adobe wall behind him and stuck both hands savagely into his pockets. “Why, you darned chump, how long ago was it that you talked yourself black in the face, trying to make me say I’d stay? Argued like a man trying to sell shaving soap; swore that nobody but a born idiot would think of passing up such a chance; badgered me into giving in; and now when you’ve got a chance like this, you—Say, you’re loco!”
“Maybe.” Dade’s eyes went involuntarily toward the veranda, where Teresita appeared for an instant, looking questioningly towards them. “Maybe I am loco. But Manuel’s mad because the don offered me the place, and has quit; and he says half the vaqueros will leave, that they won’t work under a gringo.”
Jack’s indignant eyes changed to a queer, curious stare. “Dade Hunter! If I didn’t know you, if I hadn’t seen you in more tight places than I’ve got fingers and toes, I’d say—But you aren’t scared; you never had sense enough to be afraid of anything in your life. You can’t choke that down me, old man. What’s the real reason why you want to leave?”
The real reason came again to the doorway sixty feet away and looked out impatiently to where the señors were talking so earnestly and privately; but Dade would have died several different and unpleasant deaths before he would name that reason. Instead:
“It will be mighty disagreeable for Don Andres, trying to keep things smooth,” he said. “And it isn’t as if he were stuck for a majordomo. Manuel has turned against me from pure jealousy. He opened his heart, one night when we were alone together, and told me that when Carlos Pacorra went—and Manuel said the patron would not keep him long, for his insolence—he, Manuel, would be majordomo. He’s mad as the deuce, and I don’t blame him; and he’s a good man for the place; the vaqueros like him.”
“You say he’s quit?”
“Yes. He got pretty nasty, and the don has gone to pay him off.”
“Well, what good would it do for you to turn down the offer, then? Manuel wouldn’t get it, would he?”
“No-o, he wouldn’t.”
“Well, then—oh, thunder! Something ought to be done for that ingrowing modesty of yours! Dade, if you pass up that place, I’ll—I’ll swear you’re crazy. I know you like it, here. You worked hard enough to convert me to that belief!”
A sudden thought made him draw a long breath; he reached out and caught Dade by both shoulders.
“Say, you can’t fool me a little bit! You’re backing up because you’re afraid I may be jealous or something. You’re afraid you’re standing in my light. Darn you, I’ve had enough of that blamed unselfishness of yours, old man.” The endearing smile lighted his face then and his eyes. “You go ahead and take the job, Dade. I don’t want it. I’ll be more than content to have you boss me around.” He hesitated, looking at the other a bit wistfully. “Of course, you know that if you go, old boy, I’ll go with you. But—” The look he sent towards Teresita, who appeared definitely upon the porch and stood waiting openly and impatiently, amply finished the sentence.
Dade’s eyes followed Jack’s understandingly, and the thing he had meant to do seemed all at once contemptible, selfish, and weak. He had meant to leave and take Jack with him, because it hurt him mightily to see those two falling in love with each other. The trouble his staying might bring to Don Andres was nothing more nor less than a subterfuge. If Teresita’s smiles had continued to be given to him as they had been before Jack came, he told himself bitterly, he would never have thought of going. And Jack thought he hesitated from pure unselfishness! The fingers that groped mechanically for his tobacco, though he had no intention of smoking just then, trembled noticeably.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll stay, then.” And a moment after: “Go ask her if she wants to ride Surry. I promised her she could, next time she rode.”