Kitabı oku: «Jessica, the Heiress», sayfa 3
CHAPTER V.
JESSICA’S STORY
Though it had seemed as a lifetime to impatient Jessica that she had been kept in the cave, after Pedro’s arrival there, in reality it was less than an hour; and it was yet early in the day when a cry she had expected never to hear again, rang through the room where Gabriella Trent was lying.
“Mother! My mother! Where are you?”
Another instant, and they were clasped in close embrace as if nothing should ever separate them again. Words were impossible, at first, and not till she saw that even joy was dangerous for her overwrought patient did Aunt Sally, the nurse, interpose and bodily lift the daughter from the parent’s arms. All at once her own calmness and courage forsook good Mrs. Benton, and now that she saw the lost girl restored, visibly present in the flesh, anger possessed her till she longed to shake, rather than caress, the little captain.
“Well, Jessica Trent! These are pretty goings on, now ain’t they?”
Gabriella sat up and her child nestled against her, their hands clasped and their eyes greedily fixed upon each other’s countenance. The unexpected brusqueness of the question was a relief to their high tension, and Jessica laughed, almost hysterically, as she answered:
“They didn’t seem very ‘pretty’ to me, Aunt Sally.”
“What a sight you be! Where you been?”
“In the canyon cave.”
“Didn’t know there was one.”
“Nor I–before.”
“What for? What made you stay? Didn’t you know you’d raised the whole countryside to hunt for you? Don’t believe there’s an able-bodied man left on a single ranch within fifty miles; all off huntin’ for you. You–you ought to be spanked!”
“Mrs. Benton!” warned Gabriella, in a tone of such distress that the reproved one promptly sank in a capacious heap on the floor and fell to weeping with the same vigor that she applied to all things. Jessica, too, began to cry softly, at intervals, with such shuddering bursts of sobs, that the mother’s tears, also, were soon dimming the eyes to which they had been denied during all the past anxiety. However, this simultaneous downpour was infinite relief to all; and presently the mother rose and with the strength happiness gave to her slight figure, carried her child away to rest.
“You are safe. You are here. I see that you have suffered no hurt, and bed is the place for you. When you have slept and rested you must tell us all. Oh! my darling! Many hearts have ached for you, and I thought my own was broken. But, thank God! thank God!”
Aunt Sally followed them, and, as if she had been a new-born baby, the two women washed and made ready for a long sleep the precious child that had been given back to them from the grave. Then the mother sat down to watch while Aunt Sally hurried to ring the ancient mission bell, whose harsh clanging had been agreed upon among the searchers as the signal of good news.
They all came flocking back, singly or in groups, from wherever the summons, which could be heard for miles in that clear air, chanced to find them. Impatience was natural enough, too, on their part, since to their eager questions Mrs. Benton could not give answer beyond the simple statement:
“Yes, she’s back, safe and sound. Says she’s been in a cave, though where it is or whether she’s just flighty in her head, land knows. She’s sleepin’ now, and it won’t be healthy for any you lumberin’ men to be makin’ a noise round the house before she wakes up, of her own accord.”
Nor when Pedro and the subdued dwarf came slowly over the road would they make any further explanation. Indeed, they were both utterly silent; the Indian forcing his captive before him into the deserted office where he intrenched himself, with his basket and staff, until such time as it should be his mistress’ pleasure to receive him.
Thus, with time on her hands and nothing else to do, Aunt Sally collared Wun Lung and withdrew to her kitchen, whence, presently, there arose such various and appetizing odors that the weary ranchmen scented a feast, and sought repose for themselves till it was ready. Samson and John, however, were called upon for aid, and, whereas they were ordered to “dress six of the plumpest fowl in the hennery,” they brought a dozen, and for “one likely shoat,” they made ready two. Nor, when they were upbraided for wastefulness, were they a whit abashed, but John demanded, with unfilial directness:
“Why, mother, what’s got your common sense? Tisn’t only our own folks you’re cookin’ for, but fifty others, more or less. Do you s’pose Cassius Trent would skimp victuals on such a day as this? My advice to you is: Put on all the pork and bacon you’ve got, to bile; and roast the lamb that was butchered for our mess; and set to bakin’ biscuit by the cartload, and–”
“John Benton, hold your tongue, or I’ll–”
“No, you won’t, mother! I’ve outgrown spankin’ though I’d be most willin’ to submit if ’twould be any relief to your feelin’s, or mine either. I tell you this here’s the greatest day ever shone on Sobrante Ranch, not barrin’ even the one when the ‘captain’ came home with the title in her hand.”
“You misguided boy, don’t I know it? Ain’t I clean druv out my wits a-thinkin’ ever’thing over, and where in the name of natur’ am I goin’ to do it all, with them horrid gasoline stoves no bigger’n an old maid’s thimble, and Pasqually gone off s’archin’ with the rest, and no’count the heft of the time and my sins!”
“Had to take breath, or bust, hadn’t you?” cried her disrespectful son, catching the portly matron about the spot where her waist should have been and hilariously whirling her about in a waltz which his own lameness rendered the more grotesque. “And where can you cook ’em? Why, right square in them old ovens at the mission. Full now of saddles and truck, but Samson and me’ll clear ’em out lively. I’ll make you a fire in ’em, and they’ll see cookin’ like they haven’t since the padres put out their own last fires. They weren’t any fools, them fellers. They knew a good thing when they saw it, and if they tackled a job they did it square. The ovens they built, just out of baked mud and a few stones, are as tight to-day as they were a hundred years ago; and, whew! won’t old Pedro, that found her, relish his meat cooked in ’em?”
Nor was Benton to be outdone in suggestion on the matter of providing. Some of the searchers had brought back a quantity of game, with which the country teemed, and which it had delayed them but little to shoot. This was levied upon without ado, and in the preparation of the great feast Aunt Sally’s helpers forgot their fatigue, and were as deftly efficient as women would have been.
Indeed, between sleep and labor, the hours of Jessica’s unbroken rest passed quickly, after all; and the good news having spread almost as swiftly as the ill, the grounds were full of people when, at last, she awoke. But, even yet, Mrs. Trent’s consideration for others refused a prior or full hearing of the story to which her faithful helpers had as good a right as she, if not as intense an interest in it. She made the child eat and drink, and went with her to her favorite rostrum when addressing her “company” of soldierly “boys”–the horse block. Here the girl stood up and told her simple tale.
“You see, dear folks, it was just this way: Aunt Sally and I were on the porch, and we found Elsa’s ring, all crooked. We couldn’t guess how it came there, and I’d just been made pretty angry about the way you felt toward ‘Forty-niner.’ Oh! it was dreadful, dreadful of you all, and I never was so ashamed of my ‘boys,’ not in all my life.”
“Go on with the story, captain. Never mind us,” cried somebody.
“And a little way farther I found a piece of Elsa’s knitted bag. That made me think a lot. Then the tackers came, all paint, and with Mr. Hale’s horse, that had been on the mesa ever since he was here. That made me think some more, and I told auntie if she wouldn’t scold the little ones I’d try to find their clothes. I didn’t find them, though, Aunt Sally.”
“Go on! Go on! What next?” demanded an impatient listener.
“Then I saw Ferd. Oh, mother! If I tell I’m afraid they’ll hurt him.”
“He shall be protected, daughter, and you must tell,” said the mother, though she now shrank from the hearing.
“I asked him about the horse and the children, and he said ‘yes,’ he had fixed them. He had driven Prince down from the mesa, when Pedro didn’t see him, and had ‘showed that old carpenter’ something to pay for kicks and hard words. He knew something I’d like to know. So I asked him what, and he said it was Elsa’s money. But if I didn’t go with him without saying anything to anybody he wouldn’t tell me how to find it. I begged to tell my mother, but he said her least of all. It wouldn’t take long, only a few rods up the canyon; so, of course, I went. I thought I should be back long before dinner-time, and that mother would tell me to do anything which would clear old Ephraim’s name from your cruel suspicions. And, oh, boys! You were wrong, you were wrong! He never took a cent that wasn’t his own, and Elsa’s money is found!”
Absolute silence followed this announcement, then Samson’s great voice started the wild “Hurrahs” which made the wide valley ring. The cheers were long and lusty, but when they subsided at last, Mrs. Trent bade her daughter finish the tale.
“It wasn’t a little, but a long way up the canyon; yet I was so eager to right Ephraim’s wrong that I didn’t feel afraid, though I never have liked Ferd. He can’t help being queer, maybe, with his queer body to keep his half mind in–”
The hisses that interrupted her were almost as loud as the cheers had been, and it would have fared ill with the dwarf had he at that moment been visible. Fortunately, he was still under the surveillance of the grim shepherd, in the locked office, and the majority of those present were ignorant of his whereabouts.
“Quit hindering the captain. Her story is what we want!” cried “Marty.” “The dwarf can wait.”
“So we went on and on, and into a strange, dark tunnel, that scared me a little, yet made me more curious than ever to see the end of it all. The tunnel led to a cave, and in the cave there was a deep hole; and before I knew what he was doing, Ferd had slung a lariat about me and dropped me into it.”
Again an interruption of groans and howls, that were promptly suppressed by a wave of the mistress’ white hand; then Jessica continued:
“As soon as he had put me there, he told me he would keep me till my mother paid him great money to let me up. Yet he wouldn’t even go to her and ask for it. He said I must promise, and that she would do anything I said. He told about a boy in ’Frisco, he’d heard the men say, was taken from his folks and kept till they paid lots for his release–even thousands of dollars! Antonio had taught him that money was the best thing to have. He believed it. He took it whenever he could find it. That’s what made him take Elsa’s, and blame it upon Ephraim. And I wouldn’t promise. How could I? My dear has no money to give wicked men, and I knew the dear God would take me back to her when He saw fit. As He did, indeed. For it must have been He who put it into Pedro’s heart to seek the cave just when I needed him most. Only the Lord could see through all that darkness and lead the shepherd by that crooked way.”
She paused, and, turning to her mother, laid her sunny head upon the shoulder that was shaken by such sobs as moved her faithful ranchmen to thoughts of deep revenge. Eyes that had not wept for years grew dim, and out of that circle of listening men rose a low and ominous sound. Some, remembering their own idle talk of kidnaping and the like, shuddered at the practical application the dwarf’s dim mind had made of their words; and various plans for punishment were forming when the captain clapped her hands for fresh attention.
“Hear me, ‘boys.’Do you belong to me?”
“Ay, ay! Heart and soul!”
“Then you must mind me. You must let Ferd alone. You must do even more to please me–and teach him to be good, not bad.”
None answered these clear, commanding sentences, which, as the strangers present thought, came so oddly from such childish lips, and they wondered at the effect produced upon the Sobrante men. These glanced at one another in doubt, each questioning the decision of his neighbor; and then again at the lovely girl who had never before seemed so wholly angelic.
“Will you do this?”
“Hold on, little one. Let the ‘admiral’ speak. Has she forgiven that human coyote?”
The unexpected question startled Mrs. Trent. She was a strictly truthful woman, and found her answer difficult. She had never liked the wretched creature who had just brought such misery to her, and she now loathed him. She had already resolved that, while she would protect Ferd from personal injury, she would see to it that he was put where he could never again injure her or hers. Her momentary hesitation told. The whole assemblage waited for her next word amid a silence that could be felt, when, suddenly, there burst upon that silence a series of ear-splitting shrieks which effectually diverted attention from the perplexed ranch mistress.
CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND LOCKED DOORS
The shrieks were uttered by Elsa Winkler, who frantically rushed to the horse block, demanding: “Where? Where?”
Mrs. Trent gave one glance at the rough, unkempt woman, and sternly remarked:
“Elsa, you forget yourself! Go back indoors, at once.”
The unhappy creature shivered at this unfamiliar tone, yet abated nothing of her outcry:
“My money! My money! My money!”
She had come to the ranch thinking only of Jessica’s mysterious absence, and meaning to do something, anything, which might help or comfort the child’s mother; but the long walk, for one so heavy and unaccustomed to exercise, had made her physically ill by the time she reached Sobrante. Which state of things was wholly satisfactory to Aunt Sally, who, having received the visitor with dismay, now promptly suggested bed and rest, saying:
“You poor creatur’! You’re clean beat out! If you don’t take care, you’ll have a dreadful fit of sickness, and I don’t know who’d wait on you if you did. Not with all this trouble on hand. You go right straight up into one them back chambers, where the bed is all made up ready, and put yourself to bed, and–stay there! Don’t you dast get up again till I say so; else I won’t answer for the consequences. You’re as yeller as saffron, and as red as a beet. Them two colors mixed on a human countenance means–somethin’! To bed, Elsa Winkler; to bed right away. I’ll fetch you up a cup of tea and a bite of victuals. Don’t tarry.”
“But–the mistress!” Elsa had panted. “I come so long for to speak her good cheer. I must see the mistress, then I rest.”
“The mistress isn’t seeing anybody just now, except me and–a few others. You do as I say, or you’ll never knit another wool shawl.”
“No, no. I knit no more, forever, is it? Not I. Why the reason? The more one earns the more one may lose. Yes, yes, indeed. Yes.”
“That’s the true word,” Mrs. Benton had replied; “and so being you’ve no yarn to worry you, nor no mistress to see, off to bed, I say, and don’t you dast to get sick on my hands, I warn you!”
So Elsa had obeyed the command, glad enough to rest and be idle for a time. Aunt Sally had seen to it that the visitor was kept duly alarmed concerning her red-and-yellow condition, nor had she given the permission to arise when Wolfgang and Otto arrived from their fruitless visit to El Desierto. They found the place crowded with returning searchers, and joyfully hailed the good news of Jessica’s safety. But when there was added to this the information that their own property had been found, they demanded to be taken to Elsa, and it was their visit to her room which had sent her afield, half-clad, and with thought for nothing but her lost treasure.
Even now, husband and son joined their entreaties to hers, though Samson soon brought them to hear reason, and to withdraw from public for the present, asking, indignantly:
“Have you folks lost all your manners, as well as your dollars, up there on the foothill? The idee of a woman screeching her lungs out afore all the ranchers in Southern Californy! Your money? Well, what of it? If it’s found, it’ll be give to you, and if it isn’t you ain’t the first feller’s been robbed. Besides, can’t you smell? Don’t you know that you’re interruptin’ the prettiest spread ever was seen at old Sobrante? Like chicken? Like roast pig? Like hot biscuit and plum sess? Then go wash your face, and make your folks fix up and come enjoy yourself. So far as I hear, it’s old Pedro holds the cash, and you might as well try to move the Sierras as him, if he ain’t ready to move. At this present writin’ he’s set himself guard over that scalliwag, Ferd, and I ain’t envying him his job, I ain’t. Hurry up, there won’t be anything but necks and drumsticks left for you laggards.”
Thus admonished and reassured, Wolfgang hurried his family away to prepare for the feast, and the interruption they had caused to the proceedings at the horse block effectually relieved Mrs. Trent from an immediate answer to an awkward question, so she said:
“Come, daughter. I see by Aunt Sally’s manner that she wishes the people would begin to eat. Every pair of hands, that belongs to us, must help in serving these kind neighbors who have flocked to our aid. Some of them have forty good miles to ride before they sleep, and they must be fed first. I’ll stand by the head table yonder, and name them, and do you, for whom they left their business, wait upon them yourself. That will show them your gratitude, and give them honor due.”
So it was, and to every dish she brought, the little captain added a graceful word of thanks, which seasoned the food better than even Aunt Sally’s wondrous skill had done; and many an encomium did the child hear, in return, of that lost father who had made himself so well-beloved in all that countryside.
When all was over and done, when the last “neighbor” had ridden homeward, when everybody had had his fill, and more than his fill of good things, and the rudely constructed tables had been removed from the wide lawn, came Aunt Sally, beaming with happiness, and glanced over the scene, till there broke from her lips the wondering question:
“Can this be the same spot that was so dark and lonely yesterday? I’ve had my heartstrings so stretched and tugged at, betwixt joy and sorrow, that I don’t know myself. I–I believe I’m tired! And if I am, it’s about the first time in my life. Well, well! Talking of Christmas–this little supper we’ve just give is about equal to forty Christmases in one. Seem’s if.”
“Dear, kind, Aunt Sally, how shall I ever thank you for all you’ve done for us?” cried Mrs. Trent, appearing at her friend’s side, and impetuously clasping the portly matron. The embrace was so unexpected, for the ranch mistress was never a demonstrative woman, that its recipient was, for the instant, speechless; the next, she had turned herself about and demanded:
“Gabriella Trent, have you had a bite to eat?”
“No. Have you, Mrs. Benton?”
“Not a morsel. I’m as empty as a bubble. No more has the captain touched a thing. She’s here, there and everywhere, among her precious ‘boys,’ yet not a one of ’em has the decency to say: ‘Share my supper, Lady Jess.’ If they were my ‘boys,’ I’d–”
“No, you wouldn’t, mother. And I’m glad to see you two women resting a spell. Keep on sitting there. We’re going to wait on you now, and don’t you believe we haven’t put by the pick of the pies for you all! The captain is fetchin’ the tackers, and Pasqual’s fetchin’ the food. But what about old Pedro and the coyote?”
“John, don’t call names, ’specially hard ones. They always come home to roost. But I’m glad you do some credit to your upraisin’, and did remember that somebody else, except yourself, might be hungry. Wait, Gabriell’. Don’t you worry about that Indian. I’ll just step in and fix him somethin’.”
“You’d better not, mother. He’s got all the company he wants at this present writing.”
This was sufficient to spur Mrs. Benton’s energy afresh. Curiosity was her besetting sin, and she could not endure that anything should go on about the ranch in which she had no hand. Rising rather hastily from a chair that was much too frail for her weight, she and it came to grief, and the fact diverted her attention for the time.
John was glad of this, though outwardly he sympathized with her slight mishap, and facetiously offered her a dose of her own picra.
Mrs. Trent also rose, saying:
“I will go to Pedro. Though I did try to thank him, when he first came, I had but a moment to give him then, and I fear he will feel he has been neglected. As if I could ever neglect one to whom I owe my darling’s restoration!”
Mrs. Benton looked after her, and sighed.
“There she goes again! and that woman hasn’t tasted a mouthful in a dog’s age!”
“How long’s a ‘dog’s age,’ Aunt Sally?” demanded Ned as he helped himself to a buttered biscuit which Pasqual had just placed on the old lady’s plate.
“Age as long as a dog,” commented Luis, seizing the biscuit from his mate and running away with it. Of course, Ned gave chase, and the usual battle ensued, after which they dropped down upon the spot where they had fought, threw their arms around each other’s necks, and munched the biscuit together with an air of cherubic delight.
Everybody laughed at the pair, upon which Aunt Sally now descended with a threatening mien and a plate of plum cake.
“Ain’t you ashamed of yourselves, you naughty children? Fighting half your time. Here! Eat that and let your suppers stop. By the way, how many suppers have you had already?”
“Six or seven,” promptly replied Ned, who had eaten with whoever invited him.
“Sixty-seven,” echoed Luis.
“Then to bed you go, this instant!” And off they were marched, without delay. Of course, this was another postponement of Mrs. Benton’s own meal, but she didn’t mind that, so long as she had an opportunity to deal with the small lads. Explaining to them, as she undressed and bathed them: “You’d go to wrack and ruin if ’twasn’t for me takin’ a hand in your upbringin’ now and then. You pull the wool over Gabriella’s eyes the worst ever was. My! What you doing now, Edward Trent?”
“Pullin’ wool, like you said!” and wound the white blanket he had caught from his cot the more tightly about Luis’ head.
Meanwhile, the ranch mistress had gained the office and asked admission at its locked door. When a long wait ensued, she reflected rather anxiously upon what the men had often said, “That Old Century is as top-lofty as a king. Thinks he is a king, in his own rights, and his having lived a hundred years makes him better’n anybody else.”
This was quite true. Faithful and devoted to her as he was, the shepherd exacted even from her the respect that was his due. On that day he felt that much more than ordinary consideration was owing him; yet he had been left for hours, unvisited by her for whom he had done, and meant still to do, so much. Therefore, it was with a bearing full of injured dignity that he at last slid the bolt and opened the door, though he did not invite the visitor to enter, nor withdraw from the opening.
“I came to see about your supper, good Pedro. Do you know that it has been cooked in the old mission oven? That should make it taste fine to you. You must pardon my not being earlier, but there have been so many, many guests. All gone now, save our own people.”
“Senorita, am I not also a guest, yes? Was one at Sobrante as old as me? Should not I have ruled the feast?”
“Indeed, you should, my friend, if there had been any ruling whatever. It was simply take and eat, and away to their distant homes. You are already at home, nor have I, either, tasted food. Come now and feast with me. I am hungry, and so should you be. You mustn’t keep the mistress waiting, you know!”
Pedro’s countenance had softened, and he had expended all his sternness, but his caution remained. With a significant glance toward his prisoner, the dwarf, he shook his head.
“When he is safe, then will I break my fast. The senorita does me honor.”
“That is what I should like to do, dear Pedro. But is not poor Ferd safe in here? Can we not send him in some supper and turn the lock upon him?”
She could not hide the repugnance she felt toward the miserable, misshapen creature, now sleeping on the floor, and after one glance in his direction looked swiftly away. But that glance had been sufficient to startle her by its resemblance to another face she hoped never to see again.
Pedro’s keen old eyes noticed her surprise and dismay, and he smiled grimly.
“The mistress sees. Slumber shows it–the likeness. One breed of snakes were in the den. Fear both, watch both, for they are brothers. Yes.”
This, then, explained many things; not the least, the wonderful influence and control which Antonio had always maintained over his half-witted “left hand,” as the “boys” called the unfortunate hunchback.
“Antonio–Ferdinand–both Bernals–brothers?” asked Mrs. Trent, in a tremulous voice.
“Si. Yes, indeed. In truth.”
“And all this time nobody knew or suspected it?”
“Senorita, the master knew. That was part of his great goodness to the wicked one who would ruin him if he could. ’Ware Antonio–’ware Ferd. One is the shadow of the other. One thinks, the other works. When Antonio went, Ferd stayed. No good, senorita. Watch him.”
The lady sat down upon the nearest chair, and, as she did so, caught sight of the basket upon the desk. It was filled to overflowing with articles of various sorts, and beside it lay the curious metal-pointed staff. Her impulse was to reach forward and take it, but the Indian arrested her hand by an upward motion of his own. Then he opened it himself and showed her, at the bottom, a number of leathern bags with knitted covers.
“Elsa’s money?”
Pedro silently assented.
“Oh, let us call her, and give it back to her at once.”
“Fools must learn. Let the miner come, and Samson.”
Mrs. Trent stepped outside and dispatched a messenger for the two men, who presently came; the one glum and offended, thinking in his slow way that he had been made a jest of, and that the money his wife so loved had not, after all, been found. The other, as always, proud and alert to serve the “admiral.”
When they had entered the room, Wolfgang’s eyes at once rested greedily upon the basket, which Pedro had again closed, as if he guessed what treasure lay within. Samson’s glance went straight to the sleeping dwarf, and an almost irresistible impulse to kick the inert figure possessed him. But he restrained himself, and colored high when he met the lady’s own glance.
“No, Samson, please. No violence. Yet it is Pedro’s wise advice that Ferd be placed under the charge of somebody who shall know at all times just where he is and what he is about. Will you take that charge, herder?”
“That ain’t the kind of cattle I keep, ‘admiral.’”
“I understand it isn’t a pleasant task. That’s not the question, which is simply: Will you be responsible for–Ferdinand Bernal?”
The mighty sailor fairly jumped, but his reply was: “You could knock me down with a feather!”
Mrs. Trent laughed. “Yes, it is strange. But look sharp. The resemblance is strong. Pedro knows the relationship, and my husband knew it. I did not, until just now. Something better may suggest itself to you or me, but for the present, will you take charge of this unhappy one?”
A delayed and most reluctant “Yes” came at last from the herder’s lips. If he had been asked to punish the dwarf the answer would have been swift and eager; but “take charge!” That meant constant association, decent treatment and responsibility for the most “slippery” of human beings.
“Then, please take him away at once.”
Ferd had roused, and was sitting up; so that when Samson laid his great hand on the lad’s shoulder, the latter understood, in a dim way, that he was now the herder’s, rather than the shepherd’s prisoner. Of the two, he would have preferred the latter keeper; but he would bother with neither very long.
It was a relief when the door closed upon the outgoing pair, and Pedro rose and locked it. There was something preternaturally solemn and mysterious in his manner as, placing a chair nearer to the desk for Mrs. Trent, he motioned Wolfgang to take another opposite. Then, standing between them he drew the basket toward himself, and keeping one hand upon it, thrust the other within his shirt and drew from that the reddish bit of rock which Jessica had seen him so careful of.
Holding it so that the last rays of the sun fell through the window full upon it, he extended it on his open palm and demanded of the miner:
“What?”
