Kitabı oku: «Jessica, the Heiress», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CACTUS HEDGE
The shrieks ended by Wun Lung’s throwing himself face downward on the floor, but they had roused the whole household, even the sleeping children. Those in the room below had rushed to the stairs, wondering what could possibly have happened to the Chinaman, whose outcries these certainly were. The little lads had sprang from their cot, screaming on their own account, and Mrs. Benton had awaked from the “fortywinks” she was taking in her chair.
As a natural result of her sudden awakening she grasped the two children who were clinging to her skirts and shook them soundly, ordering them to “shut up to once ’fore you scare folks to death.”
They were not easily pacified and she thus, fortunately, had her hands full, for the moment, else the fear-paralyzed Wun Lung might have fared hardly. As it was, none but Jessica had a full, clear view of the strange visitant, since the Chinaman had closed his eyes against it and the others had not thought to look out of doors; but she saw it, and with critical distinctness.
For an instant, indeed, her own nerves had thrilled and her heart seemed to stand still; the next her overpowering desire to see the “spook” for herself had conquered her terror and she gazed with all her might.
“It certainly looks like Pedro, with his clothes all white. And the horse–it may be his that died–but–but–”
The ghostly steed and its rider remained utterly motionless, as if scrutinizing the house on their own part or waiting for somebody to appear; then, as the little girl bounded to the open window the better to gratify her curiosity, the animal–if such it was–slowly wheeled about and loped away. There was a sound of muffled footfalls on the hard drive, and the vision had vanished.
Jessica still leaned from the casement watching and thinking more rapidly than she had ever done before; but when convinced that the apparition was really gone, she slowly retreated below stairs, passing her mother and Ninian on the way, yet not pausing till she had gained the side of the sharpshooter. Him she seized, exultantly exclaiming:
“Well, Ephraim, I’ve seen your spectre!”
“You–have!”
“And it’s no more a ‘ghost’ than I am.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, hastily; ashamed of himself for half regretting that the supernatural view of the matter might not be the right one. “It isn’t? Well, what is it, then?”
“It’s Antonio Bernal and his horse, Nero.”
“Huh! How do you fetch that? When both of them are black as my hat.”
Her last, lingering uneasiness banished by his presence and the sound of her own words, with firmer conviction she declared to him and the others who had now gathered about her:
“I ‘fetch it’ fast enough. This was the way dear old Pedro used to ride; and this is the way your ‘spook’ sat his horse,” she announced, so vividly mimicking both men that all who had known them recognized the likeness, and Ephraim exclaimed:
“That’s them to a t-i-o-n-tion! Can seem to see ’em right here before me. Well–what next?”
“Pedro wore his blanket like a king. Antonio has covered his head with that white thing, and even so wasn’t half Pedro’s height. I shall not soon forget that splendid Old Century, the last time I saw him ride away, that night. A hundred years old, yet as straight in his saddle as a rod.”
“Antonio Bernal was a magnificent horseman, darling,” suggested Mrs. Trent, from the chair into which she had sunk, as if weakened by the series of startling events which had befallen her home.
“Even so, mother, dear, he couldn’t match old Pedro. Antonio sat forward, so, with a careless sort of slouch–just like the ‘spook’ had.”
“What could possibly be his motive for such foolishness, daughter, granting you are right?”
The captain laughed.
“Upon my word, mother, even you, as well as Ephraim, seem sorry it isn’t a truly ghost, after all.”
“No, no, indeed. I’m sorry, rather, to think it may be Antonio, as you fancy, and that he still persists in troubling us, even by so silly a disguise.”
“It hasn’t been so silly, Mrs. Trent, if it has hoodwinked a lot of sensible people, and you are right–there must be a motive for it in the actor’s mind. I hope Jessica’s judgment in the case is correct, for back there in Los Angeles, we didn’t find the manager a difficult person to deal with,” remarked Mr. Sharp.
The girl went on:
“Then that horse. Don’t you remember, mother, and you, Ephraim, the curious little switch Nero used to give his tail whenever he was turned around? Well, this ‘spook’ horse did just the same thing. Oh, I know, I know I’m right!”
“But how could he turn a black horse snow white, even if you are? As I remember Nero he wouldn’t stand much nonsense, even from his own master,” said “Forty-niner.”
“Pooh! If lack-wit Ferd could paint Prince, as he did–another spirited horse, if you please–Antonio could do what he liked with Nero. It’s paint, of course, or something like it.”
“But the eyes? The eyes as we saw them on the road, a few hours back, were all on fire. You could see them almost before you could make out that it was a man on horseback was coming. Isn’t that so, Sharp?” demanded Ephraim, persistent to the last.
Jessica turned upon him, triumphantly:
“There! I knew from the way you two looked when we were talking a little while ago that you’d seen something out of common! Do tell me about it, please. Do, do!”
Ninian laughed, glanced at his hostess’ face, and replied:
“That’s a story will keep, and you should be in bed. I don’t want to have my coming harm you when I meant it to do you good. Even such a courageous child as you ought to sleep a great deal.”
She had been courageous, indeed, and had astonished him by a coolness and readiness of observation which would have done credit to a much older person. He began to realize how different she was from other children of her age, and how the hardihood of her rearing had developed qualities that were quite unchildlike. He wondered how she would adapt herself to the habits and thoughts of other girls of her own age, and was not surprised that Mrs. Trent craved such society for her. He wished that he might see her placed in some good school, yet was doubtful if just the right one could be selected for a pupil so different from ordinary. However, that was not his affair, and to relieve the family of his further presence at that late hour undoubtedly was. So he bade them all good-night and went to his room, and very shortly afterward everybody under that roof was sound asleep.
“Oh, what a dreamless, delicious rest I’ve had!” was the visitor’s waking thought. His next, that it must be very late and that he had put his hostess to unnecessary trouble. Then he turned over “for just one more wink” and slumbered on for another couple of hours. This time he had dreams in plenty; and finally roused from one, of beautiful gardens peopled by harmless “spooks,” to a sound of sweet music. By his watch he saw that it was eleven o’clock and remembered that it was Sunday. Also, the music was that of a familiar hymn, played upon a fine piano, which was taken up and sung by a choir of mixed voices, from the childish treble of the two little lads to the stentorian bass of Samson, the mighty.
Hastily dressing, Ninian slipped quietly down the stairs and entered the sunny parlor; where Jessica motioned to a chair which had evidently been reserved for him, and softly approached him with an open hymn book.
It was Mrs. Trent at the piano and her rich soprano voice faultlessly led her straggling chorus, filled for the most part by the men grouped outside on the wide porch. He could see them through the long, French windows, sitting or standing as each felt inclined, but all with that earnest seriousness of demeanor which befitted the day and the task. For task it evidently was to some of them; John Benton, for example. He stood alone, at the most upright post attainable, his book at arm’s length, and his head moving from side to side, following the lines, with a little upward toss of it as he reached the end of each, while from his throat issued most startling tones.
Afterwards, Aunt Sally explained, for she had seen Ninian’s amused survey of her “boy,” that:
“John can no more carry a tune than he can fly, and I’d rather hear him sawin’ his boards than tryin’ to sing. But he feels it’s his duty to help the others along by singing at it and sort of keepin’ Gabriell’ in countenance, seems if. Sweet, ain’t it?”
It had been “sweet” in the guest’s opinion–the whole of the short service; conducted with such simple dignity and reverence by the Madonna-like ranch mistress; the music so well chosen, the few prayers so feelingly offered, and the brief exhortation read from the words of a famous divine who had the rare gift of touching men’s hearts. And he so expressed himself, as well as his surprise, over the belated breakfast which Mrs. Benton served him when the service was over and the household dispersed.
“Yes, I think it’s the nicest thing there is about this dear Sobrante. There’s always been the best sort of inflooence here and that’s why I like my boy, John, to belong. Cass’us, he used to hold the meeting, and after he died I feared Gabriella wouldn’t be equal to it. But bless your soul! if down she didn’t come that first Sunday ’at ever was, and her not havin’ left her bed sence it happened, and sent Wun Lungy out to have the old mission bell rung, a signal. I’ll ever forget it to my dyin’ day, I shan’t. Her like a spirit all in white and a face was both the saddest and the upliftedest ever I see; and them rough men all crowdin’ up to their places, so soft you’d thought they was barefoot ’stead of heavy shod; and Jessie with her arms round the two little ones, and her mother pitchin’ the tune, same as usual, and–and–I declare I can’t keep the tears back yet, rememberin’. Before she was done the whole kerboodle of us was sobbin’ and cryin’ like a passel of young ones, and there was she, with her broken heart, as calm and serene as an angel. Angel is what she is, mostly; with just enough old human natur’ in her to keep her from soarin’ right away. Gabriell’s one them scurce kind makes you glad every time she does a wrong or thoughtless thing, ’cause then you know she ain’t quite perfected yet, and you’re surer of keepin’ her ’on earth. My! the good that woman does beats all. This very day, when she’d lots rather stay to home and visit with you, she’s give orders for Ephraim to have the buck-board got ready to take her twenty miles to see a neighbor who’s sick. She’s fixing a basket of things now, and is in a hurry. So that’s the reason she didn’t come to keep you company herself. Have another piece of chicken–do.”
“Thank you, no. I’ve enjoyed my breakfast hugely, and feel as if I’d never known a moment’s illness.”
There was the sound of wheels just then and Ninian strolled out to offer his service as escort to the ranch mistress in case she might desire it. But the offer was not made, though the lady greeted him with evident pleasure, and even herself glanced toward the vehicle, as if wishing he might ride with her. But there was Ephraim Marsh, in the glory of a white shirt and brilliant necktie, brushed and speckless, and beaming benevolently upon all less favored mortals. It was only upon such errands of mercy that the mistress ever left her home, and there was not a ranchman in her employ but esteemed it an honor to drive for her whither she would.
Ninian saw the state of affairs plainly enough, and, possibly, so did “Forty-niner” himself; who might, under some circumstances, have sacrificed his pleasure for that of the young man. But not now. Ever since he had returned from his long stay in the city, the sensitive old fellow had felt a difference in his surroundings. There was nobody mean enough to tell him of the base suspicions that his fellow workmen had harbored about him, and they fancied that by treating him with more than former friendliness they could offset the unknown injury they had done him. It was this very effusiveness that had roused his suspicions that something was wrong, and he saw in this solitary drive with his beloved mistress a chance to unburden his mind and get her wise opinion on the matter.
So he merely “passed the time of day” with the guest, helped the lady to her place, and stepped up beside her; then chirruped to his horse and was off.
But Ninian was not allowed much disappointment, for there was Lady Jess, clasping his hand and looking up into his face with the brightest of smiles, as she exclaimed: “Just think of it, dear Mr. Sharp! We are to have a long, delightful day together. Mother will not be home before nightfall and I am to do everything I can to make you happy. As if I wouldn’t, even without being bidden! But what shall it be first? Where would you like to walk or ride? Or would you rather rest and read?”
“First, I would like to walk around to that curious hedge yonder, that you told me before had been planted by the old padres. Everything about these ancient missions interests me.”
“Oh! I love them, too, and I’m so glad we live on one, or the place where one used to be. That hedge is prickly-pear and was meant to keep the Indians out of the inclosure, if they were ugly. But it’s a hundred years old, and Pedro could remember when it was ever so much smaller than now.”
It was a weird stretch of the repellent cactus, whose great gnarled branches locked and intertwined themselves in a verdureless mass of thorns and spikes which well might have daunted even an Indian. The hedge was many feet in width and higher than Ninian’s shoulder, still green on top, but too unlovely to have been preserved for any reason save its antiquity and history. One end of it was close to the kitchen part of the house, and the other reached beyond the fall of the farthest old adobe.
“A formidable barrier, indeed! It reminds me of some of Dore’s fantastic pictures,” said the reporter.
“Doesn’t it? My mother has books with his drawings in, and I have thought that, too. It is a trouble sometimes, because anybody coming across the field from yonder must go either way around the quarters or all along the back of the house, before he can get in here; when if it weren’t there at all, it wouldn’t be two steps. But we will never have it cut down because my father said so. He wouldn’t have anybody break a single leaf, if he could help it, and–oh, oh!”
Mr. Sharp lifted his head from his close examination of a branch that had particularly interested him and saw Jessica pointing in astonishment at the very heart of the great hedge.
“What is it? Something especially curious?”
“Curious! It’s–it’s–dreadful! You can see right through it! Somebody has ruined it!”
The reporter stooped and followed the direction of her guiding finger and saw that a strange thing had indeed been done. For a considerable length the terrible barrier had been literally tunneled, though the fact was not easily discernible. Walls of the bare and twisted branches were still left unbroken on either side, but a sufficient space had been scooped out to admit the passage of a human being should such desire a hiding place.
“Oh! isn’t that dreadful? Who could have done it, and why?” cried the captain, in distress; and her companion could only think of Aunt Sally’s declaration, made to him at breakfast, that Sobrante was “bewitched.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHAT THE SABBATH BROUGHT
“Now I know how it was that Antonio disappeared that time when Aunt Sally and Ephraim heard him outside the pantry window!” cried Jessica, exultingly; and seeing the gentleman’s puzzled expression, told of the scene within the cold closet and of the mocking answer “Forty-niner” had received, when he said he was determined to find out Antonio’s retreat. Then she bade her friend stoop again and see for himself how easy it was for one at the rear of the house, where the pantry was, to slip into this cactus tunnel and be utterly hidden from anybody who would search from that side.
They saw, also, that the broken branches had been thrown under the open foundation of the kitchen, leaving no sign of the ruin that had been done.
“A clever scamp, indeed! And any other sort of plant would have withered at the top and led to discovery. But not this; for the verdure has evidently long been gone from this part of the hedge,” observed Ninian.
“Oh, yes! This end has been dead for a great while, yet my mother would not have it removed. It would have lasted maybe forever in just that way; and Antonio knew how we prized it. Oh, dear! I do believe he is as wicked as the ‘boys’ say, though I hate to think that of anybody.” “Surely, you have had proof enough of his evil doings, even without these later fantastic developments. You must never trust that man, little girl, should he again try to make you.”
“I think he won’t bother me. Why should he?” asked she, in some surprise, for her friend’s tone had been most impressive. “Why should you imagine that?”
“I don’t know myself, exactly why. It just ‘happened’ into my head. By the way, captain, did you send me all of the specimen of copper that you had?”
“Oh, no, indeed! My mother thought best not. We sent you only a little bit, cut from the larger one Pedro dug. Let’s go into the office and I’ll open the safe and show you the rest. Do you know anything about such mines and stuff?”
“I do know something about ores and minerals, my dear, for before I was a newspaper man I was a clerk in the office of an expert in such matters. I should greatly like to see your sample,” he answered, readily.
So she led the way at once and took the key from a desk drawer, which anybody might have opened, and Ninian remarked:
“What an insecure place for a safe key! Yours is certainly a most confiding household.”
“Oh, it’s not a very safe safe, anyway,” she answered, laughing; “and who would want to open it? It’s Ephraim’s really, though I don’t think he’s ever been near it since he came home. Isn’t it a great, clumsy key? But my father told me that there are safes much, much larger and stronger than this which are opened by very small keys. Odd, isn’t it?” As she spoke she was down upon her knees in front of the strong box and trying with all her small strength to turn the lock; and after watching her for a moment the reporter laughed, and suggested:
“Suppose you just merely pull at the knob. It looks to me as if the thing were already opened, for the door isn’t tight; or is that protruding edge of it a part of the general crudeness?”
Jessica obeyed, pulling with such unnecessary force that the safe flew open and he fell backward, laughing.
But Mr. Sharp did not laugh. In view of what had been told him he was afraid the thing had been tampered with, and watched in silence while the little girl thrust her hand into the safe and felt all about, her face lengthening as she did so; but again, suddenly brightening, when she exclaimed:
“Oh, my mother must have done that! There was all the money in here that was left after Elsa got her own share. The first nights two of the ‘boys’ slept in the house to watch, ’cause mother was afraid we might lose it again. Then, since ‘Forty-niner’ got home only he has slept here, and he generally ‘bunks’ on the lounge in this very office. That’s what it is, what it must be. My mother has worried about Antonio, and has taken the money and the piece of copper away and put them somewhere else. Well, never mind. She’ll show it to you as soon as she comes back; and now, what shall we do next? Would you like to ride?”
Ninian passed his hand across his brow in mild perplexity. An instant conviction had seized him that here was another feature of the mysteries pervading this peaceful ranch; and though he as instantly frowned upon his own suspicion, it would remain to torment him. However, he said nothing further to disturb Jessica’s composure, and readily agreed that a ride would be delightful, though he added, grimly:
“I’m so lame and stiff already from yesterday’s horseback exercise that I feel older than Ephraim. I expect a ‘hair of the same dog’ is the best cure, and wish now I had made time, back there in town, to get used to a saddle. I never found it convenient, though, and poor Nimrod missed his outings even more than I did, I fancy. It certainly is a glorious day for a canter, as almost all our days are.”
“It’s nice, too, when the rains come. We do things indoors then that we never do all the rest of the year. My mother plays and sings half the time, ’cause then she can’t go poking around all over the ranch, like she does now. In the evenings the ‘boys’ all come in and tell stories or do their best to amuse us. We were always happiest, too, when Pedro came, and when my father was here he coaxed him and he came often. Now–he’ll never come again!” she finished, with an irrepressible burst of grief, which she as quickly suppressed, for she saw that it saddened her guest as well; and she had been reared in the spirit of hospitality that makes the stranger glad even at the cost of one’s own impulses.
So she added, with a smile that seemed all the brighter because of the tears still glistening on her long lashes:
“I’ll bring you some books out here and you can rest in the hammock while I run and have the horses saddled. Buster isn’t as fast as Nimrod, but he’ll go now and then as if he were a colt. I hope this will be one of his fast times, don’t you? I love to ride fast!” Ninian smiled rather grimly, answering:
“Just at present, from the state of my poor muscles, I fancy I’d prefer a gait as slow as Buster’s ordinary one. But if I stay the week out, I mean to learn a thing or two about that fine beast of mine.”
“A week or two! Why, you’re to be here till after Christmas, anyway, and that’s a fortnight off. I wish–oh, I wish you would live here always!”
From his delightful resting place in a hammock that was “stretched just right,” and which commanded one of the loveliest views in the world, he looked afield and wished so too. Fond as he was of his own active city life, this broad outlook appealed to him most strongly; yet he shook off the longing that assailed him to pass his days in the country and opened the book Jessica had brought. He was soon absorbed in its pages and forgot the errand upon which the child had gone, till, after a long time, as it proved, Ned stole bashfully up and pushed a scrap of paper into his down-hanging hand.
“Hello, youngster!” cried the gentleman, sitting up. “What’s this?”
The child’s timidity banished at the first sound of the visitor’s voice. Mr. Sharp reading, with his spectacles on, and Mr. Sharp speaking in that hail-fellow-well-met manner were two different people. Besides that, Ned’s shyness was not his strongest feature, though it cropped out now and then to the astonishment of his family. Also, he was fresh from the hands of Aunt Sally and his catechism lesson, into which she had adroitly forced a hint of the conduct due toward a “wise man, that can write printin’.” Supposing it to be a production of the little fellow’s own, Mr. Sharp delayed the reading of the crumpled epistle he had received and continued his talk with its bearer; who presently forgot his Sunday manners, and reproachfully demanded that “printing press you promised.”
“’Cause if I had it I’d be just as smart as you, you know.”
“Smartersyou!” cried the echo, clasping Ned’s neck with that choking affection of his.
Ned turned upon his other self and pummeled him well, declaring:
“No, you wouldn’t neither, Luis Garcia! ’Twouldn’t be your printing press, and you can’t spell cat backwards! So, there!”
“Cat backwards, dogboycat,” gurgled Luis, in a rapture of mere existence.
Ninian laughed at the comical pair, finding them infinitely diverting; and was only brought back to his immediate duty by the insistence of the small messenger, who demanded:
“Why don’t you read your letter? I should think anybody what makes newspapers could read a little girl’s letter.”
“That’s a fact; I’ll see if I can;” and accordingly spread out the scrap of wrapping paper, which had not been very smooth to start with and had suffered further ill treatment at Ned’s hand. The note required a second reading before he could fully comprehend its meaning, which he then found sufficiently startling to send him stableward in hot haste. The message was from the little captain, and was worded thus:
“dear mister sharp please excuse me i must go to a Dyeing man and i Mustnt Tell Who cause if my mother was Home I Wood and she wood say yes. She always helps dyeing folks and sick ones one the boys will go and he can ride Moses or prince Which he likes. I guess marty so i Cant right any more the paper is so littul and i cant Stay.”
“JESSICA.”
This had been written with a coarse blue pencil, evidently picked up in the stable or workroom; and to the reporter’s inquiries, put to the first ranchman he met, there seemed no satisfactory answer. The man in question had not seen Jessica since service, and the men’s quarters to which Ninian hurried, were almost deserted. Sunday was their own, so the “boys” spent much of it afield, hunting or visiting on neighboring ranches. Yet a further search revealed John Benton, in his own room, reading; and to him the visitor again put the question of Jessica’s probable whereabouts, and showed the letter.
The carpenter was on his feet instantly, a look of apprehension deepening the lines of his earnest face; and running to the door he shouted to a stable boy who was crossing the space before the old adobes:
“Natan! Natan!”
The youth paused, hesitated, yet came no nearer; and John repeated his summons, with an imperative “Here!” Then muttered an explanation to the reporter: “Another of those no-account Greasers; same kind as the Bernals and hired by top-lofty when, he was in charge. Works well enough but–”
By this time Natan had slouched forward and stood stolidly awaiting an expected as well as merited reproof, because of stalls imperfectly cleaned and harnesses left in other than their own places; for John was orderly to the last degree and a very martinet in disciplining his subordinates. However, it was no neglect of duty that was now to be scored, but a question was fairly hurled at the young groom and in a voice sharp with anxiety:
“Natan, did you saddle Buster just now?”
“But yes,” answered the lad, greatly relieved.
“Where is he? And Nimrod?”
“Nimrod is at the ‘house’ horse block, is it not? Si. Groomed to the highest, and a beauty we’re all glad to see back where he belongs.”
“Your opinion wasn’t asked. Where is Buster?”
“Where the captain wills. I know not, I,” with a shrug of his lean shoulders.
“Did she mount him?”
“Why else should he be saddled, no?” returned the groom, with an insolent laugh.
John’s temper flamed and he turned away with a disgusted snort, meaning to seek information elsewhere on a case he felt permitted no delay. But Ninian was cooler, if equally suspicious that Natan was concealing something that should be known; so, laying his hand not unkindly upon the youth’s shoulder, he said:
“If you know anything of this, where Miss Jessica has gone and with whom, or if alone, it will be worth your while to tell me and at once. I’m pretty good pay for seasonable articles,” he finished, in his journalistic manner.
He had taken a dollar from his pocket and was carelessly tossing it from hand to hand, nor was he disappointed when Natan fixed his black eyes greedily upon the coin. Still the lad said nothing, only pondered in his own dull mind which of two masters it would benefit him most to serve; and annoyed by this hesitation, Ninian hazarded a guess:
“Oh, well, if you prefer to work for Antonio Bernal, it’s all one to me.”
Natan’s mouth flew open and his eyes grew wild:
“You know it, then, already, you?”
“I know many things,” was the sententious answer.
“But it is a pity, yes. The so fine man and such a rider. He will ride no more, poor Antonio, si.”
Ninian’s blood ran chill, yet he asked, still quietly, though foreseeing evil he dared not contemplate:
“Who brought the word?”
“Ferd, the dwarf,” came the reply, as the dollar exchanged owners.
