Chapter 13
Bill Wilson Goes Visiting
“I Don’t know what you’ve been doing to José Pacheco, lately,” was Dade’s way of broaching the subject, “but Don Andres asked me to ‘persuade’ you not to go on rodeo, on account of some trouble between you and José.”
“He wants my scalp, is all,” Jack explained easily, picking burrs from the fringe of his sash—burrs he had gotten when he ran a race with Teresita from the farther side of the orchard to the spring, a short time before. “Valencia told me—and he got it from Manuel—that José is right on the warpath. If it wasn’t for his being laid up—”
“Oh, I know. You’d like to go over and have it out with him. But you can’t. The Pachecos and the Picardos are almost like one family. I don’t suppose José ever stayed away from here so long since he was a baby, as he has since we came. It’s bad enough to keep old friends away, without mixing up a quarrel. Have you seen José lately? Don Andres seemed to think so, but I told him you’d have said something about it to me if you had.”
“I met him in the trail, a week or so ago,” Jack admitted with manifest reluctance. “He wasn’t overly friendly, but there wasn’t any real trouble, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He looked sidelong at the other, saw the hurt in Dade’s eyes at this evidence of the constraint growing intangibly between them, and laughed defiantly.
“Upon my soul!” he exclaimed, “one would think I was simple-minded, the way you act! D’you think a man never scowled my way before? D’you think I’m afraid of José? D’you think I don’t know enough to take care of myself? What the devil do you think? Can’t go on rodeo—you’re afraid I might get hurt! I ain’t crazy to go, for that matter; but I don’t know as I relish this guardian-angel stunt you’re playing. You’ve got your hands full without that. You needn’t worry about me; I’ve managed to squeak along so far without getting my light put out—”
“By being a tolerably fair shot, yes,” Dade assented, his face hardening a little under the injustice. “But since I’m hired to look after Don Andres’ interests, you’re going to do what I tell you. You’ll stay here and boss the peons while I’m gone. A friendship between two families that has lasted as many years as you are old, ain’t going to be busted up now, if I can help it. It’s strained to the snapping-point right now, just because the don is friendly with us gringos. Of course, we can’t help that. He had his ideas on the subject before he ever saw me or you. Just the same, it’s up to us not to do the snapping; and I know one gringo that’s going to behave himself if I have to take him down and set on him!”
“Whee-ee! Somebody else is hitting the war-post, if I know the signs!” Dade stirred to anger always tickled Jack immensely, perhaps because of its very novelty, and restored him to good humor. “Have it your own way, then, darn you! I don’t want to go on rodeo, nohow.”
“I know that, all right,” snapped Dade, and started off with his hat tilted over his eyes. No one, he reminded himself, would want to spend a month or so riding the range when he could stay and philander with as pretty a Spanish girl as ever played the game of cat-and-mouse with a man. And Jack never had been the kind to go looking for trouble; truth to tell, he had never found it necessary, for trouble usually flew to meet him as a needle flies to the magnet.
But, a wound is not necessarily a deadly one because it sends excruciating pain-signals to a man’s heart and brain; and love seldom is fatal, however painful it may be. Dade was slowly recovering, under the rather heroic treatment of watching his successor writhe and exult by turns, as the mood of the maiden might decree. Strong medicine, that, to be swallowed with a wry face, if you will; but it is guaranteed to cure if the sufferer is not a mental and moral weakling.
Dade was quite ready to go out to rodeo work; indeed, he was anxious to go. But, not being a morbid young man, he did not contemplate carrying a broken heart with him. Teresita was sweet and winsome and maddeningly alluring; he knew it, he felt it still. Indeed, he was made to realize it every time the whim seized her to punish Jack by smiling upon Dade. But she was as capricious as beauty usually is, and he knew that also; and after being used several times as a club with which to beat Jack into proper humility (and always seeing very clearly that he was merely the club and nothing more) he had almost reached the point where he could shrug shoulders philosophically at her coquetry; and what is better, do it without bitterness. At least, he could do it when he had not seen her for several hours, which made rodeo time a relief for which he was grateful.
What hurt him most, just now, was the constraint between him and Jack; time was when Jack would have told him immediately of any unpleasant meeting with José. It never occurred to Dade that he himself had fostered the constraint by his moody aloofness when he was fighting the first jealous resentment he had ever felt against the other in the years of their constant companionship. An unexpected slap on the shoulder almost sent him headlong.
“Say, old man, I didn’t mean it,” Jack began contritely, referring perhaps to his petulant speech, rather than to his mode of making his presence known. “But—come over here in the shade, and let’s have it out once for all. I know you aren’t stuck up over being majordomo, but all the same you’re not the old Dade, whether you know it or not. You go around as if—well—you know how you’ve been. What I wanted to say is, what’s the matter? Is it anything I’ve said or done?”
He sat down on the stone steps of a hut used for a storehouse and reached moodily for his smoking material. “I know I didn’t say anything about running up against José—but it wasn’t anything beyond a few words; and, Dade, you’ve been almighty hard to talk to lately. If you’ve got anything against me—”
“Oh, quit it!” Dade’s face glowed darkly with the blood which shame brought there. He opened his lips to say more, took a long breath instead, closed them, and looked at Jack queerly. For one reckless moment he meditated a plunge into that perfect candor which may be either the wisest or the most foolish thing a man may do in all his life.
“I didn’t think you noticed it,” he said, his voice lowered instinctively because of the temptation to tell the truth, and his glance wandering absently over to the corral opposite, where Surry stood waiting placidly until his master should have need of him. “There has been a regular brick wall between us lately. I felt it myself and I blamed you for it. I—”
“It wasn’t my building,” Jack cut in eagerly. “It’s you, you old pirate. Why, you’d hardly talk when we happened to be alone, and when I tried to act as if nothing was wrong, you’d look so darned sour I just had to close my sweet lips like the petals of a—”
“Cabbage,” supplied Dade dryly, and placed his cigarette between lips that twitched.
Former relations having thus been established after their own fashion, Dade began to wonder how he had ever been fool enough to think of confessing his hurt. It would have built that wall higher and thicker; he saw it now, and with the lighting of his cigarette he swung back to a more normal state of mind than he had been in for a month.
“I’m going up toward Manuel’s camp, pretty soon,” he observed lazily, eying Jack meditatively through a thin haze of smoke. “Want to take a ride up that way and let the sun shine on your nice new saddle?” Though he called it Manuel’s camp from force of habit, that hot-blooded gentleman had not set foot over its unhewn doorsill for three weeks and more.
Jack hesitated, having in mind the possibility of persuading Teresita that she ought to pay a visit to the Simpson cabin that day to display her latest accomplishment by asking in real, understandable English, how the pup was getting along; and to show the pretty señora the proper way to pat tortillas out thin and smooth, as Margarita had been bribed to teach Teresita herself to do.
“Sure, I’ll go,” he responded, before the hesitation had become pronounced, and managed to inject a good deal of his old heartiness into the words.
“I’m going to have the cattle pushed down this way,” Dade explained, “so you can keep an eye on them from here and we won’t have to keep up that camp. Since they made Bill Wilson captain of the Vigilantes, there isn’t quite so much wholesale stealing as there was, anyway, and enough vaqueros went with Manuel so I’ll need every one that’s left. I’ll leave you Pedro, because he can’t do any hard riding, after that fall he got the other day. The two of you can keep the cattle pretty well down this way.”
“All right. Say, what was it made you act so glum since we came down here?” Jack, as occasionally happens with a friend, was not content to forget a grievance while the cause of it remained clouded with mystery.
“Are you sore over that trouble I had in town? I know how you feel about—well, about killings; but, Dade, I had to. I hate it myself. You needn’t think I like the idea, just because I haven’t talked about it. A fellow feels different,” he added slowly, “when it’s white men. When we fought Injuns, I don’t believe it worried either one of us to think we’d killed some. We were generally glad of it. But these others—they were mean enough and ornery enough; but they were humans. I was glad at the time, but that wore off. And I’ve caught you looking at me kinda queer, lately, as if you hated me, almost. You ought to know—”
“I know you’re always going off half-cocked,” chuckled Dade, quite himself again. “No, now you mention it, I don’t like the idea of shooting first and finding out afterwards what it was all about, the way so many fellows have got in the habit of doing. Guns are all right in their place. And when you get away out where the law doesn’t reach, and you have to look out for yourself, they come in mighty handy. But like every other kind of power, most men don’t know when and how to use the gun argument; and they make more trouble than they settle, half the time. You had a right to shoot, that day, and shoot to kill. Why, didn’t the Committee investigate you, first thing after Bill was elected, and find that you were justified? Didn’t they wipe your reputation clean with their official document, that Bill sent you a copy of? No, that never bothered me at all, old man. You want to forget about it. You only saved the Committee the trouble of hanging ’em, according to Bill. Say, Valencia was telling me yesterday—”
“Well, what the dickens did ail you, then?”
Dade threw out both hands helplessly and gave a rueful laugh. “You’re harder to dodge than an old cow when you’ve got her calf on the saddle,” he complained.
“The trouble was,” he explained gravely, “that these last boots of mine pinched like the devil, and I’ve been mad for a month because my feet are half a size bigger than yours. I wanted to stump you for a trade, only I knew yours would cripple me up worse than these did. But I’ve got ’em broke in now, so I can walk without tying my face into a hard knot. There’s nothing on earth,” he declared earnestly, “will put me on the fight as quick as a pair of boots that don’t fit.”
Jack paid tribute to Dade’s mendaciousness by looking at him doubtfully, not quite sure whether to believe him; and Dade chuckled again, well pleased with himself. Even when Jack finally told him quite frankly that he was a liar, he only laughed and went over to where Surry stood rolling the wheel in his bit. He would not answer Jack’s chagrined vilifications, except with an occasional amused invitation to go to the devil.
So the wall of constraint crumbled to the nothingness out of which it was built, and the two came close together again in that perfect companionship that may choose whatever medium the mood of man may direct, and still hold taut the bond of their friendship.
While they rode together up the valley, Jack told the details of the encounter with José, and declared that he was doing all that even Dade could demand of him by resisting the desire to ride down to Santa Clara and make José swallow his words.
“I’d have done it anyway, as soon as I brought Teresita home,” he added, with a hint of apology for his seeming weakness. “But, darn it, I knew all the time that she made him think she was running away from me. It did look that way, when she stopped as soon as she met him; I can’t swear right now whether Tejon was running away, or whether he was just simply running!” He laughed ruefully. “She’s an awful little tease—just plumb full of the old Nick, even if she does look as innocent and as meek as their pictures of the Virgin Mary. She had us both guessing, let me tell you! He was pretty blamed insulting, though, and I’d have licked the stuffing out of him right then and there, if she hadn’t swung in and played the joker the way she did. Made José look as if he’d been doused with cold water—and him breathing fire and brimstone the minute before.
“It was funny, I reckon—to Teresita; we didn’t see the joke. Every time I bring up the subject of that runaway, she laughs; but she won’t say whether it was a runaway, no matter how I sneak the question in. So I just let it go, seeing José is laid up now; only, next time I bump into José Pacheco, he’s going to act pretty, or there’s liable to be a little excitement.
“I wish I had my pistols. I wrote to Bill Wilson about them again, the other day; if he doesn’t send them down pretty soon, I’m going after them.” He stopped, his attention arrested by the peculiar behavior of a herd of a hundred or more cattle, a little distance from the road.
“Now, what do you suppose is the excitement over there?” he asked; and for answer Dade turned from the trail to investigate.
“Maybe they’ve run across the carcass of a critter that’s been killed,” he hazarded, “though this is pretty close home for beef thieves to get in their work. Most of the stock is killed north and east of Manuel’s camp.”
The cattle, moving restlessly about and jabbing their long, wicked horns at any animal that got in the way, lifted heads to stare at them suspiciously, before they turned tail and scampered off through the mustard. From the live oak under which they had been gathered came a welcoming shout, and the two, riding under the tent-like branches, craned necks in astonishment.
“Hello, Jack,” spoke the voice again. “I’m almighty glad to see yuh! Hello, Dade, how are yuh?”
“Bill Wilson, by thunder!” Jack’s tone was incredulous.
Bill, roosting a good ten feet from the ground on a great, horizontal limb, flicked the ashes from the cigar he was smoking and grinned down at them unabashed.
“You sure took your time about getting here,” he remarked, hitching himself into a more comfortable posture on the rough bark. “I’ve been praying for you, two hours and more. Say, don’t ever talk to me about hungry wolf-packs, boys. I’ll take ’em in preference to the meek-eyed cow-bossies, any time.”
They besought him for details and got them in Bill’s own fashion of telling. Briefly, he had long had in mind a trip down to the Picardo ranch, just to see the boys and the country and have a talk over the stirring events of the past month; and, he added, he wanted to bring Jack his pistols himself, because it was not reasonable to expect any greaser to withstand the temptation of keeping them, once he got them in his hands.
Therefore, having plenty of excuses for venturing so far from his place, and having “tied the dove of peace to the ridge-pole” of town by means of some thorough work on the part of the new Committee, he had boldly set forth that morning, soon after sunrise, upon a horse which somebody had sworn that a lady could ride.
Bill confessed frankly that he wasn’t any lady, however; and so, when the horse ducked unexpectedly to one side of the trail, because of something he saw in the long grass, Bill surprised himself very much by getting his next clear impression of the situation from the ground.
“I dunno how I got there, but I was there, all right, and it didn’t feel good, either. But I’d been making up my mind to get off and try walking though, so I done it. Say, I don’t see nothing so damned attractive about riding horseback, anyway!”
He yelled at the horse to stop, but it appeared that his whoas were so terrifying that the horse ran for its life. So Bill started to walk, beguiling the time, by soliloquizing upon—well, Bill put it this way: “I walked and I cussed, and I cussed and I walked, for about four hours and a half. Say! How do you make out it’s only twenty miles?”
“Nearer thirty” corrected Dade, and Bill grunted and went on with the story of his misfortunes. Walking became monotonous, and he wearied of soliloquy before the cattle discovered him.
“Met quite a band, all of a sudden,” said Bill. “They throned up their heads and looked at me like I was wild Injuns, and I shooed ’em off—or tried to. They did run a little piece, and then they all turned and looked a minute, and commenced coming again, heads up and tails a-rising. And,” he added naïvely, “I commenced going!” He said he thought that he could go faster than they could come; but the faster he departed, the more eager was their arrival. “Till we was all of us on the gallop and tongues a-hanging.”
Bill was big, and he was inclined to flesh because of no exercise more strenuous than quelling incipient riots in his place, or weighing the dust that passed into his hands and ownership. He must have run for some distance, since he swore by several forbidden things that the chase lasted for five miles—”And if you don’t believe it, you can ride back up the trail till you come to the dent I made with my toes when I started in.”
Other cattle came up and joined in the race, until Bill had quite a following; and when he was gasping for breath and losing hope of seeing another day, he came upon a live oak, whose branches started almost from the roots and inclined upward so gently that even a fat man who has lost his breath need not hesitate over the climbing.
“Thank the good Lord he don’t cut all his trees after the same pattern,” finished Bill fervently, “and that live oaks ain’t built like redwoods. If they was, you’d be wiping off my coat-buttons right now, trying to identify my remains!”
Being polite young men, and having a sincere liking for Bill, they hid certain exchanges of grins and glances under their hat-brims (Bill being above them and the brims being wide) and did not by a single word belittle the escape he had had from man-eating cows. Instead, Dade coaxed him down from the tree and onto Surry, swearing solemnly that the horse was quite as safe as the limb to which Bill showed a disposition to cling. Bill was hard to persuade, but since Dade was a man who inspired faith instinctively, the exchange was finally accomplished, Bill still showing that strange, clinging disposition that made him grip the saddle-horn as a drowning man is said to grasp at a straw.
So they got him to the house, the two riding Jack’s peppery palimeno with some difficulty; while Surry stepped softly that he might not dislodge that burden in the saddle, whose body lurched insecurely and made the horse feel at every step the ignorance of the man. They got him and themselves to the house; and his presence there did its part towards strengthening Don Andres’ liking for gringos, while Bill himself gained a broader outlook, a keener perception of the rights of the native-born Californians.
Up in San Francisco there was a tendency to make light of those rights. It was commonly accepted that the old land grants were outrageous, and that the dons who prated of their rights were but land pirates who would be justly compelled by the government to disgorge their holdings. Bill had been in the habit of calling all Spaniards “greasers,” just as the average Spaniard spoke of all Americans as “gringos,” or heathenish foreigners.
But on the porch of Don Andres, his saddle-galled person reclining at ease in a great armchair behind the passion vines, with the fragile stem of a wine-glass twirling between his white, sensitive, gambler-fingers while he listened to the don’s courtly utterances as translated faithfully by Dade (Jack being absent on some philandering mission of his own), big Bill Wilson opened his eyes to the other side of the question and frankly owned himself puzzled to choose.
“Seems like the men that came here when there wasn’t anything but Injuns and animals, and built up the country outa raw material, ought to have some say now about who’s going to reap the harvest,” he admitted to Dade. “Don’t look so much like gobbling, when you get right down to cases, does it? But at the same time, all these men that leave the east and come out here to make homes—seems like they’ve got a right to settle down and plow up a garden patch if they want to. They’re going to do it, anyway. Looks like these grandees’ll have to cash in their chips and quit, but it’s a darned shame.”
As to the town, Bill told them much that had happened. Politics were still turbulent; but Perkins’ gang of hoodlums was fairly wiped out, and the Committee was working systematically and openly for the best interests of the town. There had been a hanging the week before; a public hanging in the square, after a trial as fair as any court properly authorized could give.
“Not much like that farce they pulled off that day with Jack,” asserted Bill. “Real lawyers, we had, and real evidence for and against the feller, and tried him for real murder. Things are cooling down fast, up there, and you can walk the streets now without hanging onto your money with one hand and your gun with the other. Jack and you can come back any time. And say, Jack!” Having heard his voice beyond the vines, Bill made bold to call him somewhat peremptorily.
“There’s some gold left, you know, that belongs to you. I didn’t send it all down; didn’t like the looks of that—er—” He checked himself on the point of saying greaser. “And seeing you’re located down here for the summer, and don’t need it, why don’t you put it into lots? You two can pick up a couple of lots that will grow into good money, one of these days. Fact is, I’ve got a couple in mind. I’d like to see you fellows get some money to workin’ for you. This horseback riding is too blamed risky.”
“That looks reasonable to me,” said Dade. “We’ve got the mine, of course, but the town ought to go on growing, and lots should be a good place to sink a thousand or two. I’ve got a little that ain’t working.” Then seeing the inquiring look in the eyes of Don Andres, he explained to him what Bill had suggested.
Don Andres nodded his white head approvingly. “The Señor Weelson is right,” he said. “You would do well, amigos, to heed his advice.”
“Just as Jack says,” Dade concluded; and Jack amended that statement by saying it was just as Bill said. If Bill knew of a lot or two and thought it would be a good investment, he could buy them in their names. And Bill snorted at their absolute lack of business instinct and let the subject drop into the background with the remark that, for men that had come west with the gold fever, they surely did seem to care very little about the gold they came after.
“The fun of finding it is good enough,” declared Jack, unashamed, “so long as we have all we need. And when we need more than we’ve got, there’s the mine; we can always find more. Just now—”
He waved his cigarette towards the darkening hills; and in the little silence that followed they heard the sweet, high tenor of a vaquero somewhere, singing plaintively a Spanish love-song. When the voice trailed into a mournful, minor “Adios, adios,” a robin down in the orchard added a brief, throaty note of his own.
Bill sighed and eased his stiffened muscles in the big chair. “Well, I don’t blame either one of you,” he drawled somewhat wistfully. “If I was fifteen years limberer and fifty pounds slimmer, I dunno but what I’d set into this ranch game myself. It’s sure peaceful.”
Foolishly they agreed that it was.