Port O' Gold Part 5

"I have heard," the other remarked almost musingly, "that they are redeemable at from fifteen to twenty per cent. And that the only man who accepts them at even half of their face value is McTurpin the gambler."

"That is not my business," Bartlett answered brusquely. The quintet rode on, absorbed and silent. Below them swept green reaches of ranch land, dotted here and there with cattle and horses or the picturesque haciendas of old Spanish families. The camino stretched white and broad before them, winding through rolling hillocks, shaded sometimes by huge overhanging trees.

"Isn't this Francisco Sanchez, whom we go to visit, a soldier, a former commandante of your town, alcalde?" asked a rider.

"Yes, the same one who ran away when Montgomery came." Bartlett laughed.

"It was several days before he dared come out of the brush to take a look at the 'gringo invader.'"

"I met him at the reception to Commodore Stockton," said the man who rode beside Bartlett. "He didn't impress me as a timid chap, exactly.

Something of a fire-eater, I'd have said."

"Oh, they're all fire-eaters--on the surface," Bartlett's tone was disdainful. "But you may all judge for yourselves in a moment. For, if I'm not mistaken, he's coming up the road to meet us."

"By jove, he sits his horse like a king," said Bartlett's companion, admiringly. "Who are those chaps with him? Looks like a sort of--reception committee."

"They are Guerrero and Vasquez and--oh, yes, young Benito Windham,"

Bartlett answered. He spurred his horse and the others followed; there was something about the half careless formation of the four riders ahead which vaguely troubled the alcalde.

"Buenos dias, caballeros," he saluted in his faulty Spanish.

"Buenos dias, senors," Sanchez spoke with unusual crispness. "You have come for horses, doubtless, amigo alcalde?"

"Ah--er--yes," said Bartlett. "The necessities of war are great," he added apologetically.

"And suppose we refuse?" Benito Windham pressed forward, blazing out the words in pa.s.sionate anger. "Suppose we deny your manufactured requisitions? Whence came the horse you sit like a very clown? I will tell you, tyrant and despoiler. It was stolen from my mother by your thieves."

"Benito, hold your peace," said Sanchez sternly. "I will deal with this good gentleman and his friends. They shall be our guests for a time."

As though the words had been a signal, five lariats descended apparently from a clear sky, each falling over the head of a member of Bartlett's party. They settled neatly and were tightened, pinning the arms of riders helplessly.

"Well done, amigos," commented Sanchez as a quintet of grinning vaqueros rode up from the rear. "As you have so aptly said, the necessities of war are paramount, alcalde."

"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Bartlett. "Release us instantly, or you shall suffer. Do you think," he sneered, "that a handful of greasers can defy the United States?"

"Perchance, with so important an official as the great Alcalde Bartlett for your hostage, we can reach a compromise on certain points," said Sanchez. "Come, you shall suffer no hardship, if you accept the situation reasonably."

"I warn you that this means death or imprisonment to all of you,"

Bartlett shouted.

"Ah, senor, the risks of war are many." Sanchez' teeth flashed. He clucked to his horse and the little cavalcade wound, single-file, up a narrow horse-trail toward the hills.

They pa.s.sed many bands of hors.e.m.e.n, all armed, saluting Sanchez as their chief. Among them were owners and vaqueros from a score of ranches.

There was something grim, determined in their manner which foreboded serious trouble.

One of Bartlett's fellow-captives leaned toward him, whispering: "Those fellows mean business. They're like hornets if you stir 'em up too far, these greasers."

"Yes, by Jove! And they mean to sting!" said another.

CHAPTER VIII

McTURPIN'S COUP

Yerba Buena was in an uproar. Sanchez' capture of Alcalde Bartlett and his party had brought home with a vengeance the war which hitherto was but an echo from far Mexico. Now the peaceful pueblo was an armed camp.

Volunteers rode in from San Jose, San Juan and other nearby pueblos, asking for a chance to "fight the greasers." All the ranches of the countryside buzzed with a martial ardor. Vaqueros, spurred with jangling silver-mounted harness, toward Francisco Sanchez' stronghold in the Santa Clara hills to battle with the "gringo tyrants."

Commander Hull of the "Warren" had sent a hundred sailors and marines from his sloop, post haste, to quell the rebellion. Couriers rode to and fro between his headquarters in the custom house and the punitive expedition under Captain Ward Marston which was scouting the Santa Clara plains in search of the enemy.

Even now the battle waged, no doubt, for Marston that morning reported a brush with the enemy, had asked for reinforcements. Hull had sent post haste a pack of ill a.s.sorted and undrilled adventurers from among the new arrivals. That was 9 o'clock and now the sun had pa.s.sed its noon meridian--with no courier.

William Leidesdorff came strolling up, his expression placid, smiling as always. He was warm from toiling up the hill and paused, panting, hat in hand, to mop his brow with a large red 'kerchief.

"Ha! Commander!" he saluted. "And how goes it this morning?"

Hull glanced at him half irritated, half amused. One could never quite be angry at this fellow nor in tune with him. Leidesdorff, with his cherubic grin, his plump, comfortable body, the close-cropped hair, side whiskers and moustache, framing and embellishing his round face with an ornate symmetry, was like a bearded cupid. Hull handed him the latest dispatch. "Nothing since then, confound it!" he said gloomily.

"Ah, well," spoke Leidesdorff, with unction, "one should not be alarmed.

What is that cloud of dust on the horizon? A courier perhaps."

It proved to be Samuel Brannan, dusty and weary, with dispatches from Captain Ward which Hull almost s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand. A group of men and women who had watched his arrival, gathered about asking questions.

Nathan Spear spoke first. He had been too ill to join the Americans, but had furnished them horses and arms. "How goes it with our 'army,' Sam?"

he asked.

"None too well," said Brannan. "Those greasers can fight and they've a good leader. Everyone of them would die for Sanchez. And everyone's a sharpshooter. For a time they amused themselves this morning knocking off our hats--it rather demoralized the recruits."

Hull, with an imprecation, crushed the dispatch and turned to Brannan.

"We must have more men and quickly," he announced. "Ward asks for instant reinforcements.... Can you recruit--say fifty--from your colony?"

"Impossible," said Brannan, shortly. "I have sent all who can ride or manage a rifle." He came a little closer and regarded the commander steadily. "Did Ward write anything about a parley?" he inquired.

"Yes," said Hull. "He indicates that peace might be arranged if I will give a guarantee against further horse or cattle commandeering."

"May I suggest that such a course is wise--and just?"

"d.a.m.n it, sir! You'd have me treat with these--these brigands!" the other shouted. "Never. They've defied the United States by laying violent hands on an official. They've wounded two of my marines."

He turned to the crowd which had a.s.sembled. "Do you hear that? Two Americans wounded. Five held in captivity--including your alcalde. Shall we stand that pa.s.sively? Shall we let the enemy dictate terms?"

"No, no!" a voice shouted. "Fight to the last ditch. Kill the greasers.

Hang them to a tree. I'm with you, horse and gun. Who else?"

"I, I, I," a score made answer. They pressed forward. "Who's to lead us?" asked the first speaker.

Brannan stepped forward but Commander Hull raised a protesting hand. "I shall send a corporal of marines from the Warren. You will rest your horse, since I cannot spare you a fresh mount, and hold yourself in readiness to act as a courier, Mr. Brannan." He summoned an orderly and sent him to the Warren with an order to Corporal Smith. Meanwhile the volunteers a.s.sembled in the square, thirty-four in all; men of half a dozen nationalities. One giant Russian loomed above them, a Goliath on a great roan horse. And near him, to accentuate the contrast, an elderly moustached, imperialed Frenchman on a mare as under-sized and spirited as himself.

Brannan and Leidesdorff watched them galloping down the camino ten minutes later under the guidance of a smart young corporal.

"I trust it will soon be over," said the former. "I saw Benito Windham riding beside Sanchez in the battle today."