The Blood of the Arena Part 19

Gallardo told her one afternoon about a short excursion he must take to his plantation at La Rinconada. He must look at some olive orchards his manager had bought during his absence to add to his estate; he must also acquaint himself with the progress of the work on the plantation.

The idea of accompanying the _matador_ on this excursion occurred to Dona Sol and made her smile at its absurdity and daring. To go to that hacienda where Gallardo's family spent a part of the year! To invade with the scandalous audacity of irregularity and sin that tranquil atmosphere of domestic life where the poor youth lived with those of his own home! The very absurdity of the idea decided her. She would go; it would interest her to see La Rinconada.

Gallardo was afraid. He thought of the people on the plantation, of the gossips who would tell his family about this trip. But the look in Dona Sol's eyes overthrew his scruples. Who could tell! Maybe this trip would bring back the old situation.

He wished, however, to offer a final obstacle to this desire.

"And Plumitas? Remember about him; they say that he is around La Rinconada."

"Ah! Plumitas!" Dona Sol's countenance, clouded by _ennui_, seemed to clear by a sudden flash from within. "How charming! I would be delighted if you could present him."

Gallardo arranged the trip. He had expected to go alone, but Dona Sol's company obliged him to take an escort for fear of an unhappy adventure on the road. He sought Potaje, the _picador_. He was a rough fellow, and feared nothing in the world but his gypsy wife, who, when she grew tired of taking beatings, tried to bite him. No need to give explanations to him--only wine in abundance. Alcohol and the atrocious falls in the ring kept him in a perpetual state of stupidity, as if his head buzzed and prevented him from saying more than a few words and permitted him but a clouded vision of things in general.

Gallardo also ordered Nacional to go with them; one more, and that was discretion beyond all doubt.

The _banderillero_ obeyed from force of habit but grumbled when he heard that Dona Sol was going with them.

"By the life of the blue dove! Must a father of a family see himself mixed up in these ugly affairs! What will Carmen and Sena' Angustias say about me if they find it out?"

When he found himself in the open country, placed beside Potaje on the seat of an automobile, in front of the _matador_ and the great lady, his anger little by little vanished. He could not see her well, hidden as she was in a great blue veil that fell from her travelling cap and floated over her yellow silk coat; but she was very beautiful. And such conversation! And such knowledge of things!

Before half the journey was over, Nacional, with his twenty-five years of marital fidelity, excused the weakness of the _matador_, and made vain efforts to explain his enthusiasm to himself.

"Whoever found himself in the same situation would do the same.

"Education! A fine thing, capable of giving respectability to even the greatest sins."

CHAPTER IX

BREAKFAST WITH THE BANDIT

"Let him tell thee who he is--or else let the devil take him. d.a.m.n the luck! Can't a man sleep?"

Nacional heard this answer through the door of his master's room, and transmitted it to a _peon_ belonging to the hacienda who stood waiting on the stairs.

"Let him tell thee who he is! Unless he does, the master won't get up."

It was eight o'clock. The _banderillero_ peeped out of the window, following with his gaze the _peon_ who ran along the road in front of the plantation until he came to the farther end of the wire fence that surrounded the estate. Near the entrance to this enclosure he saw a man on horseback,--so small in the distance, both man and horse seemed to have stepped out of a box of toys.

The laborer soon returned, after having talked with the horseman.

Nacional, interested in these goings and comings, received him at the foot of the stairs.

"He says he must see the master," faltered the _peon_. "He looks like an ill-tempered fellow. He says he wants the master to come down at once because he's got news for him."

The _banderillero_ hastened upstairs to pound on the master's door again, paying no attention to his protests. He must get up; it was late for the country and that man might bring an important message.

"I'm coming!" said Gallardo, gruffly, without rising from his bed.

Nacional peeped out again and saw that the horseman was advancing along the road toward the farmhouse.

The _peon_ ran out with the answer. He, poor man, seemed nervous, and in his two dialogues with the _banderillero_ stammered with an expression of fear and doubt as though not daring to reveal his thoughts. When he joined the man on horseback, he listened to him a few moments and then returned on a run toward the house, this time with even more precipitation. Nacional heard him come up the stairs with no abatement of speed, till he stood before him, trembling and pale.

"It's Plumitas, Senor Sebastian! He says he's Plumitas and that he must talk to the master. My heart told me that the minute I saw him."

Plumitas! The voice of the _peon_, in spite of his stammering and his panting with fatigue, seemed to pierce the walls and scatter through every room as he p.r.o.nounced this name. The _banderillero_ was struck dumb with surprise. The sound of oaths accompanied by the swish of clothing and the thud of a body that hastily flung itself out of bed were heard in the master's room. In the one Dona Sol occupied there was a sudden activity that seemed to respond to the tremendous news.

"But, d.a.m.n him! What does that man want with me? Why does he intrude himself at La Rinconada? And especially just now!"

It was Gallardo who rushed madly out of his room, with only his trousers and jacket hurriedly thrown on over his underclothing. He ran past the _banderillero_, and threw himself down the stairs, followed by Nacional.

The rider was dismounting before the door. A herder was holding the reins of the mare and the other workmen formed a group a short distance away, contemplating the newcomer with curiosity and respect.

He was a man of medium stature, stocky rather than tall, full-faced, blonde, and with short strong limbs. He was dressed in a gray blouse trimmed with black braid, dark, well-worn breeches with a double thickness of cloth on the inside of the leg, and leathern leggings cracked by sun, rain, and mud. Under his blouse his girth was enlarged by the addition of a heavy girdle and a cartridge-belt, to which were added the bulkiness of a heavy revolver and a formidable knife. In his right hand he carried a repeating carbine. A hat which had once been white covered his head, its brim flapping and worn ragged by the inclement weather. A red handkerchief knotted around his neck was the gayest adornment of his person.

His countenance, broad and chub-cheeked, had the placidity of a full moon. His cheeks still revealed the fair skin through their heavy tan; the sharp points of a blonde beard, not shaven for many days, protruded, gleaming like old gold in the sunlight. His eyes were the only disquieting feature of his kindly face, which looked like that of a village sacristan; eyes small and triangular, sunken in bubbles of fat--narrow eyes, that reminded one of the eyes of pigs, with a wicked pupil of dark blue.

When Gallardo appeared at the door of the farmhouse the bandit recognized him instantly and lifted his hat from his round head.

"G.o.d give you good-day, Senor Juan," he said with the grave courtesy of the Andalusian country people.

"Good-day."

"The family well, Senor Juan?"

"Well, thanks, and yours?" asked the matador with the automatism of custom.

"Well, also, I believe. I haven't seen them for some time."

The two men had drawn near together, examining one another at close range with simple frankness as though they were two travellers met in the open country. The bull-fighter was pale and his lips were compressed to hide his emotion. Did the bandit think he was going to scare him? On another occasion perhaps this visit would have frightened him; but now, having upstairs whom he had, he felt equal to fighting him as though he were a bull, should he announce any evil intentions.

Some seconds pa.s.sed in silence. All the men of the plantation who had not gone to their labors in the field, obsessed by the dark fame of his name, contemplated this terrible personage with an amazement that had in it something infantile.

"Can they take the mare to the stable to rest a little?" asked the bandit.

Gallardo made a sign and a boy tugged at the animal's reins, leading her away.

"Care for her well," said Plumitas. "Remember that she's the best thing I've got in the world and that I love her more than my wife and children."

Potaje now came out with his shirt unb.u.t.toned, stretching himself with all the brutal bigness of his athletic body. He rubbed his eyes, always blood-shot and inflamed from abuse of drink, and striding up to the bandit he let a great rough hand fall on one of his shoulders with studied familiarity, as if he enjoyed making him wince beneath his fist, but expressing to him at the same time a rude sympathy.

"How art thou, Plumitas?"

He had not seen him before. The bandit shrank back as though to spring from this rude caress, and his right hand raised his rifle, but the blue eyes, fastened on the _picador_, seemed to recognize him.

"Thou art Potaje, if I don't deceive myself. I have seen thee stir up the bulls at Seville and in other plazas. Comrade, what terrible falls thou hast suffered! How strong thou art! As though made of iron."