When Dreams Come True Part 19

"Aye!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Juan. "It must be lonely at the old _rancho_ without a woman to keep him company."

"The tall Senorita would be just the one for the place!" exclaimed Rosita enthusiastically.

"Rosita _mia_," began Juan confidentially after a short silence, during which his gaze rested pensively on the retreating figures of the girls, "I've just been thinking that there is no happiness for a man, still less for a woman, in a single life. What say you, Rosita _mia_," he went on, patting her familiarly on the cheek.

"Juan Ramon," interrupted Rosita with an angry flush, "if you don't want to get your face slapped, you had better behave like a _Caballero_!"

"_Caramba!_ what a little spitfire!" returned Juan, pulling the end of his thin mustache, yet not in the least disconcerted by her show of temper. "But supposing, my pearl of a housekeeper, that I bought a neat little _rancheria_--do you know of any one who might care to look after it?"

"Bah! First pay your gambling debts, Juan Ramon. There will then be time enough to look for some one who will allow herself to be beaten on feast-days when you have drunk more _pulque_ than is good for you. But _Dios!_ why am I wasting words with you? The Senoritas will begin to wonder what has become of their chocolate and _tortillas_ if I don't hurry."

"Ungrateful woman," responded Juan, a.s.suming an injured tone. "Would you leave me without a kiss?"

"Holy Mother! what has come over you, Juan Ramon--has the sunshine gone to your head? A kiss, indeed!" and she tossed her head. "Go to Petronita, the cook! She is old; doubtless she will give you a plenty!"

and laughing, she hurried into the dining-room in search of a tray with which to serve the ladies. The mere mention of the ancient, withered Petronita, with the parchment-like face, caused Juan's mouth to pucker as though he had bitten into an unripe persimmon.

"_Diablos!_ if the luck would only change!" he muttered. "Rosita would be the very one--" The sound of light footsteps and the tinkle of spurs caused Juan to turn.

"Ah! _buenas dias_, Senorita!" he exclaimed, lifting his hat and bowing before Chiquita, who had entered the _patio_ from the opposite side of the house. Her riding-habit, her boots and gloves and gray felt hat beneath which were twisted her thick braids of hair, were covered with thin white particles of dust.

"Where is your mistress, Dona Fernandez, Juan?" she asked.

"I will call her, Senorita," answered Juan, replacing his hat on his head and starting for the hallway.

"Never mind, Juan," called Chiquita, catching sight of Blanch and Bessie in the distance. "I will first speak with the Senoritas," and she turned toward the garden.

Juan's beady black eyes followed her tall figure as she moved toward the girls. Ever since the arrival of the Americans there had been much discussion in the household as to which was the more beautiful, Blanch or Chiquita. The Senora's dislike for the latter was well known, but in spite of this prejudice, opinion was pretty evenly divided concerning the merits of the two. It was a vexing question, and the opportunity of comparing the two women as they met in the garden was too tempting to be missed. So, with one end of his _zerape_ slung carelessly over his shoulder, Juan strolled casually past the little group of women in the direction of the corrals, where he could observe them at his leisure from the recesses of the garden without attracting attention.

Notwithstanding the fact that the dark woman was at a disadvantage in her dust-covered riding-habit, he could not for the life of him tell which was the more beautiful of the two as he pa.s.sed behind a thicket of lilac bushes, and seated himself on a rustic bench and began rolling a _cigarillo_ between his long slim fingers.

Juan was a born gambler, and like all of his tribe, was usually in want of money. To-day he needed it more than ever, for that very morning his mistress had taunted him and threatened to leave him if he did not pay for the new dresses she had recently purchased, and for which she was now being dunned by her creditors. Never had he had such a run of bad luck. During the great week of the _Fiesta_ he had tried everything from roulette to monte, but fortune's wheel had turned steadily against him.

It was truly the devil's own luck and no mistake. If only the luck would turn, he would quit the game of chance forever--cast off the ungrateful Dolores, and.... He drew a much-worn pack of cards from his breast pocket and began cutting them with a dexterity acquired through long years of practice.

Like all of his race, and the majority of mankind for that matter, he was intensely superst.i.tious. Three times in succession he cut and dealt the cards, and three times the ace of hearts, the luckiest card in the pack, turned face upwards on the bench.

"_Santa Maria!_ 'tis a miracle--the luck has changed at last!" he muttered excitedly, as with dilated eyes and trembling hands he gathered up the cards and replaced them carefully in his pocket. His dream of the _hacienda_ and the fair Rosita might yet come true. But how? The cards were too fickle to trust for long. Just then the rich, deep voice of Chiquita fell upon his ears. Without knowing why, yet intuitively he seemed to connect her with the turn in his fortune--and it set him thinking.

Ever since the _Fiesta_, curiosity had prompted him to learn something concerning Chiquita's motive for dancing; and whenever the opportunity presented itself, he had shadowed her. His patience was soon rewarded by learning that she made frequent visits to the Indian _pueblo_, Onava, often riding there in the late evening under cover of the dusk. On one occasion he saw an Indian ride forth from the village and meet her on the plain where she awaited him. They engaged in long and earnest conversation, at the end of which he fancied he saw Chiquita draw nearer to her companion and hand him something, and then the darkness shut them from view. He did not dare follow her farther or enter the village, for fear of attracting suspicion to himself; but surely this was a clew to something, to the mystery, perhaps.

At this juncture, Juan rolled a fresh _cigarillo_ as he listened to the voices of the women, his eyes resting on Captain Forest's horse in the corral beyond the garden. The animal fascinated him; never had he laid eyes on such a superb creature. Each day he visited the corral for a look at him, and each time the Chestnut would rush at him with ears laid flat on his neck and mouth wide open, displaying his formidable teeth.

"_Caramba!_ what an animal to stock a _rancho_ with, if only--" Juan sighed, and for some moments roundly cursed the past run of cards. The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm, and the shade sleep inviting. He threw the burnt end of his _cigarillo_ on the ground, and, drawing up his feet, stretched himself at full length on the bench--the upper half of his fox-like face appearing just above the edge of his _zerape_.

_Dios!_ was it not better to sleep and even dream bad dreams, than waking, meditate upon the misfortunes of life?

XIX

When Chiquita entered the garden, she had just returned from an Indian Mission School for girls, some ten miles distant from Santa Fe, whither she rode once a week to instruct its pupils in the art of blanket and basket weaving; an art which she had practiced from her earliest days.

Her affair with Don Felipe was bad enough, and though she had been generally condemned for it, her woman's prerogative was recognized nevertheless. But for a lady, and ward of a priest, to dance in public and for money, was a thing unheard of; and gossip was fast giving her an unenviable reputation. This latest escapade, as it was generally termed, had nearly cost her her position in the school. When, however, it was taken into consideration that her services were gratuitous and that it would be impossible to replace her by any one else half as competent, the directors of the inst.i.tution discreetly demurred, deciding that it would be better to humor the caprices of this fair barbarian who ruled supreme in her department.

The greeting which took place between her and Blanch was cordial enough to all outward appearances. Considering the tension and delicacy of the situation, the volcanic nature of the two and the intense longing of each to fly at the other and settle their differences then and there, the self-control of the two was commendable in the extreme.

"Do you ride much, Senorita?" asked Blanch, eyeing critically her riding-skirt and wondering how it was that such an antiquated cut could sit her so well.

"I don't think I could live without a horse," replied Chiquita. "I often think I must have been born on one; at least, I can't remember the day when I first learned to ride. It was good to get back here after my six years at school for the sake of riding, if for nothing else. I don't believe either of you know what the real joys of riding are," she went on, pulling the glove from her right hand and sipping the chocolate which Bessie had handed her.

"Not until one has pa.s.sed weeks and months in the saddle at a time does one thoroughly realize what riding means, or appreciate the worth and companionship of a horse." She paused, and a look of longing came into her large, l.u.s.trous eyes, as the memory of her early life came back to her, when she, with her people, roamed free through the land.

"_Dios!_ but I have been unhappy ever since you came, Senorita," she resumed, changing the subject abruptly and addressing Blanch. "The knowledge that you are constantly near him almost drives me mad at times. And your dresses--they haunt me in my dreams! I never before imagined that dress was of so much importance in this world." She was so outspoken and withal so natural, that both Blanch and Bessie burst into a peal of good-natured laughter in which Chiquita joined.

"We women," she continued, taking another sip of chocolate, "have nothing to fall back upon except our old antiquated Spanish costumes--you can imagine what we would look like in the modern clothes we procured here. I have never been placed in such a ridiculous position before, and if I only knew that you were as miserable as I am, I think I might begin to enjoy the humor of the situation." Again all three laughed.

"Ah, love, what a thing is love!" she sighed, placing her slender gloved hand over her heart. "It makes one as miserable as it does happy." Then suddenly turning to Blanch, she asked: "Have you always dressed like that?"

"I have always tried to live up to a certain standard," replied Blanch.

"And how long have you known him?"

"Oh! as long as I can remember--twenty years, perhaps."

"Twenty years, and always looked like that and not married to him? Sweet Mother of G.o.d!" she cried in the quaintest tone imaginable, sinking back in her chair. "Had I known him as many weeks I had either married him or killed myself!"

"n.o.body takes love so seriously as that!" laughed Blanch.

"Ah! you have never loved him!" she said, after a short silence.

"Why do you suppose I am here?" returned Blanch.

"Then how could you have lived near him all these years without marrying him?"

"It was a mistake, I admit," answered Blanch good-humoredly. "But you must understand that we don't regard love in quite the same light as you do. We don't make a great fuss about it and talk of killing ourselves, and that sort of thing. We get married when we find it convenient."

"Ah, yes, I know," answered Chiquita, "but I'm sure you can never be as much to him as I can. What have you endured, what have you suffered to make you feel and realize the full significance of love?"

"Do you imagine," asked Blanch in surprise, "that there is any less of the woman in me because I have been spared the things which you perhaps have been forced to endure, or that one must first suffer before one is capable of loving?"

"No, I don't think that, for love is a thing like sleep, it comes upon us unawares. But it seems to me I am better fitted for him than you are; that my love, tempered by my life's experience, must be fuller and deeper and richer than that which you have to offer him. What," she continued, "do you really know of life? Not the social side of it, of which your life has been so full, but life as it really is? Were you born under the open heavens? Have you slept on the hard, cold ground, exposed to the weather, or nearly perished of hunger and thirst? Could you feed and clothe yourself from the naked earth without the a.s.sistance of others? Have you seen men, women and children starve, or ruthlessly struck down by your side, or nursed them through some terrible scourge like the smallpox?

"All your life you have been protected and cared for, while all my life I have been obliged to face the reality of things, forced to work, to procure the simple necessities of life. I have carried wood and water, cooked, and fed and clothed myself and others with the materials provided by my own hands. And yet, when I look back upon my life, I would not surrender one hour of the true happiness the day's work brought with it could I thereby have escaped the suffering and bitterness it often entailed. Barren though my life may appear from your point of view, I know it to be infinitely rich in comparison to yours, for, as I have said, you have never known what life really means--never experienced its hardships, never beheld the bright face of danger, nor tasted the joys of the great free life in the open, the simple daily life devoid of the cares of civilized men, without which the life of a man can never be complete, be he what he may.

"'Where the foot rests, that is home,' is a saying among my people; a truth, that so far as my experience goes, has never been gainsaid."

In spite of themselves and the fact that they could not wholly comprehend the weight and significance of her words, they were fascinated by her discourse, emphasized and ill.u.s.trated as it was by the dramatic intensity of her gestures and expression.