Chapter XVIII: Farquharson Meets with a Loss

"The Cap'n wants me to give this 'ere paper to the padre and nobody else. Consequently, nobody else gets it."

"No sabe, señor."

Brown was standing outside the gate of Mission San José. The porter's face was wrinkled into lines of firmness. The caller had asked for Padre Osuna and had held up a sealed envelope on which was written the friar's name. The man in the lodge had asked for the communication, first in Spanish, then in the world-known sign language. Brown understood the signs, but was determined to place the letter in the addressee's hands himself.

"No such trouble go get to see the minister in my country," Brown commented.

"No sabe, señor," again from the porter.

"You don't understand much, pore critter," said Brown, unwittingly using the meaning of the other's words. "Well from them to whom little is given little is to be expected; so, go to the deuce till I can find a way to beat something into your thick head."

Brown's words were unintelligible, but his contemptuous manner spoke plainly enough to the Indian, who broke into a volley of indignant Spanish.

The American slipped the bridle reins over his horse's head and led the animal across the street to the Mendoza hacienda house.

Señor Mendoza had just returned from riding. A half score of mounted Indian riflemen were a short distance back of him. The Administrator nimbly sprang from his horse and awaited the newcomer. Several of the peons unslung their carbines from their shoulders, but replaced them at a motion from the señor's hand.

"Can you talk American?" was Brown's characteristic question.

Genuine amusement was in Mendoza's laugh. "I am not sure. I can understand you, however. I'm sure of that."

Brown looked at the tall, gray man. "I reck'n you're the little girl's pop," he observed. "She favors you mightily in every way, 'cept in size and age. Met her again the other day in San José. We was tickled to death to see one another."

"So you are Brown.. I am very glad to meet you. Allow me to thank you for your generous kindness to my daughter and the lady with her that night in the cave."

Mendoza advanced, his hand extended in hearty greeting. The American took the proffered hand with a viselike grip.

"You bet I'm Brown--Simon James Brown. Saint Louis, Missouri, is my post office address. I'm proud to know ye, sir."

The señor recovered his hand from Brown after it had been given a series of pump-handle shakes.

"What me and the Cap'n did for your folks the night of the freshet gave us as much pleasure as it did them," Brown continued in a mincing way, as if the occasion demanded some special effort from him.

"I regret that I did not have opportunity that night to thank you and your captain."

Brown wagged his head in a friendly way. "Curious feller is the Cap'n. Mind, he's a decent chap to work for and all that. I like him better all the time; but his ways are past finding out, you bet."

Mendoza bowed courteously to the stranger and smiled obligingly. "What you see before you, Señor Brown, is yours. Will you not enter?" He waved his hands over grounds and house.

Brown looked dubiously at the other. The señor's suave dignity forbade the thought that he was joking.

"I declare, I never had so much property before in my life. Does the deed go with it?"

Mendoza smiled and repeated his gestures.

"I don't reck'n I'll go in just now," he said dryly. "You see, I'm workin' and my time isn't my own. I'm lookin' for the minister of that there church," pointing to the Mission over the way. "I can't make the feller in the box catch my meanin'."

"Ah! You wish to see Padre Osuna?"

"That's the name written here," producing the envelope.

"Very well, my friend. Come with me. I'll speak to the porter for you."

"Señor Brown, shall I accompany you across the way?"

"I'll be much obleeged."

"Filipo!" called Mendoza.

Filipo understood. He came out the gate, took the horse's bridle from Brown, then clapped his hands together sharply. A peon boy came running. The porter gave quick command in Spanish. The boy sprang into the saddle and galloped after the riflemen.

"I--see here--" ejaculated the astonished Missourian. "Why, I have to ride that nag to Monterey to-night!" alarm beginning to show in his face.

"The horse will be fed and cared for, Señor Brown," assured Mendoza.

"I'll see that you have a mount to Monterey." Then quickly: "You rode through the lower Santa Clara from Monterey to-day?"

"Sure, I did."

"Saw no signs of renegades?"

"Nary sign. Haven't seen a renegade since I swatted a bunch over last week."

The two went in the direction of the Mission lodge. Noting the erect figure and decisive step of the Californian, Brown squared his heavy shoulders and endeavored to walk in dignified fashion.

Mendoza said a few words to the lodge keeper. The gate opened noiselessly.

"Brown, you are to enter. When your business is over, come to my house. Do not start for Monterey until I see you again. Will you promise, my friend?" The señor held out his hand.

"All right. I don't know where my horse is anyhow. Besides, I'd enjoy to come in and set a spell." He administered several hearty handshakes.

Mendoza turned and walked toward his own gate.

"I declare," Brown soliloquized, "in my country that 'seenyore' there would have come right into the preacher's setting room and stayed around a while."

The porter, by crooking his finger, indicated that Brown was to follow him.

"All right," assented Brown. "I'll follow where you can lead anyway."

The Indian took him within the quadrangle. The busy life he saw attracted his attention.

"A lot of you folks do seem to be working at something or other," he remarked to the porter.

"No sabe, señor," was the answer.

"Seems to me I heard you say something like that before."

They came to the friar's apartments. Juan Antonio met them.

"Be you the Reverend?" asked Brown.

"No sabe, señor," from the old major-domo.

"That there 'pears to be a common remark," commented Brown.

Juan Antonio signaled Brown to come with him.

"All right, 'seenyore,' I'm coming. 'Pears to me this might be a likely place for a deaf-and-dumb man."

He was ushered into a small room well lighted by the afternoon sun. The padre arose to meet him.

"You wish to see me, brother?" he asked.

Brown dropped his sombrero on the floor and made the lowest bow of his life. "I have a letter for you, Reverend."

"A chair, my brother. Ah! I recognize the handwriting," taking the letter. "Kindly excuse me while I read it."

"I shall return an oral reply to Captain Farquharson. Say to him, 'Yes, I will see him.'"

"I'll do it."

The friar seated himself. "I see you are not an Englishman, my friend."

"No, indeed, I'm American, lock, stock, and barrel."

"I thought as much from your accent."

"My accent!"

"Yes. Your manner of speaking English is quite different from that to which I have been accustomed."

"I speak good old United States," Brown said, warmly.

Padre Osuna laughed. "I have met occasionally sea-faring men here and trappers of your nationality."

"I reckon they do slop over into this country. I wish more of them would come. But we are a long way off when we are at home."

"Did you come here as a trapper or as a sailor?"

"Nary trapper; nary sailor. I'm here on the proposition of big game huntin'."

The padre made no reply, but looked intently at his visitor.

Brown now felt that some remarks on matters religious were due from him.

"I haven't been to church none in California because I'm entirely ignorant of the prevailin' tongue," he started in abruptly. "It's no use to set under preachin' if you don't understand the preacher."

The padre laughed. "Certainly both preacher and congregation would be at a disadvantage in such case."

"I've seen men around Monterey and elsewhere dressed in the same way you are, but I haven't spoke to them, bein' uncertain of their knowledge of my talk."

"I fear that not one of my brethren could understand you."

"So I reckoned. Now, I'm not a religious professor at this time, though I'd delight to set under good preachin'. I and all my folks are hard-shelled Baptists."

"Indeed."

"Yes. But bein' mate on a Mississippi freight boat and handlin' nigger deck hands begets an unregenerate spirit."

"You found it so?"

"I did. That was one of the reasons why I left steam-boatin'. Diversion and love of adventure were the others."

"You say you came here on the proposition of big game hunting. You have, then, given up your project for the time being to take service with Captain Farquharson?"

"O, no, Reverend. The Cap'n is here on the same proposition. When I first met him he was plum daffy on big game. The big game he wanted resided only in California. Now, being a man of the world, I'd mixed a good deal with the huntin' of bear, et cetery. I reckoned I could do huntin' in a plain way on the Pacific Coast, so I became first mate in the Cap'n's outfit, and here I be."

The friar looked searchingly at Brown. "Your outfit is doubtless richer by many peltries at this time."

Brown laughed and slapped his thigh. At the same time a shrewd twinkle came into his eyes. "Most curious thing in nature! The minute the Cap'n comes where big game abounds he loses int'rest in said game complete."

"Indeed."

"Certain and sure. Never saw anything like it."

"How do you account for it?"

"The Cap'n's got cards up his sleeve. Maybe I'm wrong, and maybe I'm right; but, anyway, it's got something to do with these Injun folks hereabouts."

Padre Osuna was all attention. "Why do you think so?"

"Well, Reverend, it's the result of my observin's."

"Yes?"

"Yes, sir. Cap'n thinks this country should be cultivated. Talks free on this point. Naturally, Injuns will do the harvestin'. Naturally, again, the Cap'n will get his share of the harvest."

Father Osuna looked steadily at Brown. "You think Captain Farquharson would burden our Indians still further? Have they not been already plundered and cast out? Captain Farquharson's--our government could not contemplate making their peonage more complete. It is impossible."

Brown, slowly moving from side to side in his chair, eyed the padre. "Reckon 'twon't hurt 'em to work a sight more than they do. Our niggers in the South hustle and it does 'em good, besides creatin' wealth."

The friar paced nervously up and down the little room. "My poor children have been deprived of their own; the labor of their hands is being exploited; the welfare of their souls is forgotten. Am I helping to forge their fetters stronger? God forbid."

Brown arose and picked up his hat from the floor. "O, the Cap'n's a pretty good fellow, but smart, you see! He won't treat these 'ere natives worse than the next one."

The friar did not heed him. "This province goes to England, doubtless. If my little ones are oppressed, I'll appear before the queen and demand their rights. I'll claim my privilege of speaking in the House of Commons. The plagues of Egypt will fall on a land which permits such infamy."

"Excuse me, Reverend, I'll be going."

"O, good-day, my friend. Remember, 'Yes.' Shall I write it, or will you remember it?"

"I can recollect it all right. Good-day, Reverend."

Brown made his way toward the lodge. "Well, this 'ere does beat all Harry." He paused and looked around the courtyard. "Well, this 'ere does beat all Harry! England, hey? Well, by gosh! Not much! Big game! Big game! I attend my own business pretty much, but here is the time for bein' nosy."

The porter opened the gate for him to pass out.

"I'm going' to see the 'seenyore' across the way, then I start for an interview with the Cap'n," spoke Brown to himself.

Filipo admitted him at the Mendoza gate and brought him to the Administrator.

"Ah! Señor Brown, a moment's chat with you."

"I'd rather talk than eat."

"You shall do both."

A peon brought in refreshments.

"My good Brown, it is wiser that you stay here to-night."

"Simply can't do it. One reason is, the Cap'n's business. The other is, my own business."

"At any rate, partake of the food and wine. You can the better go on your journey."

Brown did as invited. After a moment he said: "Aren't some folks doin' more or less pull-hauling toward makin' California English territory?"

"It is true. Haven't you known it for some time?"

"Well, I should say not!" contemptuously.

"Your preferences are not English?"

"My family," emphatically, "has spilled too much blood fighting 'em, for that. Not," apologetically, "but what some pretty good Britishers exist; but if anybody gets this country, it's Uncle Sam."

"Have you spoken in this way to the Captain?"

"Haven't got round to it yet. You bet I do before this time to-morrow. Then I strike the long trail back to old Missouri, either on ship or on shank's mare."

"If you leave your present employment at any time, I wish you would apply to me before going farther. Well, here comes my daughter."

Carmelita greeted the American cordially. "I am delighted to see you in my father's house."

"I reckon it's a good place to be in. Wish I could stay longer, but I'm anxious to get to Monterey."

He was obdurate to Mendoza's urging him to remain as his guest till more could be learned as to the renegades.

"I can travel by night along a trail I know. They won't see I'm not one of themselves. All men look alike in the dark."

Mendoza, greatly reluctant, allowed Brown to be off. He sent a strong guard of fighting peons with him.

"Reckon it's the proper caper to travel in style now I'm a landed proprietor. Gosh! Wouldn't my dad be proud to see me now!"

"When you come to this house you come to your own," the host had insisted at parting.

"Mr. Mendoza is a tolerable generous old gent," Brown remarked to the leader of peons who rode by his side.

"No sabe, señor."

"Well, your ignorance is thick enough to be cut with a knife. Hey?"

"No sabe, señor."

"Well," resignedly, "that is about all I've been able to get out of men like you for months."

They were presently in San José. The pueblo was in an almost hysterical state. Morando had drawn with him nearly all the men capable of bearing arms. Rumors were flying about that the Spanish force had been cut to pieces and that Yoscolo was about to descend on the country.

Brown did not understand a word of what was being said. He insisted on starting for Monterey. The peon leader ordered his men to detain him by force.

"Gosh darn yer! Gosh darn yer!" the American shouted. "Leggo my horse! Leggo my horse, I say!"

He loosed both feet from the stirrups and kicked lustily. The natives grasped his legs and hung on like pendant weights despite the rear of the mount. He cut about him with his riding-whip. The peons literally swarmed over him, pinioning his arms from front and behind, meanwhile shouting objections, curses, explanations in mingled Spanish and Indian.

"Shut off your gibberish! Shut off your gibberish, I say! I've got to light out o' here. Get off my back! I've got to get the Cap'n," Brown yelled.

"I'm here, Brown."

Farquharson had ridden up unobserved.

"I heard things were stirring around here and I came to find out about it," he continued. "I knew I should meet you on the way."

The peons released Brown at a word from the Englishman.

"These men were saying you must stay here and help defend the women and children."

"Cap', I'm mighty glad to see you. Well, what about the women and children?"

"It will not be necessary. Yoscolo has been bested. The fight is over, and the wounded are already nearing the outskirts of the pueblo here."

"All well and good. Now, Cap', the padre's word to you is 'Yes.'"

"I understand, Brown."

"Now I have a word."

"Very well."

Brown dismounted and came close to Farquharson. "Are you aimin' to turn California over to the British?"

The Captain smiled broadly. "Now, see here, Brown, we've got along famously for months. You haven't asked questions and haven't suffered any loss by not doing so. Now let things run along the same old way. You've been useful to me. I'll see you get a great deal more than the money I've paid you month by month."

"Cap', you can explain away things about the best of any man I ever saw; but this here is principle with me. There isn't any explaining it away. As I said, I don't care a durn for this country. It's too fur out. But if I help anybody get it, that anybody is Uncle Sam."

"Now, Brown, that's sentiment. Your Uncle Sam doesn't want the country. If he does, why hasn't he made it his own long ago? The truth is, the United States already has more territory than it knows what to do with. England can use California to splendid advantage. The people here are crying for her to come. Brown, her coming is inevitable."

"Perhaps so. Just the same, I don't put my shoulder to her wheel and push her in here. No, sir!"

Farquharson placed his hand on Brown's arm. "See here, my friend, I don't forget you risked your life for me that afternoon in Monterey."

"That's all right, Cap'. I'll remark here, there's nothing personal to you in my present position."

"Well, stay with me. Ask no questions, and I'll see you have a grant of land here twenty times the size of your average Missouri farm."

"Not if I'm to help you or anyone to make this place over to England. Whatever I've done in that way previous was without my knowledge."

"Brown, we shall leave our hill-camp immediately and live in Monterey. You will have nothing to do but carry messages for me. Stay on, now, like a good fellow, and in a half dozen years you can visit your old Missouri home as a rich man."

"No use, Cap'. I've never been so sorry to quit a man, but I have to go."

"Well, Brown, if being a landed proprietor doesn't appeal to you, why not stay on the basis of the friendship that has grown between us?"'

"I'm your friend all right, Cap', but I can't do a thing that would make my old pop back in Missouri ashamed of me. Don't ask that."

O'Donnell appeared from somewhere. Powder-stains streaked his hair, face, and beard. His clothing was cut and torn, but his step was steady and firm. His eyes looked straight into Farquharson's. The Englishman returned him look for look.

"Brown, you know where to find me." The Captain held out his hand.

Brown shook it warmly. "Good-by, Cap'."

Farquharson mounted his horse and moved slowly away. O'Donnell and Brown were left alone.

"You and your 'Cap'n' have been having words?" O'Donnell asked.

"Sounded like it, did it?"

"I presume you do not know he is in the province for political reasons?"

"If I was of an inquiring turn of mind, I'd ask what business it is of yours whether I do or not."

O'Donnell laughed. "No business at all, friend Brown--no business at all. I happen to be a lover of the Stars and Stripes; consequently, no friend of Captain Farquharson's political intrigues here. Do you understand?"

"More or less. It's the Stars and Stripes for me too, every time!"

"You are a likely-looking man. Since you have left Farquharson I'll offer you place with me. You will find it active, full of excitement, and with pay not small."

"Thank you, Mr. Irishman, but I don't intend to work any more for strangers. It's like buying a pig in a sack. 'Seenyore' Mendoza offered me two things this afternoon, one was his house and farm, t'other was a job. I'll think I'll take the job. Otherwise, it's me for old Missouri."

O'Donnell again laughed. "Very well, then, take service with Señor Mendoza. I'll ride to Mission San José later in the evening, and I intend to call on Mendoza myself. Would be glad of your company, if you'll come along with me."

The wounded began to come in on improvised litters. O'Donnell and Brown gave their assistance toward bringing them into comfortable quarters. Many of the men did not return from the field of La Cuesta de los Gatos. There was lamentation in hacienda house and in peon cot that night in the valley of Santa Clara.

"There's nothing more for us to do here, Brown. Are you ready to start for Mendoza's?" It was midnight and the wounded had been cared for.

"All right. I'll go with you."

They set out, the fighting peons following, their ranks sadly decimated by the afternoon fight.

"Blamed sorry to leave the Cap'n," Brown volunteered. "He's a decent chap, and smart--well, about the best educated man I ever saw--and spunky--I'll never forget how he half raised up from that stair-landing in Monterey, like a shot weasel standing off a pack of dogs. Fire was just spitting from his eyes--just spitting!"

"But his politics," O'Donnell interpolated.

"His politics ain't mine," Brown sighed.

They rode on in silence.