Chapter XXII: Almost

Señora Valentino rode slowly along the way leading from Santa Clara to Pueblo San José. Willow trees lined the edge of the road, lifting their featherly foliage in greeting to the morning sun. Yellow light filtered through and marked the interlacing plumes with myriad fairy figures in golden tints. The branches nodded and undulated in low-toned rhythm. Tempered breezes from the bay, sweet with the breath of virgin meadow, hung light-winged over this shaded alameda. Peons, men and women, worked in the vegetable gardens by the wayside, singing as they labored. Betimes they used the guttural words of their aborigine tongue, the age-old longing of savage man flowing in heavy note and shrill refrain. Again, some neophyte rested for the moment on hoe or mattock and intoned a hymn. Then knoll and hollow resounded as the children of the wilderness sang the words of their new-found faith.

The long white line marking the fort at San José had come plainly into view when the señora halted.

"My message requested the Captain to meet me here at this hour," she said to no one in particular. Her mounted Indian guard was a score of paces behind. Just then Captain Farquharson, coming at swift gallop, turned the bend just ahead.

"Good morning!" she called to him.

"Good morning!" he called back. "Well, the great question," as he drew up at her side. "Your word reached me after midnight. Our signal-fire was lighted within two hours, on the high mountains east of San José. This morning at daylight the signal-smoke told me that Admiral Fairbanks's anchors are under weigh for Monterey harbor. Now, your note told me nothing of the particulars of your interview with Billings last night. You managed to gain his attention, I'm sure."

"I did. But our English admiral? Tell me, is he of two minds, as he was the other day; or have they crystallized into one?"

"He has agreed to keep his fleet hidden until our signal-fire or smoke informs him it is the hour to enter Monterey harbor and take possession."

"Ah! that is his mind now."

"Señora, I await with great interest some news of your interview last night with the American. He must have said something of deep import that you sent word to signal at once our admiral's fleet. Fairbanks reaches Monterey easily to-morrow. What I signal him to do there, and how soon, will be greatly determined by what you learned last night from this Billings."

"Well, Captain, since nothing is to be done until to-morrow, you have time to answer me a question or two." The lady laughed, then went on: "How did you manage to get our gringo naval heroes lost at the right time yesterday?"

"Simple, very simple, indeed. They lost themselves. One hero's saddle seat was uncertain. He gripped his horse with his calves, to make himself more secure, forgetting the sharp spurs on his heels. The indignant broncho jumped over the nearest bank, his rider just naturally following. I declare, the gallant officer actually spun head over heels twice before he landed in the water. The peon with the two gentlemen was held by our men under pretended suspicion of being a runaway, when he went in search of another horse. This left our heroes without a guide; and Valeriano, the Miramonte major-domo, did his part when the stars began to shine. Now, señora, of course Commodore Billings----"

She interrupted him. "If the gringo hero's horse had not obligingly jumped over that bank, how would you have got the Commodore to Señor Miramonte's hacienda house at the right time?"

"Depend on it, I would have found a way. Bringing them to the Miramonte's place as suspicious characters would have been the last resort. You would have identified the Commodore, in that case, and would have made all possible amends for unwarranted detention."

"Of course." The two joined their laughter.

"Mendoza's peons were scouring the woods last night for the officers. Our fellows furnished them plenty of information. It didn't lead them to Miramonte's house, you may be sure." Again the forest echoed the sound of their laughter.

"Well," from the señora, "our two worthies set out comfortably enough this morning, after early breakfast with us. Alberto, the Miramonte's peon, guides them to Señor Mendoza. Alberto," lifting her eyebrows, "understands English. When a lad, a religious-minded gringo tallow-trader captain took him to Boston, and had him educated, hoping he would become a missionary here of the tallow-trader's faith. Instead he reverted to the ordinary peon, and an ardent Americano hater, into the bargain."

"Fortunately for us. It was simply invaluable that he was present the other day at that Billings-O'Donnell talk at Half Moon bay, and thus found out about the appointment to meet at Mendoza's last night. But," laughing a little, yet serious, "I'm anxious as to what happened last night at Miramonte's."

"Just one more question, Captain. In what frame of mind was Padre Osuna when you last saw him?"

"You have swung him to our side, señora, for the second time. But he forced from Fairbanks and me papers giving these natives extraordinary rights when the country is ours."

"The padre is where now, do you judge?"

"Somewhere near San Luis Obispo. He travels like the whirlwind. Yesterday he swept the crowd off its feet when he spoke from the church steps at Monterey. They cheered and stormed for English rule. His discourse over, he set off for the south with the impetuosity of a crusader."

"Very well, my Captain, we have done our part. It remains for Fairbanks to do his."

"Now, señora, why was it you sent the hurried messenger last night? What did Billings say that you thought such haste necessary?"

"Practically nothing."

"I beg pardon, señora. You must have misunderstood me. I----"

"I understood you perfectly."

"Well, then, señora, think of your reply."

"My reply was that Commodore Billings said practically nothing from which I thought haste necessary. It was from what he palpably refrained from saying that I made my inference."

Farquharson drew his bridle-rein. His horse curveted over the turf, under pressure of the curb-bit. He drew the animal back to the woman's side. "Señora Valentino, what does Billings intend to do?"

"To seize Monterey for the United States if----"

"If what?"

"If he can find reasonable excuse, in the attitude of the hacenderos here, for such a move."

"But can he?"

"He can, if Colonel Mendoza is minded to supply it."

"But, señora, at the Mendoza baile the entire countryside cried out for an English protectorate."

"Yes, but we made the minds of these men for them. The structure may not be the most lasting."

"But, perdition! they----"

"Admiral Fairbanks must seize Monterey as soon as he reaches there," she went on.

"He must! By heaven he must! I'll ruin him before all England if he flinches."

"Remember, Captain, Commodore Billings will fight."

"My word, señora! Fight us! Why, bless my soul! our fleet outnumbers him at least three to one. Fairbanks could sink him in an hour."

The woman leaned in her saddle toward the officer. "I shall be in Monterey all day to-morrow. So must you, Captain."

They shook hands over the manes of their horses and parted company, the Captain riding swiftly across the fields, the lady walking her mount toward San José.

The adobe walls of the fort were a dozen feet or so in height, with eaves projecting outward, the better to prevent scaling by a possible enemy. Within these walls was a row of buildings in which were the officers of the alcalde, the subprefect, the jefe-politico and other civil officers of the pueblo. Here also were the quarters of Morando's men. The Captain himself had a reception room in one corner of an edifice facing the street. A motley gathering was in this room, also clustered around the door as the Señora Valentino drew rein. Her mounted escort had drawn up on either side of her in orderly lines, each peon so tightening his bridle that the horses walked in perfect step.

Captain Morando, the comandante, pushed his way through the crowd to the lady's side. "Thrice glad am I to see you, amiga mia. Will you not alight and rest awhile?"

"Thank you, Captain."

He released her foot from the stirrup and assisted her to the ground.

"My poor place shines like the morning in answer to your presence, señora."

She smiled on him and looked about over the waiting crowd. "Why so many sad faces here, Captain?"

"These friends mourn relatives who fell in the recent contest with Yoscolo. To-day the Department, through me, considers the demands for pensions."

"Then I interrupt."

"Indeed not, my friend. This reception room meets never a guest more welcome than Señora Valentino."

"But these sad ones? You must not neglect them for my sake."

"I shall not forget you, nor neglect them. Besides, my work with the pensioners has about concluded."

The peonas had nearly all dried their tears, had gathered their restless pocos niños together and were preparing to depart, with many blessings murmured on the "very good and very handsome comandante."

The señora seated near the Captain was greatly interested in the scene. "Their praises for you, señor, are fervent, if not loud," she remarked.

Soon the man and woman were alone in the reception room. She regarded him gravely. He started from a revery and caught her look. He flushed. She laughed a little.

"Well, Captain, I have done as you requested."

"What?"

"I have seen the Señorita Mendoza and have told her for you that----" She paused.

He waited for her to continue.

"I must say I do not quite understand the girl, charming, indeed, as she is."

"How so, señora?"

"O, friend of my heart, I would spare you pain."

"Tell me everything, señora."

"O, Don Alfredo, everything? My heart fails me. How can I wound you?"

"Do not fear for me, gentle one. Let me know the truth. Please go on."

"Well--if I must. I made occasion to do your bidding by visiting the Mendoza house, ostensibly to express to the host of the great baile at Mission San José my appreciation of that event. The señor was away, but his daughter received me. This was just the opportunity I would have wished for. Nothing could have been better for our purpose, Don Alfredo."

He bowed in recognition of the fact.

"We passed bits of conversation from one to the other on chance topics. The young lady was delightful. As we sat in the cool drawing room sipping tea and nibbling dulces I thought continually of you, my friend. Small wonder, truly, that you wished to wed this beautiful and talented young woman. Small wonder, again, that the swains of the valley lay their hearts before her, as she beckons."

The soldier's face grew gloomy.

"When our time had in a measure sped I introduced the subject on which you wished me to speak with her."

"How did she receive it?"

"I am puzzled to know how to explain. It is but a step, often, from joy to sorrow; at times, discourtesy seems waiting on the threshold of courtesy. Well, enough to say that our pleasant relations underwent a change most unaccountable. The Doña Carmelita grew cold and drew within herself. Try as I might I could not bring back the former cordiality. In the course of the conversation I said: 'Señorita, Captain Morando loves you and you only.' She replied: 'Señora Valentino, I cannot listen to you; even though you are a guest in this house I cannot.'

"We parleyed further. She was obdurate. She tried to cut me short with the words: 'I request that this conversation cease and that you do not again mention to me the name of Captain Morando.'

"Yet still did I refuse to accept her dismissal of the subject. You see, my one-time knight, I was determined to fulfill your wishes, no matter what came."

She lowered her eyes with a tender little sigh, but went on hastily. "I continued to speak of you and of your love for her. She almost flung at me: 'Captain Morando is nothing to me, nor can he ever be. I would not wish it otherwise.'

"Then I concluded: 'At least accept his word that he meant no harm by his attentions to you.' To this she gave no response.

"We were now at the hacienda gate. She summoned the peon who had my horse in charge. As I mounted she said: 'Remember, if you call again, I shall give word to my maid to tell you I am not at home.'"

The young man came to her side and took her hand in both his. "Forgive me, señora. Forgive me, my dear friend, the stupid selfishness in asking you to do such an errand. When I think of your goodness to me and of my placid acceptance of it I curse myself for a brute."

"You are harsh with yourself, Alfredo," putting her disengaged hand on his.

"No, señora, a thousand times, no. How can I ever atone for my thoughtlessness!"

The lustrous brown eyes were looking gently at him. He gazed into their beautiful depths. She leaned a trifle nearer.

He continued: "I have been a cur! You have suffered your life long. You generously gave me the confidences of your heart. I saw how empty your years have been of the things that, after all, really count in this world; yet I, selfish fool! could only whine about my own loss."

"Don't, don't, Alfredo. You must not say such words."

"Dear amiga, you are too forgetful of yourself, always thinking of the good you may do others. You have a claim on me, a strong claim, which I shall always remember; for, no matter how unwitting on my part, unhappiness came to you years ago, and that unhappiness still persists. Added to this, I have been the direct cause of your losing your friend, the Doña Carmelita. I wish I could make compensation."

The woman's eyes drooped. Her hands fell to her side.

"The past is gone--gone the way of all past things," she said, very slowly.

"But the hurt continues," he returned.

"You certainly cannot blame yourself for that."

He dropped on his knees beside her. "My dear señora, my true friend, ask what you will of me, and if I can accomplish it, it shall be yours. I would do anything to be of service to you."

She raised her eyes and put her hand on his shoulder. "Alfredo, how could you retrieve a broken life? Why, I envy the love of the peonas for their husbands who fell by your side at La Cuesta de los Gatos. Though bereft their love lives on. Their heart is not empty, as is mine--as is mine. Ah, me!"

"Doña Silvia, the way of love should not be difficult to one of your gentle spirit. Surely, you will find it, with all the joys bordering thereon."

Her eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. She moved a little away.

"Forgive me," he said anxiously, noting the movement. "I have entered forbidden ground."

"No, no, dear Alfredo. For you it is not forbidden ground. There is not a recess within my heart where you might not enter."

"You are more than kind, my good friend."

"Friend! Captain," showing some impatience, "friend! Good friend!" She tried to hide the sarcasm in her tone by an unusually alluring smile. "I am but one of your many, many good friends. Is it not so?" her voice sounding hard in spite of herself. "O, well, I must be content with whatever the gods see fit to bestow."

"Señora, you are not merely one of many. You are my most loyal, my warmest, my ever-remaining, ever-to-be-cherished, never-to-be-forgotten----" He paused, overcome by his own vehemence.

"You would scale barbed walls to carry away the señorita of the window pane," leaning wearily on her arm.

"Yes, dear Silvia, I would scale those walls," he went on, passionately. "I would scale them and bear you away," taking both her hands. Her warm breath was against his cheek. "I would--I would----" His voice choked.

"--Even sing love songs outside the window, to the accompaniment of the guitar. O, Alfredo!"

In space of time hardly more than an instant he saw the Señorita Carmelita's eyes flash behind the barred window; heard her gay banter at the house party; felt her soft hand in his as he had spoken love to her at the baile.

Very gently he moved away from the señora. Slowly he arose to his feet. The woman quickly realized the effect of her ill-chosen words. She arose also and stood leaning on the back of her chair. For a moment they looked at each other. She was the first to speak, a queer little smile stealing over her face.

"Well, Captain Morando, I have made report to you," the smile vanishing. "I must now--journey homeward."

He escorted the señora to her horse. Assisting her to mount he kissed her hand in parting salute.

She rode leisurely out of the pueblo, pleasantly exchanging greetings with acquaintances along the way. Once on the plains, however, she lashed her horse until the beast plunged and kicked in fury. She quelled him with bit and word, then rode at break-neck speed until he was winded.

The peon guard followed in wonderment.