Don Manuel was at first too spent a man even to wish to get well. As his cousin's nursing dragged him farther and farther back into this world from which he had so nearly slipped, he was content to lie still and take the goods the gods provided.
She was with him for the present. That sufficed. Whether he lived or died he did not care a hand's turn; but the while Fate flipped a coin to determine whether it should be life or death for him, he had Valencia's love as he feared he would never have it in case he recovered.
For these days she lived for him alone. Her every thought and desire had been for him. On this his soul fed, since he felt that, as they slipped back into the ordinary tide of life, she would withdraw herself gently but surely from him.
He had fought against the conviction that she loved his rival, the Colorado claimant to the valley. He had tried to persuade himself that her interest in the miner was natural under the circumstances and entirely independent of sentiment. But in the bottom of his heart such assurances did not convince.
"You will be able to sit up in a few days. It's wonderful how you have improved," she told him one day as she finished changing his pillow.
"Yes, I shall be well soon. You will be relieved of me," he said with a kind of gentle sadness.
"As if I wanted to be," she reproved softly, her hand smoothing down his hair.
"No. You're very good to me. You don't want to be rid of me. But it's best you should be. I have had all of you that's good for me, my cousin, unless I could have more than I dare hope."
She looked through the window at the sunlit warmth of the land, and, after a long time, said:
"Must we talk of that, Manuel?"
"No, niña—not if I am once sure. I have guessed; but I must be certain beyond the possibility of mistake. Is my guess right? That it can never be."
She turned dim eyes on him and nodded. A lump had risen to her throat that forbade speech.
"I can still say, dearest, that I am glad to have loved you," he answered cheerfully, after an instant's silence. "And I can promise that I shall trouble you no more. Shall we talk of something else?"
"There is one thing I should like to tell you first," she said with pretty timidity. "How proud I am that such a man could have loved me. You are the finest man I know. I must be a foolish girl not to—care for you—that way."
"No. A woman's heart goes where it must. If a man loses, he loses."
She choked over her words. "It doesn't seem fair. I promised. I wore your ring. I said that if you saved ... him ... I would marry you. Manuel, I ... I'll keep faith if you'll take me and be content to wait for ... that kind of love to grow."
"No, my cousin. I have wooed and lost. Why should you be bound by a pledge made at such a time? As your heart tells you to do, so you must do." He added after a pause: "It is this American, is it not?"
Again she nodded twice, not looking at him lest she see the pain in his eyes.
"I wish you joy, Valencia—a world full of it, so long as life lasts."
He took her fingers in his, and kissed them before he passed lightly to another subject:
"Have you heard anything yet of the tin box of Mr. Gordon's?"
She accepted the transition gratefully, for she was so moved she was afraid lest she break down.
"Not yet. It is strange, too, where it has gone. I have had inquiries made every where."
"For me, I hope it is never found. Why should you feel responsibility to search for these papers that will ruin you and your tenants?"
"If my men had not attacked and tried to murder him he would still have his evidence. I seek only to put him in the position he was in before we injured him."
"You must judge for yourself, Valencia. But, if you don't mind, I shall continue to wish you failure in your search," he replied.
It was now that Jimmie Corbett came into the room to say that Mr. Gordon would like to call on Don Manuel, if the latter felt able to receive him.
Pesquiera did not glance at his cousin. He answered the boy at once.
"Tell Mr. Gordon I shall be very glad to see him," he said quietly.
Nor did he look at her after the boy had left the room, lest his gaze embarrass her, but gave his attention wholly to propping himself up on his elbow.
Dick stood a moment filling the doorway before he came limping into the room. From that point he bowed to Miss Valdés, then moved forward to the bed.
He did not offer to shake hands, but stood looking down at his rival, with an odd look of envy on his face. But it was the envy of a brave and generous man, who acknowledged victory to his foe.
"I give you best, Don Manuel," he finally said. "You've got me beat at every turn of the road. You saved my life again, and mighty near paid with your own. There ain't anything to say that will cover that, I reckon."
The Spaniard's eyes met his steadily, but Pesquiera did not say a word. He was waiting to see what the other meant.
"You're a gamer man than I am, and a better one. All I can say is that I'm sorry and ashamed of myself for the way I treated you. If you still want to fight me, I'll stand up and give you a chance to pepper me. Anything you think right."
"If you put it so, sir, I have no choice but to join you in regrets and hopes of future amity."
"I can understand that you'd like to spill me over a ten-acre lot, and that you don't listen to my apologies with any joy," said the Coloradoan, smiling whimsically down at his former foe.
"I do not forget that the first offense was mine, Señor Gordon," the Spaniard answered.
Then came Jimmie Corbett again with a message for Miss Valdés.
"Pablo wants to see you, ma'am. Just rode over from the ranch. Says it's important."
The hands of the two men met in a strong grip as Valencia left the room, and so, too, did their steady gazes. Each of them knew that the other was his rival for the heart of the girl. Oddly enough, each thought the other was the successful suitor. But there was in each some quality of manliness that drew them together in spite of themselves.
Valencia found Pablo sitting on the porch. A rifle lay across his knees ready for emergencies. The deputies had ridden away to the other end of the valley that morning, but Menendez did not intend to be caught napping in case of their unexpected return.
Miss Valdés smiled. "You needn't be so careful, Pablo. I bring you good news—better than you deserve. Mr. Gordon has promised to drop the cases against you and Sebastian. Even if the officers arrest you, nothing can come of it except a trip to Santa Fé for a few days. If I were you I would give myself up. The rewards have been withdrawn, so it is not likely your friends will betray you."
"But, Doña, are you sure? Will this Americano keep his word? Is it certain they will not hold me in prison?"
"I tell you it is sure. Is that not enough? Did you find Mr. Gordon so ready to give you his word and break it when he was your prisoner?"
"True, Doña. He laughed at us and told us to kill him. He is a brave man."
"And brave men do not lie."
Pablo turned to his horse and took down from the horn of the saddle a gunny sack tied to it. This he opened. From it he drew a tin box that had been badly blistered with heat.
"It is Señor Gordon's tin box. After you carried him to the house here the other night I found it under a cottonwood. So I took it home with me. They are papers. Important—— Is it not so?"
"Yes. I have been looking everywhere for them. You did right to bring them back to me."
"Perhaps they may help you win the land. Eh, Doña?"
"Perhaps. You know I offered a reward of twenty-five dollars for the box. It is yours. Buy some furniture with it when you and Juanita go to housekeeping."
"That is all past, alas, Señorita. Juanita looks down her nose when I am near. She does not speak to me."
"Foolish boy! That is a sign she thinks much of you. Tell her you did wrong to accuse her. Beg her to forgive you. Do not sulk, but love her and she will smile on you."
"But—this Señor Gordon?"
"All nonsense, Pablo. I have talked with Juanita. It is you she loves. Go to her and be good to her. She is back there in the milkhouse churning. But remember she is only a girl—so young, and motherless, too. It is the part of a man to be kind and generous and forbearing to a woman. He must be gentle—always gentle, if he would hold her love. Can you do that, Pablo? Or are you only a hot-headed, selfish, foolish boy?"
"I will try, Doña," he answered humbly. "For always have I love' her since she was such a little muchacha."
"Then go. Don't tell her I sent you. She must feel you have come because you could no longer stay away."
Pablo flashed his teeth in a smile of understanding and took the path that led round the house. He followed it to the sunken cellar that had been built for a milkhouse. Noiselessly he tiptoed down the steps and into the dark room. The plop-plop of a churn dasher told him Juanita was here even before his eyes could make her out in the darkness.
Presently he saw more clearly the slender figure bent a little wearily over the churn. Softly he trod forward. His hand went out and closed on the handle above hers. In startled surprise she turned.
"You—Pablo!" she cried faintly.
"I have so longed to see you—to come to you and tell you I was wrong, niña—— Oh, you don't know how I have wanted to come. But my pride—my hard, foolish pride—it held me back. But no longer, heart of my heart, can I wait. Tell me that you forgive—that you will love me again—in spite of what I said and have done. I cannot get along without my little Juanita," he cried in the soft Spanish that was native to them both.
She was in his arms, crying softly, nestling close to him so that his love might enfold her more warmly. Always Juanita had been a soft, clinging child, happy only in an atmosphere of affection. She responded to caresses as a rose does to the sunlight. Pablo had been her first lover, the most constant of them all. She had relied upon him as a child does upon its mother. When he had left her in anger and not returned she had been miserably unhappy. Now all was well again, since Pablo had come back to her.
CHAPTER XXV
Valencia returned to Don Manuel's room carrying a gunny sack. She found Dick Gordon sitting beside his rival's bed amiably discussing with him the respective values of the Silver Doctor and the Jock Scott for night fishing. Dick rose at her entrance to offer a chair.
She was all fire and animation. Her eyes sparkled, reflecting light as little wavelets of a sun-kissed lake.
"Supreme Court decision just come down in your favor?" asked the other claimant to the valley with genial irony.
"No, but—guess what I've got here."
"A new hat," hazarded Gordon, furrowing his brow in deep thought.
"Treason!" protested Manuel. "Does the lady live who would put her new hat in a gunny sack?"
"You may have three guesses, each of you," replied Miss Valdés, dimpling.
The miner guessed two guinea pigs, a million dollars, and a pair of tango slippers. Pesquiera went straight to the mark.
"A tin box," he said.
"Right, Manuel. Pablo brought it. He had just heard I was looking for the box—says he found it the night of the fire and took it home with him. His idea was that we might use the papers to help our fight."
"Good idea," agreed the Cripple Creek man, with twinkling eyes. "What are you going to do with the papers now you have them, Miss Valdés?"
"Going to give them to their owner," she replied, and swung the sack into his lap.
He took out a bunch of keys from his pocket, fitted one to the lock of the box, and threw up the lid. Carefully he looked the papers over.
"They are all here—every last one. I'm still lord of the Rio Chama Valley—unless my lawyers are fooling me mighty bad."
"It's a difference of opinion that makes horse races, Señor," retorted Manuel gaily from his pillows.
"I'll bet one of Mrs. Corbett's cookies there's no difference of opinion between my lawyers and those of Miss Valdés. What do you honestly think yourself about the legal end, ma'am?"
"I think that law and justice were divorced a good many years ago," she answered promptly.
"Which is another way of saying that you expect me to win out."
"By advice of counsel we decline to make any admissions, sir."
"You don't have to say a word. The facts do all the talking that is necessary." Gordon glanced in a business-like fashion over several papers. "This would be a fine time for friend Pablo to attack me again. Here are several of the original papers—deed of the grant, map of it with the first survey made, letters showing that old Moreño lived several years in the valley after your people were driven out at the time of the change in government. By the way, here's a rather interesting document. Like to look at it, Miss Valdés?"
He handed to her a paper done up in a blue cover after the fashion of modern legal pleadings. Valencia glanced it over. Her eye caught at a phrase which interested her and ran rapidly down the page.
"But—I don't understand what this means—unless——"
She looked up quickly at Gordon, an eager question in her face.
"It means what it says, though it's all wrapped up in dictionary words the way all law papers are."
Valencia passed the document to Pesquiera. "Read that, and tell me what you think it means, Manuel." Her face was flushed with excitement, and in her voice there was a suggestion of tremulousness.
The Spaniard read, and as he read his eyes, too, glowed.
"It means, my cousin, that you have to do with a very knightly foe. By this paper he relinquishes all claim, title and interest in the Moreño grant to Valencia Valdés, who he states to be in equity the rightful owner of same. Valencia, I congratulate you. But most of all I congratulate Mr. Gordon. Few men have the courage to make a gift of a half million acres of land merely because they have no moral title to it."
"Sho! I never did want the land, anyhow. I got interested in the scrap. That's all." The miner looked as embarrassed as if he had been caught stealing a box of cigars.
The young woman had gone from pink to white. The voice in which she spoke was low and unsteady.
"It's a splendid thing to do—the gift of a king. I don't know—that I can accept it—even for the sake of my people. I know now you would be fair to them. You wouldn't throw them out. You would give new deeds to those who have bought land, wouldn't you?"
"How are you going to keep from accepting it, Miss Valdés? That paper is a perfectly legal document."
She smiled faintly. "I could light a cigarette, Mr. Gordon, as you once did."
"Not a bit of use. I wired to Santa Fé by Steve to have that paper—the original of it—put on record this afternoon. By this time I expect you're the princess of the Rio Chama all right."
She still hesitated, the tide of feeling running full in her heart. It was all very well for this casual youth to make her a present of a half million acres of land in this debonair way, but she could not persuade herself to accept so munificent a gift.
"I don't know—I'll have to think—if you are the legal owner——"
"You're welching," he told her amiably. "I make a legal deed of conveyance because we are all agreed that my title isn't morally good. We're not a bunch of pettifoggers. All of us are aiming to get at what's right in settling this thing. You know what is right. So do I. So does Mr. Pesquiera. Enough said. All we have to do then is to act according to the best we know. Looks simple to me."
"Maybe it wouldn't look so simple if you were at the other end of the bargain, Mr. Gordon. To give is more blessed than to receive, you know."
"Sure. I understand that. I get the glory and do all the grand-standing. But you'll have to stand for it, I reckon."
"I'm going to think it over. Then I'll let you know what I can do." She looked at him sharply, a new angle of the situation coming home to her. "You meant to do this from the first, Mr. Gordon."
"Not quite from the first. After you had taken me to your ranch and I had seen how things stood between you and the folks in the valley I did. You've smoked me, ma'am. I'm a born grand-stander." He laughed in amusement at himself. "I wanted to be it, the hero of the piece, the white-haired boy. But that wasn't the way it panned out. I was elected villain most unanimous, and came mighty near being put out of business a few times before I could make the public sabe I was only play acting. Funny how things work out. Right at the last when I've got the spotlight all trained for me to star and the music playing soft and low, Don Manuel here jumps in and takes the stage from me by rescuing the villain from a fiery furnace. I don't get any show," he complained whimsically.
Valencia smiled. "The action of the play has all revolved around you, anyhow. That ought to satisfy you. Without you there wouldn't have been any entertainment at all."
"I've had plenty of fun for my money. I'm not making any complaint at all. When a pretender invades a country to put the reigning queen out of business he has a license to expect a real warm welcome. Well, I got it."
Once again Jimmie Corbett appeared in the doorway, this time with a yellow envelope which he handed to Gordon.
Dick read the enclosed telegram and passed it to Pesquiera.
The Spaniard waved his hand and made a feeble attempt at a cheer.
"Am I to hear the good news?" Valencia asked.
"Read it, Mr. Pesquiera."
Manuel read:
"Relinquishment of claim to Moreño grant in favor of Valencia Valdés filed ten minutes ago. Have you taken my advice in regard to consolidation?KATE UNDERWOOD."
"What does she mean about a consolidation?" asked Miss Valdés.
Dick flushed. "Oh, that was just something we were talking over—some foolishness or other, I reckon. Nothing to it. The important point is that the legal fight is over. You're now the owner of both the Valdés and the Moreño claims."
"Le roi est mort! Vive la reine!" cried Manuel gaily.
"I can't be said to have had a very peaceful reign. Wish you better luck, ma'am." He let his eyes rest drolly on the invalid for a moment. "And I hope when you take a prince consort to share the throne he'll meet all expectations—which I'm sure he will."
Dick shook hands with the bright-eyed flushing girl.
She laughed in the midst of her blushes. "Gracias, señor! I'll save your good wishes till they are needed."
"Adios, Don Manuel. See you to-morrow if you're up to it. I expect you've had enough excitement for one day."
"I'll let you know then whether I can accept your gift, Mr. Gordon," Valencia told him.
"That's all settled," he assured her as he left.
It was in the evening that he saw her again. Dick had stopped in the hall on the way to his room to examine a .303 Savage carbine he found propped against the wall. He had picked the weapon up when a voice above hailed him. He looked up. Valencia was leaning across the balustrade of the stairway.
"I want to talk with you, Mr. Gordon."
"Same here," he answered promptly. "I mean I want to talk with you. Let's take a walk."
"No. You're not up to a walk. We'll drive. My rig is outside."
Ten minutes later they were flying over the hard roads packed with rubble from decomposed sandstone. Neither of them spoke for some time. He was busy with the reins, and she was content to lean back and watch him. To her there was something very attractive about the set of his well-modeled head upon the broad shoulders. He had just been shaved, and the scent of the soap wafted to her a pleasant sense of intimacy with his masculinity. She could see the line above which the tiny white hairs grew thick on the bronzed cheeks. A strange delight stirred in her maiden heart, a joy in his physical well-being that longed for closer contact.
None of this reached the surface when she spoke at last.
"I can't let things go the way you have arranged them, Mr. Gordon. It isn't fair. After the way I and my people have treated you I can't be the object of such unlimited generosity at your hands."
"Justice," he suggested by way of substitution.
"No, generosity," she insisted. "Why should you be forced to give way to me? What have I done any more than you to earn all this?"
"Now you know we've all agreed——"
"Agreed!" she interrupted sharply. "We've taken it for granted that I had some sort of divine right. When I look into it I see that's silly. We're living in America, not in Spain of the seventeenth century. I've no right except what the law gives me."
"Well, the law's clear now. I'm tired of being shot at and starved and imprisoned and burned to make a Mexican holiday. I'm fed up with the excitement your friends have offered me. Honest, I'm glad to quit. I don't want the grant, anyhow. I'm a miner. We've just made a good strike in the Last Dollar. I'm going back to look after it."
"You can't make me believe anything of the kind, Mr. Gordon. I know you've made a strike, but you had made it before you ever came to the valley. Mr. Davis told me so. We simply couldn't drive you out. That's all humbug. You want me to have it—and I'm not going to take it. That's all there is to it, sir."
He smiled down upon her. "I never did see anyone so obstinate and so changeable. As long as I wanted the land you were going to have it; now I don't want it you won't take it. Isn't that just like a woman?"
"You know why I won't take it. From the very first you've played the better part. We've mistreated you in every way we could. Now you want to drown me in a lake of kindness. I just can't accept it. If you want to compromise on a fair business basis I'll do that."
"You've got a first-rate chance to be generous, too, Miss Valdés. I'm like a kid. I want to put this thing over my way so that I'll look big. Be a nice girl and let me have my own way. You know I said my wedding present was in that tin box. Don't spoil everything. Show me that you do think we're friends at last."
"We're friends—if you're sure you forgive me," she said shyly.
"Nothing in the world to forgive," he retorted cheerfully. "I've had the time of my life. Now I must go home and get to work."
"Yes," she agreed quietly, looking straight in front of her.
He drove in silence for a mile or two before he resumed the conversation.
"Of course I'll want to come back for the wedding if you send me an invitation. I think a good deal of the prince consort, you know. He's one man from the ground up."
"Yes?"
"He's the only man I know that's good enough for you. The more I see of him the better I like him. He's sure the gamest ever, a straight-up man if ever there was one."
"I'm glad of that." She flashed a little sidelong look at him and laughed tremulously. "It's good of you to pick me a husband you can endorse so heartily. Would you mind telling me his name—if it isn't a secret?"
"You know mighty well, but I reckon all girls play the game of making believe it isn't so for a while. All right. You don't have to admit it till the right time. But you'll send me a card, won't you?"
Her eyes, shyly daring, derided him. "That's no fair, Mr. Gordon. You go out of your way to pick a prince consort for me—a perfect paragon I'm given to understand—and then you expect me to say 'Thank you kindly, sir,' without even being told his name."
He smiled. "Oh, well, you can laugh at me all you like."
"But I'm not laughing at you," she corrected, her eyes dancing. "I'm trying to find out who this Admirable Crichton is. Surely I'm within my rights. This isn't Turkey, you know. Perhaps I mayn't like him. Or, more important still, he may not like me."
"Go right ahead with your fun. Don't mind me."
"I don't believe you've got a prince consort for me at all. If you had you wouldn't dodge around like this."
At that instant he caught sight by chance of her ungloved left hand. Again he observed that the solitaire was missing. His eyes flashed to hers. A sudden hope was born in his heart. He drew the horse to a halt.
"Are you telling me that——? What about Don Manuel?" he demanded.
Now that the crisis was upon her, she would have evaded it if she could. Her long lashes fluttered to the hot cheeks.
"He is my cousin and my friend—the best friend I have," she answered in a low voice.
"No more than that?"
"No more." She lifted her eyes and tried to meet his boldly. "And now I really think you've been impudent enough, don't you?"
He imprisoned her hands in his. "If it isn't Don Manuel who is it?"
She knew her eyes had failed her, that they had told him too much. An agony of shyness drenched her from head to foot, but there was no escape from his masterful insistence.
"Will you let me go ... please?"
"No—not till you tell me that you love me, Valencia, not till you've made me the happiest man alive."
"But ..."
He plunged forward, an insurgent hope shaking his imperturbability.
"Is it yes, dear? Don't keep me waiting. Do I win or lose, Valencia?"
Bravely her eyes lifted to his. "I love you with all my heart and soul. I always have from the first. I always shall as long as life lasts," she murmured.
Swept away by the abandon of her adorable confession, he caught her in his arms and drew her to him. Close as breathing he held her, her heart beating against his like a fluttering bird. A delicious faintness overcame her. She lay in his embrace, wonderfully content.
The dewy eyes lifted again to his. Of their own volition almost their lips met for the first kiss.
THE END