CHAPTER X
THE BEGINNING OF THE BALL AT SEÑOR
MENDOZA'S HACIENDA HOUSE
If taste and industry had been used in decorating the exterior of Señor Mendoza's mansion for the great ballroom function, the interior gave evidence of no lack of these same qualities.
The artistic spirit of the Latin is to the manner born, and the early Californian developed his inheritance by daily communings with the beauties of earth, and air, and sky. Mendoza, moreover, had seen the wonder spots from Paris to Madrid and Vienna; and the fruits of his experience had ripened and mellowed in the years of wealth and leisure he had spent on his estate at Mission San José.
For smaller parties he had reception room, dining room and dancing hall finished in the oak that his own forests furnished, peons having skillfully hewed the wood, then, under the master's directions, polishing the grain until the markings stood out prominently.
It was the ballroom used for the baile—large party—that showed the resource of California and the cleverness of Mendoza at the best. This room, reaching the length of one side of the house, was built in redwood, of which California is sole producer.
Mammoth trees, grown on the mountains near Santa Cruz, had been felled and split from end to end. The exposed sections were trimmed and smoothed, showing, in many a curious layer of etching, the centuries these monarchs had lived. Oxen by the score and Indians by the hundreds had been engaged for months in bringing to Mission San José these timbers which, placed side by side, made the walls and ceiling of the apartment.
"Of the many wood grains," Mendoza often said, "I prefer the redwood for broad effects. The convolutions run in ampler curve and build themselves readily into large dimensions."
The room was looking its best to-night. Chandeliers, fed by sperm-oil, gave subdued light through delicately tinted shades. Candles branched from the walls, playing their softened brightness everywhere. The reddish wood glistened and showed in strong relief the story of its years.
In the corners were grouped potted plants and flowers and shrubs. Radiant bougainvilleas and flaunting hibiscus were side by side with delicate maidenhair ferns modestly featuring the mossy rocks on which they first saw life.
Rare orchids from Japan, grown robust in the kindlier air of California, strove to surpass in beauty their indigenous relatives. Poinsettias, vivid in their tintings, stood unabashed with the modest lily of the valley and the shrinking violet. The California poppy, lover of both hill and lowland, drooped its head and half folded its petals, diffident in the presence of the grandees of the floral kingdom.
The guests had not yet come into the ballroom. The reception rooms, dressing rooms, and the wide grounds still held them. The señoritas, with hair flowing over their shoulders, and clad in silken skirt and train, with bodice, also silken, close-fitting and high-necked, were not yet ready for the dance. The señoras, near their charges, were chatting away the time.
The men strolled about smoking their cigaritos, passing a word here, a jest there, until the music should call them. Their dress was that of the Spanish cavalier of the time. From their shoulders fell the poncho—long cape—made of beaver from Peru. Later in the evening this garment would be removed, showing old and young in velvet knee-pants, deer-skin leggins beautifully stamped and broidered, and with shoes of polished leather held by golden clasps.
The coat, likewise of imported beaver, reached only to the girth, and was ornamented on arms and shoulders with silver and gold thread.
Around their waists were draped bright-colored silken sashes, the ends long and sweeping. A white linen shirt, elaborately fluted and sparkling with diamonds, completed their evening dress. Men and women were lavish in their display of jewels.
Glorious, splendid California was worthily represented by her sons and daughters the night of Señor Mendoza's fiesta.
In the garden a young man in the uniform of an army officer was speaking with a girl.
"Señorita Doña Carmelita, a dance with you on the ballroom floor; another sit I with you in the open. Is it not so?"
"Señor, the Captain Morando, I promised you a mazurka, nothing more."
"Truly, señorita, but when sitting one finds words to speak the thoughts that rise in the heart while flying feet are pursuing the spirit of the dance."
"As hostess I may not deny the petition of a guest."
"O, Señorita Doña! I speak not as a guest to a hostess. I am at your feet ever, as a subject to a queen. May I not pay a vassal's homage to you? With many caballeros you tread the dance, never granting further favor. May I not be the exception?"
The señorita and the Captain were standing under a big palm. Seeing her cross the courtyard he had hastened to intercept her.
She drew away.
"Since the Señor Captain frees me from my obligation as hostess I will tell him he is well stocked in presumption."
In a moment the shadows lost the girl.
The young man was disconsolate. He buckled his sword-belt tightly, then loosened it. Pulling his laced cap lower on his forehead he moved aimlessly about.
A laugh called him to himself. In the semilight near the ballroom entrance stood the Señorita Mendoza. Mischief sparkled in her eyes.
"Señor the Captain, are you playing blind-man's-buff with yourself?"
"O, señorita mia, only a game of solitaire."
"A game of solitaire!" rippled Carmelita. "What a diversion for a ball! Señor Comandante, it is not permitted here."
A bevy of laughing young women came to the door.
"Lucinda, come, and Alfreda, and all you girls," called Carmelita. "I have here a caballero captain who needs our attention. Señoritas doñas, come quickly."
Directly they were all fluttering around Morando.
Fathers, mothers, and dueñas paused in their conversation.
"The soldier is captive," from Señora Moraga. "Let us see how the children deal with him."
"The captive is little worried," commented Señor Zelaya.
"As art thou, Pedro," said Higuera. "Thou hast thirty years and no wife. Thy heart should worry thee."
The señoritas led the Captain into the ballroom, and halted under one of the chandeliers.
"Will the Captain have gifts of gold and silver? Does the incense of friendship delight him?" asked Doña Carmelita.
"Pleasant questions from a fair questioner, señorita."
"Yes or no, Señor Captain," chorused the señoritas.
"Yes, emphatically."
A score of eggshells, filled with bits of silver and golden paper, were broken on his head and uniform. Not until the little baskets, expeditiously handed the girls by peonas, were empty did the bombardment cease.
Those looking on laughed and applauded.
"Brava! Brava! Captain," some one cried. "You are courageous."
"Yes, yes, and calm in this baptism of fire," from another.
"To a mirror! Let Captain Morando take view of the new uniform given him by the señoritas," a third.
Young and old sportively crowded around Morando and pushed him in front of a long glass. He was spangled from head to foot with white and yellow sheen, all gorgeous over the dark background of his uniform.
"A speech! A speech! Some word of thanks!" insisted the company.
Silence was not easily found in that care-free gathering. Finally Morando could be heard.
"Señoritas, and all my friends, I am happy to wear the colors that speak of sunrise. It is a double pleasure to receive such rare insignia from hands the fairest in the land."
"A good word, Captain! A good word!" exclaimed Abelardo Peralta. "Not all your vigils are spent at the shrine of war."
Señor Mendoza entered. "The musicians are idle. Motionless the feet of señorita and caballero. Why no dancing?"
"The goddess of wealth has listened to Captain Morando," informed Pedro Zelaya. "The sweet odor of his gratefulness floats around. The rest of us wonder and envy."
"Captain, turn the tables," from Mendoza. "Let not the señoritas bear all before them." To a peona, "Naomi, bring more eggs."
The eggs were passed around by dainty basketfuls to the young men who singled out their lady-loves and generously bespangled them with the confetti which, moist from scented waters, clung where it fell.
The señoritas, hair down their backs, flitted about like iridescent butterflies. Neither were they idle in egg-breaking. Demurely they would divert a caballero's attention, then quickly break a shell on his hair, coat or vest.
The men soon shone in colors as resplendent as those of the señoritas.
Perfume filled the air.
Mendoza signaled the musicians. The opening notes of the grand march sounded. The egg-breaking ceased.
Señor Mendoza and his daughter led the march. Dance after dance followed in quick succession.
"The merriment tempts not my son of late," said Señora Zelaya. "He is over in that corner talking politics with men a decade his senior. It is politics, always politics, with him now."
"Relations strain between Mexico and the United States of America. If there comes a break, California must be affected. Your son, Señora Zelaya, and all good Californians, each day are searching carefully the political horizon."
Colonel Barcelo came to them with heavy step.
"I hear, Moraga, you play a clever hand at cribbage. I haven't met my match at that since I've been in California. Come to the card room with me and try this thing out. What say?"
"I'm at your disposal, Colonel, but distrust comes to me when I think of contesting my small knowledge of the game against your undoubted excellence."
"I'll tell you over the cards of the players I've bested in Europe. Let us go now."
"Colonel Barcelo," from Señora Moraga, "are we likely to have war?"
"Señora, you are not the tenth, nor even the twentieth, who has come up and asked me that question this evening."
The portly Colonel extended his chest. "Now, I cannot, of course, speak of private or official information. No man, no real man, you understand, in my position would do so. But I will say that the combined position of comandante and acting governor-general gives me rare opportunities to become acquainted with the exact state of affairs. You understand me, of course, señora.
"Yes," rather faintly from Señora Moraga.
"Well, where was I when interrupted? O yes. This question of war. I'll simply say no force—no force, mind you—could ever take Monterey, the capital. Our swivel guns at the castle rake sea- and land-approach. We are absolutely impregnable."
"But the rest of us—of the country outside the capital?" again ventured Señora Moraga.
"No enemy of sense would care a feather for a country if the capital could not be taken. In other words, we are another Gibraltar. Come, Moraga, I always make it a practice to say as little as possible on these subjects to the señoras. They are easily alarmed. To the card room let us go, Moraga."
The men departed.
"May I serve you a mint lemonade?" asked Morando of Carmelita when the music had stopped.
She was willing.
A peon brought the refreshing drink.
He bent over the girl, carefully anticipating her each want.
"Señorita Doña, the sugar? and more lemon juice? Good! Now a spoon."
"Forget not yourself, Señor Comandante."
Soon he too was served.
"Señorita Doña, may I speak to you? I cannot refrain."
She smiled at him over the edge of her glass. "It seems to me you have been speaking to me for some time. The thoughts are bubbling up which the dance set free, as you said in the garden a while ago. Is it not so?" She laughed.
The Captain signaled a passing peona who removed the emptied goblets.
"Señorita Carmelita, pray take my words seriously. I think of you, and I dream of you. Your image is enshrined in my heart. Before it I do homage. O, Señorita Doña, I offer you the best devotion of a soldier whose greatest hope is to love and to cherish you, and to make you happy. Will you not listen?"
She blushed and her hands trembled slightly.
"Speak to me, Doña. Bid me hope, even ever so little. The endeavor of my life shall be to become worthy of you. Will you not say there is hope for me?"
Intensity blazed in the eyes of the handsome soldier, and gave resonance to his voice. He took the girl's hand. She but half resisted.
The settee which they occupied was partly screened by palms from the rest of the ballroom. A bevy of señoritas, passing through during the intermission, exchanged knowing glances as they came in sight of the two, and went on. The man and woman did not notice them.
"O, Carmelita, will you not answer me when I say I love you? and tell me in return that you love me? Will you not, Carmelita mia?"
She did not try to withdraw her hand. Her eyelids drooped, and the color of the rose swam anew in her cheeks.
"O, Carmelita, beloved of my heart, say you love me," rapturously.
"Sorry to interrupt you, but music for the waltz has begun, and I have the honor to be your partner."
It was Patricio Martinez, who bore Carmelita away with him to the waiting dance.
Morando spoke in a low tone to her: "I'll see you again presently. May I not?"
It was not easy for him to see her again soon. The young gallants crowded around her begging for dances, or pressing their favors on her during the rest times.
Morando danced several times, then left the ballroom and wandered through the reception rooms, joining a group of men who were discussing the possibilities of wheat-raising in the Santa Clara Valley; then, another coterie who debated the relative merits of Alta California and Baja California. Finally, he became one of a company gathered around Señora Valentino.
"We change location, but not scenes," she said to him. "One might well fancy himself in Madrid to-night instead of Mission San José."
"It is so, señora."
After a little Morando continued wandering, until he came to the conservatory where he sat down.
"I'll remain here till Carmelita is disengaged," was his thought. "She almost listened to me. If she accepts me, I'll be the happiest man in the world."
He spoke half aloud.
"Your voice, Señor Capitan, tells me you are here. Otherwise, I might have missed you. What a cozy retreat you have amid these branching ferns!"
It was Señora Valentino.
The Captain's full height bowed to the lady.
"Will you not be seated, señora? Pardon me for not seeing you sooner."
"The pardon is yours. Will you not, also, be seated?" making room for him at her side.
"I thank you. The favor of your company honors me greatly."
The señora inclined her head. The gems in her hair gleamed responsively to the bright lights. The white silk of her gown lay softly against the vivid green of the ferns.
"Señor Capitan, I am impelled to come and talk with you."
"My dear lady, I am honored."
"I wish to make appeal to you."
She looked straight into the man's eyes.
"Señora Valentino, if I can do anything for you, I am thereby most happy."
"Many thanks, Señor Soldier. I shall begin."
Morando was all attention.
"Señor Capitan, the traditions, the art, the faith of Spain live very near to my heart. They have made old Spain glorious. The world's history would be vastly poorer without them."
"Truly, señora."
"This province, even now, is smiling under their influence. The future has splendid things in store for us here if the heritage from across the sea has way unimpeded. May there not be another Castile beside this Western coast only less magnificent than the first?"
"Señora Valentino, you give my own thoughts."
"I rejoice, Señor Capitan. But on whom rests the duty of safeguarding this heritage? Is it not on us, the sons and daughters of Castile?"
"Most unquestionably, señora."
"Then, let us exert ourselves. Political unrest is agitating the people. It is as yet formless, but soon it must flow in settled stream, for men's thoughts, like water, always seek their level. Señor Soldier, the part of every lover of Castile is plain."
"Please say further, señora."
"Mexico and California soon go their separate ways. Is it not so?"
"I think it is."
"The world moves, Captain Morando, and California must move with it. Whither do we go?"
Without waiting for reply she went on: "Public opinion can be so molded that it will take us to the protection of either the United States of America or to Great Britain. Great Britain would willingly let flourish here Spanish ideals. Read the history of her dependencies. Captain Morando, our obligations to Spain, to this province, to ourselves, demand that we lead the people to ask the coming of the British flag."
"Señora Valentino, many are speaking of these matters. The necessity for some action is forcing itself. But the United States lies nearest us. Their government is republican, the same in form as that to which the people here are accustomed."
"Ah! Capitan. I have been in the capital of the United States with my attaché husband. Two years ago what did I hear? It was a question of Texas coming into their Union. Even the great ones said, 'Let us drive the Mexicans and Spaniards across the Rio Grande, then to perdition!'"
Morando did not speak.
"They would not deal differently with us in California. Let come the United States and all vestige of Spanish civilization will be obliterated, and another foreign to it will be installed. Great Britain would be our protector. Why chance the coming of disaster?"
"Señora, you have thought wondrously deep."
"Why not act, and act now? Public sentiment is in pliable condition. Who knows how long it will so continue? Do your part, Señor Soldier, in organizing a general desire that our province seek Great Britain's friendly arm. Spanish chivalry calls to you."
"You speak strongly."
"Not more strongly than the occasion demands. The welfare of this province, the faith of our fathers, the culture of centuries, are at stake. The United States of America is awake. That mighty nation has her agents among our people, persuading them, leading them, exhorting them. Señor Soldier, be up and doing."
"Señora, come what may, I shall not fail this province."
He touched the hilt of his sword.
"The splendid womanhood of California will crown you their knight, my soldier."
They arose and walked away. In the doorway they paused.
"For Castile and this province!" she said.
"By my sword and glove, señora!"
She extended her hand. He met it in firm grasp.
The call for supper had been made, but they had not heard.
The company was around them.
"Ah, Captain! Ah, señora! what have we here? a betrothal?"
Carmelita Mendoza, with her father, was but a pace away.
"Friends, friends, to the supper room!" called the host.
The guests obeyed.
CHAPTER XI
AT THE SUPPER
"My friends, nature prepares a generous harvest against the months of winter. Let us enjoy the good things at table in anticipation of our share of that harvest. Amigos, to our seats!"
Thus spoke Mendoza to the company assembled in the dining hall.
This room was a little smaller than the ballroom, and its finish was of polished oak combined with redwood. The tables ran nearly the length of the apartment.
The products of Mendoza's gardens and hothouses had been levied on to furnish adornment. Cut roses tumbled in profusion from vases arranged along the middle of the tables, while potted palms cast shadows from chandeliers and wall-candles. Ivy shaped itself into an archway over the entrance, crept through the foliage of house shrubs lining the walls, and intertwined here and there into bowers of ease. Against the green vine, flowers, rivaling the rainbow in tints, sang in color notes the jubilation of California's spring.
The people enjoyed the midnight supper. The cooling air of the courtyard, the dance, the animated conversation had whetted the appetites to an edge.
Finding place not in any particular order, but in the company their preference sought, as was the way in these large gatherings, the girls, with their dueñas, and the gallants were mostly at one end of the room, leaving the graver portion of the assembly by itself.
Señor Mendoza was at the head of a table. At its foot was his daughter. Near him was the wisdom of the valley, represented by the heads of families. Morando wished to seat himself at the señorita's right hand, but she had already motioned Abelardo Peralta to that place. On her left was Alfreda Castro.
The soldier found himself next to young Peralta, and directly opposite Señora Valentino.
"I have a budding magnolia by my plate," burst out Lolita Hernandez. "My partner shall wear it for a button-hole bouquet. He lacks only that. Come, I'll put it on you."
The youth by her side was nothing loth.
"Señorita Doña," spoke her dueña, who was on the other side, "what can you mean? A nosegay so large emulates the cabbage. Why not use this Castilian rose? Behold, it blushes for you," laughing.
"Señora Doña, even a cabbage in Señorita Hernandez's hands would thereby become beautiful," from the youth.
"How easily young men's tongues frame compliments!" from the dueña.
"They have worthy subjects here," from another youth, waving his hand toward the señoritas.
The dueña laughed again. "Young people are unmanageable these days," she concluded.
"Señor the Capitan Morando did not enjoy the egg-breaking?" inquired young Peralta.
"We enjoyed it," laughed Lolita without waiting for Morando's reply.
"I broke an egg on your hair, señorita. I see the gold and silver adornment still," rallied Peralta.
"I broke three on your vest, Señor Peralta. I'm sorry you could not have preserved the pattern," returned Lolita.
"But the Señor Capitan and the egg-breaking—was it new to you?" continued Don Abelardo.
"It was unexpected to me here, but not new," from Morando. "Spain observes it on such occasions as this."
"Ask the Señor Capitan about heart-breaking," laughed the ungovernable Lolita. "Perhaps he has practiced that too in Spain."
"Señorita Doña Hernandez!" warningly from her dueña.
"Well, I am as curious to know about that as was Don Abelardo about egg-breaking."
"Practice makes perfect, is that your meaning?" smiled Señora Valentino at her.
"Yes—no. I simply asked for information."
"Is the Señorita Hernandez still heart-whole?" inquired the soldier. "If she is not, it is not the fault of my sex, I know."
"Do you speak from the fullness of experience, Señor Capitan?" asked Señorita Mendoza. Those in hearing laughed gayly at the quip, as did Morando. Nevertheless, an arctic breath seemed to touch him.
The elders gave themselves to other subjects—the grain and the vineyard prospects for the year, the return of their herds from the San Joaquin, and the like.
Colonel Barcelo's voice was heard talking over his contest at cribbage with Moraga.
The serving peons finished their work and were standing idly by the door. The guests had eaten their fill. The room rang with merriment. Many of the señoritas had woven flowers from the tables into wreaths and were wearing them on the head or around the neck. Lolita Hernandez wished to crown her partner with roses, but the youth, with mock humility, demurred.
"Thrice did even the great Cæsar refuse a crown," he exclaimed.
"Listen to the lore of the traveler," laughed Peralta.
The other had just returned from a year at college in Honolulu. "The fourth offer I might accept," he said.
Lolita promptly placed the wreath on his head. "I crown you king of heartbreakers," but looking at Morando.
"I salute the king," proclaimed the Captain.
"Whom shall I crown queen of heart-breakers?" Lolita went on.
"Crown yourself," from her partner. "Señorita, the honor should be yours."
"Hush!" in pretended severity.
"All hearts fall before you," sweeping his arm toward the company. "Crown yourself; nay, I'll crown you."
He removed the garland from his own head and attempted to place it on Lolita's. She resisted. The señoritas and the gallants laughed and cheered loudly. Finally she took it from his hand and held it aloft.
"I appeal to the company here present; who is the queen of heart-breakers? This crown is looking for a wearer."
"Alfreda Castro! Carmelita Mendoza! Ysobel Soto! Señora Valentino!" came from the crowd.
"The Señora Valentino should have it. She has overcome the Captain Morando. 'Sword and glove' has he surrendered to her. It was at the door of the supper room. I saw it. Señora Valentino, the wreath is thine."
"Señorita Doña Hernandez!" remonstrated her dueña. "Remember the señora is not a maid as art thou. Have care for thy tongue."
Lolita started toward Señora Valentino.
"Come back, Señorita Lolita," from the dueña.
Lolita partly turned, but Señora Valentino was laughing, in evident enjoyment of the fun. Reassured, the girl called to the company:
"Shall it not be the señora?'
"The Señora Valentino!" they cried. "Our fair guest from Spain! Honor her! Crown her queen of heart-breakers!"
The señora smiled sweetly at the joyous throng, as much at home in the frolic as anyone among them.
Lolita placed the wreath on the señora's head. "As thy friends acclaim, so I do. You are pronounced queen of heart-breakers."
What reply the señora made could not be heard for the applause, but she kissed first one hand, then the other, to the señoritas and the caballeros.
Mendoza was standing by his place at the table. He motioned again and again for silence before it was obtained. Finally they listened to him.
"To the ballroom for you youngsters! Come with me."
"Will you stay with us in the ballroom, señor? We want you," laughed a girl.
"I'll start you going in the dance, then return to the table. We elders like to linger a while over our coffee and burnt brandy. But come now, children."
They followed him through the green archway into the ballroom.
When the señor had left the supper room, taking the younger contingent with him, the others had moved toward his end of the table. Barcelo insisted that Moraga should at once accompany him to the card room; whereupon rather reluctantly Moraga left his old friends.
Marcel Hernandez arose to his feet.
"Fellow rancheros, and your ladies," bowing gallantly, "Señor Mendoza, occupied with the young people, is temporarily absent from the room—he is quite a boy, is the señor—and I take occasion to say a word to you. The old government here is worn out, ready to fall to pieces like a used-up carreta. We, the leaders of the people, must find another government—find another; yes, and soon. We have talked it over this evening; in fact, have talked of little else for weeks and months. Let us take action to-night."
He sat down deliberately.
A half dozen men sprang to their feet. All dignity was thrown aside, and they raised their voices and gesticulated earnestly.
"It is not yet the time," called one.
"It is the time, and——"
Another drowned him out by shouting, "Let us seek adequate protection from some great nation which will insure us life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
"Mexico falls soon before the United States. We shall be declared contraband of war and suffer the consequences, unless we act quickly and in the right direction," asserted yet another.
Don Louis Valencia arose.
"Friends, you speak wisely. Nothing more need be said. Let us act. I say, make our province a dependency of Great Britain. That country will protect us. Señors, now is the time. Great Britain will be our ally and friend. I repeat, take action—and now!" thumping his fist on the table.
Señor Mendoza returned from the ballroom at that moment. He went to his chair at the table. All became silent.
They waited for him to speak on the matter which was occupying so much attention in California. The stillness became intense.
"Neighbors and friends," Mendoza said at last, "what I heard as I entered tells me the import of the debate which evidently took place while I was absent. I hope nothing will come to head at present."
"It must come to head!" from Hernandez. "Why not take the bull by the horns?" looking at Higuera. "I mean, why not take initiative here and now? It is unsafe to wait."
Valencia seconded Hernandez's words.
"The wise traveler," counseled Mendoza, "surveys an unknown way rood by rood. Señor Hernandez and friends, before taking positive action we should consider the path along which we would find ourselves."
"It is either the United States or England," argued Valencia. "No other nation need be considered. Why not declare for one or the other before another day?"
"Quite right, neighbor Valencia, quite right!" supported Hernandez.
"The rest of the province is undecided, as we have been. We now know our minds. Let us speak them. The others will follow, and the vexed question is at an end," again from Valencia.
"But do we know our minds well enough to speak them?" questioned Mendoza.
"We do! We do!" replied Valencia.
"Huzza! Huzza!" shouted Hernandez.
"Better consider!" cautioned Higuera.
"Slowness never wins the race," retorted Valencia.
"The tortoise won the race from the hare," rebutted Higuera.
The dancing had not held all those who had gone with Señor Mendoza to the ballroom. The atmosphere around the table of the elders was surcharged with subtle influence which drew many back. By twos and threes they came. Señora Valentino and Abelardo Peralta were among them; Captain Morando also.
"Prepare to become an English province," now from young Peralta.
Not a few were of that conviction. "England is just. England allows her dependencies to flourish in their own way," they declared.
"Huzza! Huzza!" again shouted Hernandez. "Viva England!"
Morando arose.
"I make no preference save this," he said. "We must preserve here Spanish ideals, Spanish manhood and womanhood."
"Excellent!" commended the host. "Splendid!"
"Splendid!" echoed Señora Valentino, clapping her hands.
The women followed her example. "Yes, yes, Spanish manhood and womanhood!" they exclaimed.
The Señorita Carmelita came to her father's chair.
"Papacito, the time soon comes for El Son. We await you in the ballroom."
"At once, little one."
The elders left the table, and the entire company moved toward the door.
"For Castilian manhood and womanhood in this province!" Señora Valentino said to Morando.
"Sword and glove!" enthusiastically in return.
Again their palms met in compact.
For the second time that evening Carmelita saw the fervent hand-clasp.
CHAPTER XII
CARMELITA DANCES EL SON
By custom the dance of El Son followed supper. Peons pared wax from candles and scattered the particles over the ballroom floor. Smooth as it had been before it must be made more so for the dance El Son. The Indian men and women worked the wax into the wood until the surface shone like the beams of a harvest moon.
"A little more wax by you there, Clotilda—not that side, the other!" ordered the peon in charge. "Now, be alive with your foot. Use judgment! Use judgment! Don't wear a hole in the floor. Now, more wax where your toes were digging!"
"Already as many candles are in the shavings, Tomaso, as would make a display for Holy Thursday," remonstrated a peona.
"What have we here? What have we here?" indignantly from Tomaso. "All masters, and no servants? Obey my word, and be quick about it! Move yourselves, every one of you! Make the floor glisten. The more it shines the more slippery it is. Did you not hear some of the company clamoring that our doña herself dance El Son to-night?"
Tomaso was Señor Mendoza's trusty man, an Indian of intelligence and fidelity. He was captain of the Señor's fighting peons and had been Carmelita's postilion at the merienda race. Under his rapid orders the servants made the floor ready. Mendoza, however, was not satisfied with it.
"The floor is not yet right for El Son. It needs a dance thereon. Friends, let us have a waltz!"
The caballeros sought partners, looking for their lady loves over grounds, reception rooms, and conservatory. Morando found Carmelita chatting vivaciously in the midst of a gay party.
"Will you favor me with this waltz, señorita doña?"
"It is yours, Captain Morando."
In a moment they were one of a hundred couples on the floor. The girl's eyes sparkled and the color rose higher in her cheeks.
"A wonderful night this has been!" Morando exclaimed to his partner in the waltz. "What a pity it must end so soon!"
"You are, then, enjoying the baile? No? It will delight my father, I know, to hear that."
"Señorita Doña, may I have a few moments with you when this dance is over?"
"Certainly."
In a little while they were seated in the quiet of a reception room.
"Señorita Carmelita, I told you earlier in the evening that I love you, and I asked your love in return. Again I tell you I love you. O, doña mia! Doña mia! Will you not accept my love?"
She looked at him and moved away slightly.
"O, Doña Carmelita, will you not answer me?"
"The Capitan Morando is insistent."
"My heart urges me, señorita doña, my heart filled with love for you."
"The Capitan's love hangs on slender thread."
"You, doña mia, can make that thread strong."
"I do not choose thus to occupy myself."
"O, heart of my heart, accept my love and I will give my whole life to you."
"It is quite time for this interview to end. Señor Capitan, will you escort me back to the company?"
"Señorita Carmelita, why do you speak in this way? Have I offended you?"
"Possibly you have other questions to ask."
"Only one other question concerns me, señorita mia. Answer me that, I implore of you. Say that you will accept my love."
He stood before her. Involuntarily his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, as it had done when shortly before he had been speaking to Señora Valentino.
The girl arose quickly. "Good evening, Captain Morando," she said and left the room.
Undecided, he looked after her.
A hand was laid on his shoulder.
"Señor Captain, we meet after El Son in the card room. Come into the open with us, and we will explain."
It was Valencia who spoke.
"Yes, come with us. We have been looking everywhere for you," joined in Hernandez.
"I am at your service, señors."
The music for El Son, low and sobbing, came floating through the flower-scented air. This dance, of Spanish, or, perhaps, of Moorish origin, had elaborated itself in the new world, personifying in poetry of motion the joyous spirit of the province. It belonged to the master of the house to select the dancer who, if she chose, might add to the usual figures inventions of her own. Carmelita appeared at the entrance of the ballroom. Serving maids and Indian messenger boys were around her in numbers. She dispatched them, one by one, to bring in all the guests.
They came from everywhere. The older men were in small groups, talking earnestly, and often gesticulating vehemently. The young men were mostly with their sweethearts and the dueñas. With Señora Valentino were Valencia, Hernandez, Abelardo Peralta, Patricio Martinez, and a half dozen others, including Morando.
"We have laid before the Captain our point of view," Hernandez was saying. "Even the charming Señora Valentino, a stranger here and altogether free from self-interest, agrees——"
They passed into the ballroom.
Señor Mendoza walked up and down the room, pretending to clap his hands before this señorita, or that, this being the signal by which the favored one was notified that she was to set foot to the measures. Laughter and bantering without stint went around.
"Lolita Hernandez!"
"Lucinda Higuera!"
"Tula Laynez!"
"Juanita Calderon!"
"Alfreda Castro!" from yet another partisan; and so on.
"The Señorita Carmelita!" cried a dozen voices as the doña entered.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the usually phlegmatic Fulgencio Higuera. "The señorita Mendoza has stolen the light of stars for her eyes, and she has robbed the gardens for her cheeks. Let her dance El Son."
She bowed in appreciation.
"I thank you," she said. Then to her father, "Papacito, a word."
They withdrew.
"Will you ask me to dance El Son?"
Wondrously beautiful she was, her dark eyes glowing, the color flaming in her cheeks. The chivalry of his young manhood lived again as he saw the resplendent girl. Joy leaped in his heart that this exquisite creature was his daughter. She stood before him, every element of her personality pleading.
"Please, Papacito! I wish it to-night more than anything else."
They walked back among the people. The company unwittingly seconded her request.
"The Señorita Mendoza, the fairest of the fair! Call her, señor! Call her, the lily of the valley!"
The old don hesitated.
Again came the request from all sides, increasing insistent.
"Papacito, please!" urged the girl in low voice.
He clapped his hands before her.
In the midst of loud applause she walked to the middle of the room.
The music, now dreamy and insinuating, soon took a livelier turn. The young woman glided back and forth on the waxed floor as lightly as a swallow skims the air. In willowy movements, hands and feet in perfect correspondence, she hovered over the cleared space, seeming scarcely to touch the floor. Then, in wider step, she circled over this space in eaglelike sweeps, her arms outstretched and her long hair floating.
Without pausing, the girl's movements became sinuous, gentle. She advanced, retreated, again came forward, as if entreating, but fearing rebuff. Rare grace and charm was in every motion.
"Brava! Brava!" shouted the men, while above all was heard the excited voice of Morando.
With arms extended she fluttered from side to side, as a butterfly sipping honey from flower-cups here and there, staying but an instant at any one.
Her hand made gesture to the musicians.
The strain became bold, quick, martial.
She spun on her toe-tips, her long dress billowing, her hair streaming. As she whirled, her feet described winding figures on the floor, her skirts repeating the design.
More and more quickly Carmelita circled over the room.
Louder crashed the music, and more hearty became the plaudits.
Fulgencio Higuera drew from his pocket a handful of gold pieces, and flung them at the señorita's feet. Another, another, a dozen others, followed his example.
"Brava! Brava!" cried Marcel Hernandez, tossing handfuls of gold to the ceiling. The pieces fell among the enthusiastic company, who scarcely noticed the glittering shower.
Still, the doña sped on her toes, her skirt still marking in ampler pattern the lines fashioned by her feet. Her very being undulated in response to the weird music.
The applause hushed for a moment.
"C-A-R-M-E-L-I-T-A M-E-N-D-O-Z-A," some one spelled the tracing, letter by letter. "Carmelita Mendoza."
The clamor broke out afresh.
"She has worked her name on the ballroom floor, as part of the dance! Viva! Viva!" they shouted. "Viva! Viva!"
The doña again fluttered up and down, arms outstretched.
The caballeros rushed around the girl shouting and praising her. More gold was freely scattered, its jingle intermingling with the orchestra.
"Splendid! Splendid! Is it not so, Señora Valentino?" came from Captain Morando. Without pausing for reply he hastened to Carmelita, who was surrounded by numberless congratulating friends.
"O, doña mia," the Captain cried, "you dance with the grace of an angel."
"The most successful rendition of El Son in a decade!" added a dueña.
"The most perfect ever," again from Morando.
Señora Valentino came up all smiles. "This ball is the rarest treat of my visit to California, and your El Son, señorita, is the choice incident of the evening's pleasure. I thank you for it."
"You are very good, señora. I am glad that I can help in entertaining you."
The music for a mazurka was beginning. The older men disappeared from the room. Morando, Peralta, Martinez, and a number of others soon followed, while the rest were again at the dance.
Colonel Barcelo and Moraga returned to the card room and finished their nearly completed round of cribbage.
"A piece of luck, Moraga. Simply a confounded piece of luck. It happens occasionally."
"I've won five out of six games from you to-night, Colonel."
"Chance threw the cards your way. My skill simply went for nothing—went for nothing!"
The card room rapidly filled. After a few moments of cursory conversation there was silence. Each was waiting for another to speak.
Valencia began.
"Señors," with much deliberation, "at supper the sense of the majority of the assemblage was that we take our province from the tutelage of Mexico to the protection of Great Britain. The question before us is, How shall we proceed to make this transfer? Let us hear from you."
Hernandez arose.
"Send a delegation to the English representative in Monterey, and tell him of our desires. A British fleet is near. Let it take possession of the province. Then, if Mexico objects, she will have Great Britain to deal with."
Most of the men nodded affirmatively.
Hernandez took his seat with a satisfied air.
"Friends," said Mendoza, "I am not of the mind that it is wise to take action in this matter to-night. Too great haste in acting is like a too hot fire in cooking."
Higuera, Zelaya, and a few others signified they were in agreement with this.
"My friends, action is the word!" cried Hernandez. "Positive action! Prompt action! Mexico stands at our gates collecting taxes, giving nothing in return, like the robbers at Tarifa. Drop Mexico, I say, and join hands with England, at once!"
"As English subjects a mighty future is ours. Let us not wait," from Abelardo Peralta.
"The young men will have opportunities then," followed Miguel Soto. "An English prime minister ruled his political world when he was twenty-one."
"Why not find from the United States, and from Great Britain as well, the conditions under which they will receive our province? We can then act more intelligently."
"No, no!" chorused many. "England! England! Become English subjects at once."
Hernandez jumped to his feet. "Become British subjects at once!" waving his hand.
Others, and yet others, followed his example, till the place fairly rang with the shouting.
Mendoza rapped on a table. After quiet was restored he began: "Señors, we have in Baja California men like Carillo and the brothers Pico. Unless we allow them a part in our deliberations they will repudiate any action we may take. England does not want a province with divided sentiment. Carillo and the brothers Pico are capable of inciting Southern California to rebellion, if we attempt to turn over the province to England without consulting them."
"Good friends, no embarrassment need be feared from Carillo, nor from the brothers Pico." With these words Señora Valentino floated into the room, her upturned face wreathed in smiles.
The company, surprised at the sound of her voice, turned questioningly.
"I think Carillo, likewise the brothers Pico, can be relied on to espouse your wish to transfer allegiance to England."
Mendoza spoke: "Respected lady, these absent gentlemen must be given a chance to speak for themselves. Giving away provinces is more than child's play. We cannot hazard guesses."
"My ever-wise Administrator, you are right. It occurs to me that these same brothers Pico and Señor Carillo have in some slight manner expressed themselves as favorable to this English protectorate which we all are so anxious to bring about."
"But, good señora, mere hearsay must not be accepted."
"Again, right as ever, most worthy Administrator. But, to recollect further—I believe I have in my possession a letter from these señors—possibly, two or three letters—as I recall the matter more closely. These same letters, if I mistake not, declare quite plainly as to the sentiments of the writers."
"But, Señora Valentino, there must be no possibility of mistake in such an issue as this."
With childlike simplicity she looked into the face of Mendoza.
"I remember fully now. These Southerners express unequivocally their desire to make California a British province. They assure us they will spare no pains to bring about this consummation."
"But, señora, pardon: would I presume should I ask further enlightenment?"
Again she smiled. "Señor, your Excellency, you do not presume. These communications from Señors Carillo and the Pico brothers were merely little private scribbles, from one sojourner to another, so to speak, and in which there happened to be mention of the political unrest now occupying the minds of the sterner sex." Her smile broadened.
Colonel Barcelo had been looking through the cards of the last hand at cribbage, hoping to come across errors in his opponent's play. He found none. "This question should have been settled long ago," he said, testily. "Let the British admiral bring his fleet into Monterey Harbor. Down comes the Mexican flag and up goes the Union Jack. Mexico cannot resist, having no ships. I wonder I did not think of having this done before."
He took his seat, and again looked through the cards.
Renewed enthusiasm now possessed the company. They applauded and shouted; and cheered Señora Valentino and Colonel Barcelo. When quiet came a committee was chosen to acquaint the English representative at Monterey of California's wish.
"Come, Moraga," challenged Colonel Barcelo, "let us play again."
"Colonel, you would pass a province from hand to hand as unconcernedly as you do these pasteboards," uttered Moraga, taking his place at the card table.
"Certainly! Certainly! This change has really been in my mind some time. Just crept in, so I hardly noticed it."
The Colonel and the land baron were soon engrossed with the game. The other guests sauntered away.
A few moments later Carmelita chanced to see Tomaso, captain of her father's fighting peons, riding away on Mercurio, the wheel horse in the merienda race. Following, on a reata, was the big bay leader of the Mendoza team. The Indian had stripped to the waist, and wore only the leathern knee breeches of the peon jockey. A handkerchief was tied tightly around the head to keep in place his long hair. Neither horse was saddled, having only a surcingle about its body.
The rattle of hoofs on the hard road sounded loud in the night, then died out.
The girl knew that Tomaso was bent on some errand of great interest to her father. The two swift horses, prepared as they were, meant that the Indian would, if necessary, ride one to exhaustion, then use the other to complete his journey.
The night waned. Noises of early morning began to echo in the hills. The dance and merriment went on. Faint tracings of dawn came across the eastern horizon. The Mendoza ball was drawing to its close. Light came on wings of morning.
Peons brought carreta and horse. Señor Mendoza and his daughter stood at the courtyard gate to wish Godspeed to the departing guests. "Adios, Señor Mendoza! Adios, Señorita Mendoza!" was heard on every side.
Father and daughter watched neighbor and friend go their way.
Rapidly galloping horses were approaching from the direction of the eastern hills. Two horsemen were soon at the gate. One was Tomaso astride the big bay leader trembling from the ride. The other was O'Donnell on his stallion.
"Buenos días, Señor O'Donnell," greeted Mendoza.
O'Donnell returned, "Good morning," adding with rising reflection, "Well?"
"The Señor O'Donnell and I have pressing business, my daughter. Please excuse us, carita mia."
The señorita bowed.
The men went into Mendoza's private office.
CHAPTER XIII
RETURNING FROM THE BALL
"My Captain, it has been a goodly night, one long to be remembered."
Señora Valentino and Captain Morando were riding along the rolling highway which led southerly from the Mission San José. A large portion of the company that had attended the ball traveled this same road, the men on their mounts, the women-folks mostly in carretas, though two or three, like Señora Valentino, preferred horseback.
"Our Mendoza is a lavish host. He does nothing by halves, like the worthy Californian that he is."
"Ah! yes. A wonderful man! A wonderful man!"
The señora reined in her horse. A rabbit, pursued by a hawk, was running toward them from the underbrush at the side. Double and dodge as it might, the little beast could not rid itself of its persecutor. Finally it lay, a little crumpled heap, not far from the señorita's horse, squealing for mercy. It found none, for the bird of prey drove its talons into the fur and started to carry away its victim.
The señora swung her horse in wide curve and struck the hawk with her riding-whip. It dropped the rabbit and flew fiercely at her. She struck it again, this time with the butt of the whip. It circled away, but returned to the attack and was hovering over the lady when Morando killed it with a pistol shot.
It was the occurrence of a moment; but the angry challenge of the hawk and the report of the firearm called the attention of the horseback riders as well as the dozing occupants of the carretas. Men shouted and women screamed. The peon riflemen came hurrying up, ready for battle.
"Señora, are you hurt?" solicitously inquired Morando.
"Nothing much. A little scratch."
"Let us dismount. You are pale. Let me assist you."
She gave him her uninjured hand and loosed her feet from the stirrup. Twilight fell across her eyes, resolving into huge, unsteady clouds swimming around and around her with increasing velocity. In dead faint she sank into Morando's arms.
The Captain removed the señora's long riding-glove, and found her wrist profusely bleeding from a small, but deep, perforation. The hawk had driven its talon in, full length.
"Come, amigos," Morando cried, "prepare a temporary couch for Señora Valentino by the roadside."
A dozen ponchos fell from caballeros' shoulders, and the women improvised a comfortable bed from them on the thickly interwoven green grass, the soldier holding the insensible woman in his arms the while. He laid her, still fainting, on the bed, softly odorous of the growing things about.
In tiny pulsings the blood flowed, reddening her light-colored riding-habit, and spattering the costly fabric of the ponchos.
The Captain bound his handkerchief tightly around her arm midway between wrist and elbow. The bleeding ceased.
"Señors, who among you has a flask of aguardiente?"
Several were offered.
"Will one of the ladies bathe her face and forehead with the liquor?"
Señora Higuera did the service.
Morando was tightly bandaging the injured member with strips torn from handkerchiefs when the patient opened her eyes.
"My arm feels asleep, Don Alfredo," she murmured. "Where am I?"
"With your friends, and safe," replied Morando.
Color gradually came into her face and lips. Her breath no longer fluttered.
"O, the poor little fellow so wanted to save his life that I couldn't see him lose it," she murmured. "The hawk passed blow for blow with me. His talon pricked through my glove."
Word of the mishap had gone to Señor and Señora Barcelo, who were riding in the vanguard of the procession. The complaining of the Barcelo carreta mingled with the puffing of the Colonel's horse as the two raced back.
"O, Silvia! Silvia! What dreadful thing has happened?" wailed Señora Barcelo.
"What has happened is over, sister mine. Thanks to our friends here, and Captain Morando in particular, I am nothing the worse."
"Doubtless! Doubtless! How clumsy your arm looks tied up that way! Well, a peon reported you stricken down by an attacking eagle. How about it?" inquired Barcelo.
Señora Valentino quickly detailed the story.
"Humph! A pretty state of affairs! Come, shall we be going? Matters of great importance wait my arrival at the capitol."
"There is no reason to wait. I am able to travel. Amigos, adelante!" playfully waving her hand toward the south.
Riders and carretas set out, Señora Valentino moving slowly, the soldier by her side. The Colonel, making sure all was well with his sister-in-law, insisted on traveling at full speed. His wife's carreta plunged and squeaked and rolled after him.
"My dear," called Señora Higuera, in a little while, "you are growing pale again. Stay with us at Aguas Calientes until you feel stronger. We'll send a peon messenger on a swift horse, to reach your sister with explanations. Come, Señora Valentino, we are at the turn of the road."
"I fear, señora, your arm is swelling. It will be better to dismount at the Higuera hacienda house and have the wound carefully bathed in warm water," counseled Morando.
The house of the Higueras was but a few hundred paces from the road, but Señora Valentino was able to negotiate the distance only with greatest difficulty.
The señora's wrist had swelled considerably. Morando removed a small portion of the riding-glove driven in by the bird's claw. Good wife Higuera bathed the wound in warm water, after which a soothing lotion of herbs diminished the pain greatly.
"Come," said Señora Valentino, rising from the couch whither Morando had carried her, "it is time for me to be going."
"Impossible, my lady," remonstrated Higuera. "My house and all in it are at your disposal. Rest to-day. Last night was a gay one, but a merry night means a weary morning. To-morrow, or the day after, you can continue your way. A proper guard will attend you. Besides, your arm may require further treatment. We have an Indian woman on the hacienda who is only less skillful than the Captain," bowing to Morando.
"Thank you, amigos. My sister rests at the Calderon hacienda, near San José pueblo. I can easily reach there in an hour. The scratch on my arm is nothing. I am ashamed of having shown weakness over it. Misericordia! am I sugar that I melt if a cupful of water reaches me?"
Despite all protestations she insisted on starting forth.
"Take a carreta, my dear heart," urged Señora Higuera. "Come, we'll fill the body of the vehicle with blankets and have all as soft as down for you. What differs an hour more or less in the journey if you can be more comfortable? Let me make ready for you."
The señora would not listen to it. She mounted her horse gracefully, despite her bandaged arm, waved adios to the Higueras, and set out toward San José attended by Captain Morando.
"Be sure to stop if you feel weak," called Señora Higuera. "A peon will make his house yours, as well will any ranchero."
"Never fear, good friends; I have strength and to spare for the journey."
The rest of the merrymakers were well ahead. The señora and the Captain rode alone over a virgin meadow. Mountain and valley smiled. The sun, giving promise of a perfect day, crystallized his light in myriad dewdrops hanging on flower petal and grass leaf. The morning breeze carried the sweet voices of the hill blooms as they sang in fragrance. Mingled with it was the pungent tang of wild mustard bursting into gold. Great stretches of wild oats eddied and billowed away, an emerald sea meeting the outposts of the coast range; or, dropping across the valley, lost itself in the misty, opalescent sky line. High aloft the lark was warbling his joy of living. The blackbird in the meadows trilled love songs to his mate.
The man and woman turned their horses and looked along the way they had come. The San Francisco Bay reached in silvery arc to the horizon. The great white buildings of the Mendoza hacienda, stippled with the gray of peon dwellings, rested against the hills. Stray cattle and horses made their way body-deep in the luxuriant grass-growth, while the mountains echoed the bleating of the Mission's sheep. It was a picture of pastoral California, rich and splendid.
The lady showed no trace of her accident of an hour before. Color was in her face and animation in her tones as she said: "Captain Morando, let us look our fill on this scene. The future will see a panorama here less wild, less beautiful, perhaps, but of greater usefulness." She turned her horse again southward.
Morando rode by her side, not speaking for several moments. Finally: "Señora, you have deep interest in these Californias."
"You have said it, señor Captain. I have, indeed, a deep interest in the province." As he said nothing she continued: "I have a kindred interest in the 'province of hearts' here also—to quote our host."
He laughed.
"Really, Captain, it would not surprise me if Señor Mendoza's ball brought about half a dozen weddings. The setting for love-making was exquisite. It might have been fashioned after some fairy scene, so delicately were light and color blended, with that delicious music of the natives permeating it all. Madrid would have gone wild over it! Even the most watchful mamma and dueña felt the spell and laughed and looked away while some fair one allowed the brave Don Juan to hold her hand and murmur nothings to her. Why, even señoritas and young sparks betrothed in childhood by their parents yielded to the passion divine, as if their love was at first sight." She laughed gently.
"Was it so? I am too little acquainted with the families of Alta California to know of the young men and women so engaged."
The señora's laugh was now merry, as she replied: "I sit much with the old wives and know all the gossip. I can tell you all about it. There are Patricio Martinez and Alfredo Castro. Their families intermarried in Spain before the new world was thought of, continued in intermarriage in Mexico, and will not desist in California. Then, there are Lucinda Higuera and Aviel Soto; Lolita Hernandez and young Julius Belden—part gringo he is, as they term it here—and—and—yes, Tula Rosa and Pancho Laynez."
"I suppose there is the history of a family tree connected with each of these betrothals!"
"There surely is. I actually ache down to the tips of my fingers," holding up her injured hand, "trying to remember it all. But come," checking her horse sharply, in sudden remembrance, "there was one account most interesting, or, rather, more interesting, even, than others. Who was it that told me? I think, Señora Valdez, or, perhaps, Señora Sanchez. No, it must have been the very aged Señora Hernandez, Don Marcel's mother."
"My interest is aroused almost beyond bounds," he laughed.
She returned the laugh. "Well, whoever it was that told me, I remember the story. It relates to our host of last night, Señor Mendoza, and Señor Peralta, father of that splendid young cavalier, Don Abelardo."
The soldier's interest was now aroused in earnest.
"The friendship of Mendoza and of the Señor Peralta, so the story goes, had beginning in old times. Both were soldiers, daring and efficient, and a common cause, that of freeing Spain from French dominance, led to mutual liking. They campaigned together for years.
"A few hours' journey from Madrid, near Talavera city, is a long bluff which Colonel Mendoza held, with English troops, against the fury of Joseph Bonaparte's veterans. It was the pivotal center of the Iron Duke's position—of course, this Iron Duke was just Sir Arthur Wellesley then. This much is history."
"I have read of Señor Mendoza's notable part in that great battle."
"Well, in the charge, the second day, when the French line was breaking, Mendoza's horse was shot and it fell, pinning him beneath. Peralta saved him from death at the hands of a Toulousan lancer. The Colonel mounted another horse, nothing the worse for his experience. Twice before nightfall did he again owe his life to his friend Peralta. This, according to my informant."
Morando said nothing. The lady continued:
"Administrator Mendoza was instrumental in having a grant of land made to Señor Peralta, who came here to occupy it. He married and had a son, Abelardo. Later, the Administrator married, and his daughter Carmelita came to bless his home."
Morando was looking intently at the speaker.
"One night the renegades from the eastern valleys drove away many horses and cattle after maltreating the attending peons. Mendoza and Peralta, with their fighting Indians, pursued the fleeing miscreants. An arrow pierced Peralta's body, and he would have fallen to the ground had not Mendoza caught him. Under the protection of a branching oak, on the primeval hillside, the end came. The dying man's head lay on Mendoza's lap, their hands clasped together, while the sturdy Mendoza was weeping. Peralta spoke faintly: