CHAPTER XVIII
FARQUHARSON MEETS WITH A LOSS

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

"No sabe, señor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mendoza smiled and repeated his gestures.

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

"Ah! You wish to see Padre Osuna?"

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

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

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

"I'll be much obleeged."

"Filipo!" called Mendoza.

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

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

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

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

"Sure, I did."

"Saw no signs of renegades?"

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

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

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

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

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

Mendoza turned and walked toward his own gate.

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

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

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

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

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

"No sabe, señor," was the answer.

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

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

"Be you the Reverend?" asked Brown.

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

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

Juan Antonio signaled Brown to come with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll do it."

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

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

"I thought as much from your accent."

"My accent!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed."

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

"You found it so?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed."

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

"How do you account for it?"

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

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The porter opened the gate for him to pass out.

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

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

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

"I'd rather talk than eat."

"You shall do both."

A peon brought in refreshments.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, I should say not!" contemptuously.

"Your preferences are not English?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No sabe, señor."

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

"No sabe, señor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm here, Brown."

Farquharson had ridden up unobserved.

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

The peons released Brown at a word from the Englishman.

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

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

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

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

"I understand, Brown."

"Now I have a word."

"Very well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounded like it, did it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But his politics," O'Donnell interpolated.

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

They rode on in silence.

CHAPTER XIX
SEÑORA VALENTINO AND CAPTAIN MORANDO
CONTINUE CONVERSATION

"Saul has slain his thousands, but David his tens of thousands. I greet you, Captain Morando."

Morando bowed.

"A chair, Captain. My good brother-in-law the Colonel Barcelo awakes soon, I'm sure."

"If you do not mind, Señora Valentino, let us walk up and down this wide veranda. I think you were doing so a moment ago."

"Quite right, Señor Captain."

The señora and the soldier were on a long balcony in the second story of the Barcelo mansion. It ran along the street side of the house and across one end. The cool wind from the Monterey Bay crept along the street, mounted to the porch, and breathed gently there. The leaves crinkled under the chill and the flower petals shrank within themselves.

"Benito had strict orders to keep awake and bring you here the moment you arrived, Captain."

"The watchful sentinel was indeed awake and lost no time in showing me here, señora."

"At midnight I left the Colonel and his council. They had just finished reading the dispatches you sent. They expected you and your prisoners along shortly. They were to wait for you in these chairs, but I fancy the cool morning invited them within. I fancy, again, one could easily find the Colonel and his council." She shrugged and laughed. They paused just opposite a wide-open door. Within were several men, in easy chairs, fast asleep. Colonel Barcelo, especially, was breathing stoutly. Two soldiers, evidently detailed as orderlies, were on guard. They rose from their chairs, saluted the Captain, and again seated themselves, all silently as if in pantomime.

The señora and the Captain continued their walk.

"I expected to arrive here much sooner, but had difficulty in getting enough horses. We were obliged to sequester a number from the Mission Santa Clara. Many mounts, as well as many men, were killed or maimed in the fight, and we had nearly two hundred prisoners to transport to the military prison here."

"Ah, Captain, my heart rejoices in your victory and in your safety. Do you soldiers ever think that while you are away fighting we women are home inactive, save in prayer, waiting, longing for word of you, yet dreading to hear it when it comes? In the rush of battle, amigo, does one little thought ever go back to these waiting ones?"

"My good señora, not a moment since I left you two days ago has the thought of one woman been absent from me. Yesterday, in that desperate hand-to-hand fight, time after time we were hard pressed, and the memory-picture of her moved my soul and placed a giant's strength in my arm. The men caught my spirit."

"The thought of one woman, Captain?"

"Yes, señora. It may be women little realize the part they have in bringing to success many a perilous enterprise."

"It is good to hear you say that, my Captain."

"Señora, often when we are most occupied there runs in us an undercurrent of thought which reaches a surer conclusion, perhaps, than could our conscious reason. In these past busy hours my deeper self has lived again and again in the words you and I spoke that morning in the reception room below. When opportunity comes I shall give you further confidences of my heart."

"I am greatly complimented by what you tell me."

"Had I but time that morning I should have gone to greater length. My dear señora, a common bond unites you and me. Providence, I doubt not, has brought us together in understanding, after all these years, that we may help each other."

"Captain, I—I feel—I need help. And you—you——"

"My good señora, I shall give help as I can. From you I ask the same consideration. That morning I was about to say to you——"

The church bell rang. The hour was six, the time for the morning Angelus.

"The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary," Colonel Barcelo's voice repeated half sleepily. The soldiers and the council all joined in the morning prayer.

"I must have nodded," the Colonel added. "A moment ago I was the only one awake around here, but I didn't care to disturb these civilians who aren't accustomed to night duty," looking indulgently at his council. "But as for the soldiers," glaring at the orderlies, "why, they simply are no soldiers at all. Many's the time I've gone eighty hours without sleep, eighty hours, señors! and never closing an eye. Why, bless my soul! here is Morando, a trifle dusty and smoke-stained, but still fresh as a rose. Congratulation, good Captain! I'm glad you rubbed out that rascally Indian. Why, here's Señora Valentino also! I suppose the Angelus bell aroused you. Well, I was awake. Sit down, Morando. Take this easy chair."

The Colonel arose and walked about the room. "Well, tell us about the fight—I'm beginning to get hungry."

"Lieutenant Mesa, who came to you last night, told you, I'm sure, all there is to tell. One of the prisoners, however, told me something interesting about the Americano O'Donnell and Yoscolo."

"Ah! O'Donnell," from Señora Valentino. "Let us hear about it."

"I wondered why Yoscolo deserted the coast range whence he could have easily reached the high Sierras and safety," began Morando. "This Indian prisoner told me that Yoscolo abandoned the Sierras for fear of O'Donnell himself."

"For fear of O'Donnell!" Barcelo ejaculated in contempt. "That Indian was simply talking nonsense. I've seen this O'Donnell around here—some nondescript fellow. Besides, O'Donnell wasn't in the Sierras at all, but right along with you. Well, we'll all feel better when we've had some breakfast."

"What further did your informant say, Captain Morando?" Señora Valentino persisted.

"Yoscolo thought O'Donnell had gone to the far-western plains. The Americano is most influential there with high chiefs. So, our Yoscolo intended to raid the missions and haciendas, hold Spanish men and women for ransom and make his way with the proceeds to Northern Mexico, all before O'Donnell should return. He knew the Americano could overwhelm him with those plains natives, if he wished. But O'Donnell had not yet gone to the plains. Yoscolo only became aware of this after he began raiding. Accordingly, he left the neighborhood of danger, and was on his way along the coast to Mexico, for safety, when we overtook him at Los Gatos."

"Simply preposterous! Simply preposterous! what the Indian told you," puffed Barcelo. "Well, it was as good a way as any to pass a weary journey. But let's go to breakfast."

"Whither went O'Donnell after the action at Los Gatos?" still persisted Señora Valentino.

"After giving aid to the wounded in San José he rode to the house of Señor Mendoza."

Señor Barcelo appeared on the veranda.

"Crisostimo, will you kindly tell our amigos that breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes? Silvia and you, Crisostimo, help me show them rooms where they may prepare. Sister, love, have a care for your arm. Come, amigos, come."

The guests were soon disposed to their rooms.

As they left the breakfast table, Señora Valentino said to Morando: "Captain, shall we not continue the conversation interrupted by the ringing of the Angelus?"

"With great pleasure, my señora."

"Let us go into the courtyard garden."

Colonel Barcelo and his councilors returned to the upper veranda.

"I'll have to be at the castle when Morando turns these prisoners over to me formally, and withdraws his own men. I'll see to it that horses will be there for us, and we'll go out on a tour of inspection," Barcelo said.

"How softly the morning light comes into the patio, Captain!" as they were sitting together under a locust tree.

"I can scarcely realize that the same sun shines here and on that scene of death of few hours' ride away. As I sit here with you in this quiet and peace the other seems a dream, an awful dream, señora."

"But you are with me, and yesterday has gone the way of all other days that are past. The future, if we are willing, may hold many happy years for us."

"I pray so, my good señora."

The señora lowered her eyes, and bowed gently.

"Our lives are empty; yours, because it has never been filled. Hence there is greater hope for you than for me."

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"You have been frank with me. I will be the same with you. Fate brought me to far-away California. I chanced to meet the one who from the first filled my heart, my soul. I sang beneath her window. She laughed. Sometimes I thought she encouraged me. Sometimes, again, she flouted me. Nevertheless, I dared hope she cared for me. Now I know she did not."

The Captain paused in thought.

The señora did not speak.

Finally Morando continued: "More than once I tried to tell her I loved her, but she held me at arm's length. The night of the baile, at Mission San José, I believed my opportunity had come. She listened to me, favorably I was sure; but there was an interruption from her partner for the next dance. When again she was alone I pressed my suit. It was in vain. She seemed changed—offended. Yesterday I was at her father's house. I talked with her. At first she listened most graciously; then, in some way, I offended her still more. I am speaking of the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza, señora."

"Captain," came slowly from the señora, "we were speaking the other day of the face of the window pane in old Pilar Convent."

"I shall never forget, my dear señora."

"That face called in you to the primeval love every man has for an ideal woman. For her your heart had been unconsciously searching. The Señorita Mendoza seemed to you to fulfill that ideal. You went to her with words of love. She could not reciprocate. Does it not mean that you must look beyond the beautiful child of Señor Mendoza for the realization of your heart's desires?"

Morando looked straight at the señora. "Señora Valentino, I love the Señorita Mendoza with every fiber of my being. I shall never cease to love her. I could not bear to stay here and see her the wife of another man. Therefore I have resolved to go away.

"But, my dear Captain, time has worked wonders. It may do so for you."

Morando shook his head. "Nothing can alter my love for the señorita doña."

"Ah, Captain! You believe that the señorita doña fulfills your ideal; yet you cannot wed her. There may be another destined to fit into the high place to which you, not knowing, have called this child. Think, my friend, may it not be so?"

"It cannot be. Señora Valentino, now that I have lost Señorita Mendoza, the memory-pictures of her come to me with tenfold intensity. I saw her, as if near me, on the battlefield. I dreamed of her in the short hours of sleep that have been mine since I last saw her. Yes, dear friend, even now, as you sit by, with words of comfort for me, I see plainly the face and form of Carmelita Mendoza. She seems even more present to me than are you."

The señora arose.

He stood beside her. "I thank you for listening to me. Wheresoever I may be I shall never forget you."

"Let us again be seated."

"Thank you, señora."

"I soon return to Europe," the señora said. "My work here is really done. Great Britain gains another province, and will be correspondingly thankful to her who was useful in bringing about the transfer. Good Captain, I have other claims on Great Britain's good will. Should you desire some important post on the continent, or elsewhere, I can see to it that the diplomatic interest of England is used to secure it for you. Since you feel you must leave here, my Captain, return to Europe, take what good fortune sends you, and again you will be the knight of the Lady of the Window Pane, and she will rejoice in the victories you win for her."

Morando lifted the señora's hand to his lips. "Do not think I am unmindful, kind friend, of your goodness to me. I appreciate it most sincerely. But, señora, I could not accept your generous offices."

"But, Captain, there are many aspirants for the high places. Worth is but one of the requirements. Another is to have a friend at court. I can point out to you the short paths to preferment, and can assist you. I soon return to Europe. Why not you do the same?"

"Again I thank you, señora. Europe is too crowded; therefore I left it. I could not accept preferment there, or here, unless I had earned it. South America offers to me the most inviting field at this time. Before long I shall turn my steps in that direction."

"You are diffident, Captain, and overscrupulous. Europe is the world. Go there. Accept what offers itself, and you will find your capabilities are equal to the task."

Again Morando shook his head. "Señora Valentino, there is one thing that I would like to ask you to do for me."

"Yes, Captain."

"I seem to make matters worse by speaking to Señorita Mendoza myself. Would you go to her and tell her for me that—O, that—that I didn't know of her engagement to Peralta, and that I had no wish to annoy her, and all that? Explain it all to her. You will know better what to say than I can tell you—only tell her that, no matter what, I shall always love her truly, and that I shall never love anyone else." He bowed his head in his hands, overcome by his own thoughts.

She arose quickly, her eyes striking fire. He was too preoccupied to notice. Her hands clenched and then relaxed, in excess of nervous tension.

"You wish me to tell the señorita that you love her, that you meant no offense in so telling her——"

Colonel Barcelo's loud voice called, "Morando! Morando! I say, Morando!"

The Captain aroused himself. "Here, Colonel. Here in the garden."

The Colonel rushed into the patio, mopping his face with his handkerchief.

"What do you suppose that Stanislaus of yours has done now, Captain? What do you suppose he has done, I say?"

"What has he done, Colonel?"

"Done! Why, my council and I were to inspect some irrigating ditches in the hills, to see the dams were well built and all that, so the town would be in no danger of inundation. Do you understand?" The Colonel glared around. "Well, the horses were tied outside the castle for the use of myself and my council in this work of inspection—in this work of inspection, do you understand? Well, your men looked bedraggled and tired, Morando. I didn't wait for you to come, but relieved them and put my own soldiers on guard."

"But the prisoners——" Morando began.

"That's just what I'm coming to. Do be patient! In the exchange of guards some of the prisoners walked out—coolest thing I ever heard of—took rifles from the racks, and actually mounted the horses in front of the castle, and rode away! I tell you, rode away!"

Barcelo paused for breath. "I saw them going and gave the alarm," he went on, after a moment. "Yes, I saw that rascal Stanislaus riding—riding away to safety. I saw it myself—I saw——"

Further words failed the Colonel.

The sound of cavalry was heard in the street.

"The pursuit!" cried Morando and started for the patio gate.

"Yes, yes, the pursuit!" panted Barcelo and rolled after him.

Señora Valentino listened while Morando's clarion voice ordered the movements of the cavalry, and heard the noise of the horses' hoofs die out in a distant rumble.

"Our Colonel was out of breath and could not order the march of his men, therefore our valiant Captain does it for him!" she thought. Then she smiled bitterly. "I have laid bare my very soul before that man, and he could see nothing. He saw only that child, Carmelita Mendoza. What fatality is it that closes the eyes of the one man to me and makes him see only this miss of the province?"

Again, after a little: "Yes, I'll see his señorita for him, tell her he loves her, and doesn't mean his blunderings. Yes, I'll tell her. The fool! Yes, I'll——"

The señora walked away, her eyes glittering.

CHAPTER XX
BITTER SWEET

"Carmelita, little heart, how is it with thee?"

"Well, señora doña; many thanks. And thou?"

"As you see." Señora Valentino held up her injured wrist neatly bandaged.

"I could not allow many days to go by without riding over to thank you and your father, the noble Señor Administrator, for the wonderful night of enjoyment you gave us in that grand baile. The thought of it fairly possesses me now, as it was some beautiful dream and I was scarce awake from sleep. A thousand thanks, señorita doña, to you and to Señor Mendoza. I hope the señor is well."

Señora Valentino and Carmelita were standing within the reception room, near the open doorway, of the Mendoza hacienda house. The grateful coolness of the hall was in strong contrast to the heat of the summer sun which lay over grounds and house.

"You are good, señora. My father has been away since yesterday. I shall make your words known to him on his return. On my own part I thank you for them."

Señora Valentino placed her well arm around the girl. "The beautiful hostess of a beautiful home is the Señorita Mendoza."

"Will you not step within, señora? All that you see is yours."

Carmelita moved toward the inner room, thus disengaging the señora's arm.

"With much pleasure, señorita."

Shortly the two were seated.

"How refreshing is this inner air," remarked the señora. "The afternoon brings warmth and drowsiness, but this is delightful."

"Modesta," from Carmelita to her maid who appeared in response to the tinkle of a bell, "some tea and dulces at once."

Without delay the refreshments appeared.

"Sugar, señora mia?" the young hostess holding up a delicate gold spoon. "Yes. And dulces? Modesta, take this to Señora Valentino. Have a care for her bandaged wrist."

"Mille gracias, little hostess mine." Then, sipping the tea and nibbling the cakes, "These are delicious after the ride, señorita doña."

"Have you come far, señora?"

"From the hacienda house of Señor Calderon, near San José pueblo. Merely a matter of two hours or so, but I seem to tire easily since my arm was injured. Still, what of it? Soon it is well and then forgotten. It is the way of unpleasant things, señorita. They slip away and we know them no more. Well, if it were otherwise, perhaps half of the world would be enemy to the other half."

She laughed merrily and the hostess politely joined.

"Yet, in forgetting the unfortunate incident I would not, if I could, forget the kindly ministrations of our dear friend Captain Morando. We were riding along in the romantic coolness of early dawn—absorbed in other things, you know—not noting or caring"—smiling knowingly into the other's face—"when that dreadful creature assailed me with its beak and claws." The señora turned away with a little shudder. Then, as if half absently: "But our soldier lad—how gently he cared for me. When I awakened—my head pillowed against his breast as a child lying close to its mother's heart." Starting up, "But, Carmelita mia, I must not distress you. I am an unworthy disciple of my own creed, for one minute I advocate forgetting troubles, then I straightway recount them; but then, you see," looking down, "my troubles in this particular were most sweetly intermingled." She laughed and immediately changed the subject. "When do you expect the señor your noble father to return?"

"I do not know the time of his return, señora."

"Has he gone far?"

"When he left he did not tell me his destination, so I fancy he has not gone to any great distance."

"Ah, well! We women wait while the men travel forth to dare and do. It's the way of the world."

The woman and the girl sat facing each other. The closed shutters excluded the sun, but the warm light of a California summer day glowed in the room. Less than five years divided the ages of the matron and the maid. At first sight it might seem that the difference was greater. The tightly fitting riding-habit of the señora added a maturity to her look which was not usual, while the looser afternoon gown of the girl gave her an uncommonly youthful appearance. Carmelita was somewhat taller than the señora and more slender.

"I hope your arm has not greatly inconvenienced you," from Carmelita, by a strange perversity reverting to the matter so lightly dismissed by the señora a moment ago.

"Yes, and no, señorita. The wound is sometimes painful, but the solicitude of those about me shows me I have a place in their hearts—a pleasant knowledge—an anodyne, so to speak." She put her hand up to her head in a childish way which was very becoming. Her oval face beamed with friendliness, while her brown eyes smiled sweetly. She was a very handsome young woman, apparently very friendly and very genuinely interested in the girl before her. Carmelita was not insensible to her charm.

"You have a place in the hearts of many, señora. Surely you could never doubt it."

"Well, perhaps not. Still, one wishes outward expression of inward regard. Otherwise, how can one be sure it exists?"

Señorita Mendoza said nothing.

"Then, too, we wish, naturally, to know just how a certain very few stand toward us—sometimes just how a certain one person feels toward us. Now, there are some who are very good to all. Their hearts are kind naturally, and they give generous words and deeds to anyone who needs them. Is it not so, señorita?"

"I believe you speak truly, señora doña."

The señora's laugh was merry as she said: "A wise puss you are. Well, this generous, free-for-all kindness is good, but not entirely satisfactory. Each person has an ideal, and when we see that ideal realized in some concrete person we want that person to be good to us alone. Do you not agree, señorita?"

"It would be presuming in me to contradict the señora."

"Ah! I said you are a wise puss, my señorita; and so you are, very wise. Well, wisdom is the heritage of our old Castilian families. Truly, our fathers have thought of much and have done much in the generations that have been lived. What wonder if the rich, pure gold of experience falls to us, the heirs of the past, from the melting-furnace of departed years. What think you, little lady?"

"Your thoughts rise above me, Señora Valentino."

The señora laughed and bowed, as if in acceptance of some compliment.

The peona Modesta appeared in the doorway, curtseying several times. "May I speak, señorita doña?"

"Speak, Modesta."

"The post surgeon from San José is here to see the wounded soldiers in our infirmary. He wishes to leave some directions with you."

"What soldiers does the peona mean, señorita?"

"Some disabled men Captain Morando left with us the other day."

"O, indeed! My husband was an officer, and I am always much interested in soldiers, especially those injured on the field of battle. In San José yesterday I visited the improvised hospitals. I should like greatly to see the men you have here and express my appreciation of their good work."

"Why, certainly, señora. Will you excuse me for a few minutes now while I speak to the doctor?"

The señora listened to the sound of voices in the corridor. A demure look stole over her face. She arched her shoulders coquettishly.

"Yes, I'll tell the Señorita Mendoza that Captain Morando loves her deeply and meant no harm when he proposed to her. I'll do just as the gallant Captain asked me to do. The fool!"

A look of weariness possessed her almost immediately. "O, this life! this life! Political intrigue! and counter intrigue! all heartless and unfeeling as a surgeon's knife. God of my heart! why has destiny discovered such a groove for me? And yet—and yet—what would life be without it—without ambition? A body without a soul."

After a moment she arose, her hands clinching.

"The gallant Captain shall come to me and sue for my love, if for no other reason than because I have humbled myself before him. I will it! I will it! As for this puss—this wise puss—"

The señorita's steps came quickly along the corridor. She found the señora sitting in the chair, as she had left her, to all intents musing the time away.

"The Captain Morando still pursues Stanislaus, the elusive—so I heard this morning in San José. My brother-in-law, the Colonel Barcelo, has returned to Monterey in disgust, having given up the chase. You know the old saying, señorita, 'The braver in war, the keener in love.' The Captain is both a brave soldier and a keen lover." The señora's full-throated, musical laugh seemed out of place.

Carmelita was very quiet as she asked: "What do you mean, señora doña?"

"Why, dear child, I mean that a braver man has never drawn sword in the Californias, and surely no one doubts his earnestness in making love."

The girl's face flushed.

"Did you know that the Captain and I first knew each other about ten years ago? No? The inception of our acquaintance was quite interesting. Would you like to hear about it?"

"If the señora wishes to tell of it."

"Well, after all, not so much to tell—a schoolgirl and schoolboy flirtation." She sighed very prettily as she spoke. "I was fourteen, he eighteen."

"I knew that you and Captain Morando had met in Spain, but I did not think it so long ago as that."

"Yes, ten years, ten long years," opening her eyes in mock seriousness. "For three years this went on—three whole years, then—"

"Excuse me, please, but some of the physician's orders are to be carried out at once. I must send a peona to see about it. May I leave you alone again for a few moments?"

"Certainly, querida, certainly. The story will keep. I also have another story of love to tell you. We shall be quite sentimental."

The girl stepped into the corridor and gave some orders to a servant. The young peona wondered that her mistress's face was stern and her tone sharp.

"Now, señorita mia, time is going, and we will pass over my own little romance, and I will begin with the other tale of love." This from the señora when Carmelita had returned. "Are you ready to listen?"

The girl so signified.

"From speaking of our—our youthful flirtation—the good Captain came to tell me of the grand passion of his heart."

"Señora Valentino, I mean no discourtesy to a guest, but why do you tell me this?"

"Because, my dear, it concerns you most especially. The other day, in Monterey, Captain Morando and I were speaking most intimately, as becomes old friends. What harm? The Captain confided in me; nay more. He gave me a message to bring to you. 'I now love the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza,' he said. 'I pressed my suit the night of the baile. At first she listened to me. I had heart. I had courage. Then she changed. She flouted me. Something had offended her, I know not what. Will you not see her, the beautiful Carmelita, and explain to her I meant no harm. I—'"

The señorita sprang to her feet, her breast heaving.

"Señora Valentino, I cannot listen to you. Even though you are a guest of this house, I cannot—"

"Nay, nay, little child. Don't be so hasty. I am commissioned to set matters right between you two. Be seated now, my señorita, and hear me to the end. Please be seated. I am bungling in my mode of expression, I know. Pray be seated."

Carmelita took her chair once more.

The señora leaned toward her confidingly, her brown eyes looking straight at the girl, and her voice low and sweet.

"Now, I'll try again, little one. The Captain said to me, in effect, that at first the señorita listened to him the night of the baile; she allowed him to hold her hand; her eyes dropped. She—"

"Señora Valentino, I request that this conversation cease, and that you do not again mention to me the name of Captain Morando."

"But, my dear señorita—"

"I request that you do as I ask, señora."

"I can, of course, but do as you wish. I assure you, it is not a pleasant task for me to speak of these matters. It is only from an urgent desire to serve my friend who asked this of me. The other day some one, in speaking of Captain Morando, said that it is easy for young men to fall in love; and, indeed, to fall out of it—but, away! those threadbare sayings! The heart of Don Alfredo is loving and warm. Do I not know it? Had it not been for the dashing Colonel Valentino—" Then suddenly, "O, señorita, a man cannot forgive everything even in a woman he loves. If you do not listen to his suit it may be too late, and you will live to regret, even as I—" She stopped, apparently absorbed in thought of the past.

The girl arose. "Señora Valentino—" she began.

The señora extended her unbandaged hand. "I have tried to perform a difficult and a distasteful task. I trust some good will come of it. I will say but one thing more: Do not trifle too far with Captain Morando."

"Captain Morando is nothing to me; nor can he ever be. I would not wish it otherwise."

"Well, señorita, I have fulfilled my promise. I have done my duty. Shall we now visit the wounded soldiers?"

"If you so desire, Señora Valentino."

The two passed out of the house, and across the courtyard to the hospital department of the Mendoza hacienda.

Five of Captain Morando's men lay on cots in a large, well-lighted ward. Señora Valentino went from one to another making inquiries and speaking words of encouragement. One of the men had been in Morando's company in the North Africa campaigns, and had taken service again under him in California.

"I regret, señora and señorita, that I am disabled, and cannot be with my Captain in this present fighting," he said.

"No doubt, good man," replied Señora Valentino.

"My Captain was the handsomest and the best man in General Guerrero's division," the soldier went on.

"You are loyal," commented the señora.

"With good reason. I have followed him into the thick of battle. I have followed him through the enemy's camp; and," laughing, "I have followed him when he galloped across country to tinkle his guitar beneath the window of the beautiful one—"

"In Spain, or North Africa?" interrupted the señora jokingly.

"I tell no tales out of school," rejoined the man, continuing the banter.

"You interest me, as all soldiers do," from the señora. "Are you not one of the picked fighting men whom your Captain keeps near him for emergencies?"

"Yes, señora. The morning Captain Morando was called from his visit to Colonel Barcelo, in Monterey, he had made me first sergeant. Thus I held his horse, Señora Valentino, while he was within speaking with you. You see, I know, kind lady. Benito, the porter, told me—"

"Hush, man; remember you are wounded."

"Benito told me," the soldier insisted. "Benito told me—" he laughed.

"Ah! wounded men have strange dreams. I doubt not, you have been dreaming."

"I think you have talked already as much as the physician's orders will allow," interposed Carmelita.

"Of that I am sure," agreed the señora. "Come, señorita doña, let us be going. Now," shaking her finger at the soldier, "see that your dreams follow a more orderly fashion."

"But," Benito said, "soon the San José Captain leads our beautiful señora to the padre. The Captain rides much beside her—"

"Not another word, Sergeant. Now, I bid you good afternoon."

She walked toward the door.

"Forgive me, señora," called the sergeant, anxiously. "Benito spoke as if everyone knew already. Maybe I wouldn't have presumed to say anything—leastwise to yourself—if that blow on the head the other day hadn't loosened my tongue as well as my teeth—"

"Not another word," from Carmelita, firmly.

"Señorita," spoke Señora Valentino, when once more they were in the courtyard, "fate seems to keep Captain Morando's name before us."

Carmelita did not reply. The woman and the girl walked slowly along the broad gravel walk toward the entrance of the hacienda house.

"Our gay and handsome Captain may have lost his heart and found it a score of times. Quién sabe? What would you? It is the way of men. But what need have I to tell a beautiful señorita the way of the cavalier?" The señora smiled bewitchingly.

Carmelita bit her lip. Color rose to her face, and her eyes glowed. She made no reply.

"Suppose a cavalier boasts of his conquests when, at some general meeting of the departmental officers, each one, made merry by the occasion, has taken a glass or two of wine above his custom. What of it? Was not my husband, Colonel Valentino, an officer? A brave heart he had, and a loving one. Yet—" The señora laughed.

Still no word came from Carmelita.

"Allow me to say that Captain Morando now loves you, and you only. What of the past? You have his heart now; and I know he has yours. Why not?" Another bewitching smile.

Carmelita continued walking by the señora's side, not speaking.

"If, then, you do not intend to allow the Captain to continue further his courtship, take his word, passed by him through me, that he meant no harm."