For the Soul of Rafael Part 27

"Friend of a daughter of many kings," he said, slowly.

She stared at him, and stumbled to her feet in salutation.

"It is true, my father, but the kings of the hills are dead; and now,"

pointing toward Raquel, "there will be no more in the land."

"Who knows?" said the strange padre. "There still lives a daughter; guard her better than you did her mother when I carried love messages from Estevan."

"Ai! I know you now. You have become padre, and you guard her from the heretics--the heretics, father," and she pointed toward the veranda where Don Enrico and his guest could be heard in conversation. "That accursed Americano--"

"Sh--h! quiet, you!" and he placed a hand on her arm authoritatively; "make no noise, say no words, but watch him all the time--every time when I am out of sight. Understand?"

She glanced from the padre to Ana, who nodded her head, and at once the dark old face was illuminated; at last she was not alone in this strange land! Others were here who hated the Americano, and that made them her kindred. She caught the hand of the padre and pressed it to her forehead.

"I watch always," she promised, fervently; and to herself she thought, "After all, we get him killed some way, if the padre, who was a soldier, helps."

They left her in her chosen place, crouched in the hall just outside the door of Raquel, content at last that she was not alone in her hatred of the man whom she blamed for the weary hours of wretchedness lived through by her mistress.

Ana showed the padre to the room set aside always for the use of such priests as travelled from San Gabriel to San Juan. They were not so many of late years, but in this house they were always honored guests, no matter what their order, or land, or language.

"I am afraid--afraid!" said Ana, as she opened the door; "if some one should come who knows--"

"No one will," he said, rea.s.suringly, "and this may be a good chance to learn much. Go, help your aunt, and forget to fear."

Ana sighed, but went as he bade, to the kitchen, where Dona Refugia was doing her best to make amends for the distraction of the cooks. They were like big, fat, frightened children, not one of them of any use that night.

Still, there chanced to be enchilladas made the day before, and the tortillas took but a little while to bake, and the bonfire in the yard had settled to a bed of gleaming coals where the beef could be barbecued with no delay but the sending of some girls to the creek for spears of peeled willow. Ana glanced out and saw them squatted peacefully around the red heap, turning the poles on which the strips of beef were hung, as phlegmatic as though they had not howled for a human roasting there not an hour ago.

Juanita had made the table look very nice, in honor of the strange American guest who had followed her call and saved the family from the disgrace of such a killing.

He filled her girlish ideal of the heroic, and she was not like some women who thought that California girls should marry only their own race: a big American husband seemed the finest thing in the world to Juanita.

So there were red geraniums on the table, and yellow poppies, and the best new plates brought from a steamer at San Pedro but a month before; they were a bright blue, and Juanita thought the color combination very fine indeed. She ran to put on a new dress, that the stranger might not think they all looked as if the house had been wrecked. Ana, for a wonder, was indifferent to her own personal appearance, and kept on an old black dress with not even a collar of lace to break its severity.

Don Enrico showed Bryton to a room where he could wash and brush a bit, but so interested was he in his chance guest, that he remained at the door chatting affably, and recounting the word he had received that day that Flores and his men had made a big fight with some cattle people over in Sonora, and had either got a boat at San Onofre and gone out to sea, or else they were somewhere in the San Juan mountains, and of course had spies on the outlook for the marshal or the army men. Don Enrico himself thought it time for the army men to interfere--there were many army men in Los Angeles, and this was no longer a county affair.

"But the devil of a trouble in this country is that too many Mexican men, and women too, will help to hide Flores's men because of Capitan, who has never yet taken a peso from a Mexican, except the Arteagas, and who never fails to strip an American if he starts on his trail. They like that, these Mexicans, whose men fought the Americanos; they are not strong enough to fight in the open, but they like to help this vagabond Capitan, who should have been priest instead of bandit, and who keeps up their fight for them under cover."

He had entered the dining-room while talking, and so interested was he in his pet complaint against the troublesome outlaws, that he did not notice the tall black figure by the side of his wife.

"Uncle, this is Padre Libertad," said Ana, almost timidly. Don Enrico did not like priests in general; he made the mistake of cla.s.sing them all with the Catalonian padre of San Juan, whom he disliked so much that he would not eat at the same table. His women folks never knew how he would receive a man of the Church until he was proven to his taste.

However, the good American whiskey had put him in a cordial mood, and he nodded amiably as he took his seat.

"A good day to you, padre," he said. "You tramped a long way in the dust to find trouble, did you? Well, the women are thanking the saints you came at the right time, you and Senor Bryton. So it is all very well, and G.o.d send that the fight gave you an appet.i.te."

And evidently something did, for the priest ate like a vaquero off the ranges. Don Enrico felt a growing respect for the man who could eat more barbecued meat than himself, and drink as much red wine. In fact, all did ample justice to the beef of the bonfire built for old Polonia,--all except Ana,--who still looked pale and uneasy, and Bryton, who made a pretence of eating, but who refused a second gla.s.s of wine, a thing the padre noticed with a smile, and their host commented on vigorously.

"You can't drink--you Americans," he insisted; "and look at your plate,--not half empty! It takes students and brain-workers like the padre and me to spoil a side of beef! You are Spanish and of Mexico, padre?"

"No, not even my grandfather came from Spain; so I cannot claim to be Spanish," said the padre. "I claim only to be Mexican."

"And good enough too! Across the line, do these bandits of ours make much trouble these days?"

"No one has complained to me of them. You say they take most from the Americano, but in our country there are no Americano ranches yet; we do not expect to find them there for many years."

"Well, Capitan does go down there sometimes," insisted Don Enrico; "I've heard of it. His family meant him for the Church, but the young devil ran away and joined the army with his elder brother. The Americans shot Roberto; this one was only a boy then, light-weight to ride, and he carried despatches, and never went back to the Church. Oh, he is Californian, all right,--is cousin to half the country. He is--what relation should he be to us, Refugia?"

"He is second cousin to me," said Ana.

"So if you hear of him being in trouble for his soul, say a prayer for him, padre, on account of his loyal cousin," said Juanita, and laughed teasingly; but Ana lifted troubled, dark eyes to the padre's face.

"Do so, father," she said, simply; "for the sake of his soul, remember me!"

"These women!" laughed her uncle; "they are always troubling us about our souls, padre. Don't let them spoil your supper with a list of prayers!"

"And what would become of some of your souls if we women did not say the prayers?" retorted his wife. "G.o.d knows, Capitan needs them."

"We all need them," said the priest, quietly.

"Still, I always have understood that he is the whitest of the bunch,"

observed Bryton.

"There are, then, different shades of blackness?" asked the padre. "I believe the law holds all equally guilty."

"El Capitan's motives, at least, have been different, and it has come to be understood that when extremely brutal things have occurred on their raids, Capitan is never of the party."

"Is it so? I did not know you Americanos gave Mexicans credit for such negative virtues?"

Bryton looked up quickly. There was a mocking light in the eyes of the padre, and he was smiling across the table. The smile puzzled Bryton as much as the quick alarm in the eyes of Ana. Was she afraid of controversy over the still warm question of Mexican and United States rights?

"I think that, individually, we give each other credit," he replied, "especially to the fighters. It is only the political schemers who make the troubles between the two factions. As for Capitan, he has too much daring not to force admiration even from the people he dislikes."

Ana flashed a grateful glance at him, and a slight flush crept to the forehead of the padre; he gulped down the contents of his gla.s.s, and pushed back his chair.

"Do you fear any trouble with those Indians to-night?" he asked, abruptly. "Had I better speak with them?"

"It is better, perhaps, that we say a rosary, and bring them together that way," observed Dona Refugia; "it is the best way. I will have Pedro ring the bell--"

Ana slipped out of the dining-room beside the padre.

"You will?" she asked.

"Surely; a rosary is easy. Why do you look so frightened? Your Americano will not eat me."

"But you don't like him?"

"What does that matter? At least, he says no harm of a man behind his back, and it is true what he says of the politicians. Oh, if he keeps up the compliments, who knows but that we may be good friends yet--after he has paid for the horses he took north? Chut!--that is only jest! Smile a little and help to corral the Indians."