Complete Poetical Works by Bret Harte Part 25

G.o.d knows, I shouldn't wonder!

I love this coy nymph, who, coldly--as yon peak s.h.i.+nes on the river it feeds, yet keeps asunder-- Long have I wors.h.i.+ped, but never dared to speak.

Till she, no doubt, her love no longer hiding, Waked by some chance word her father's jealousy; Slips her disdain--as an avalanche down gliding Sweeps flocks and kin away--to clear a path for ME.

Hence his attack.

PHILOSOPHER

I see. What I admire Chiefly, I think, in your idyl, so to speak, Is the cool modesty that checks your youthful fire,-- Absence of self-love and abstinence of cheek!

Still, I might mention, I've met the gentle Rosa,-- Danced with her thrice, to her father's jealous dread; And, it is possible, she's happened to disclose a-- Ahem! You can fancy why he shoots at ME instead.

POET

YOU?

PHILOSOPHER

Me. But kindly take your hand from your revolver, I am not choleric--but accidents may chance.

And here's the father, who alone can be the solver Of this twin riddle of the hat and the romance.

Enter JONES OF MARIPOSA.

POET

Speak, shepherd--mine!

PHILOSOPHER

Hail! Time-and-cartridge waster, Aimless exploder of theories and skill!

Whom do you shoot?

JONES OF MARIPOSA

Well, shootin' ain't my taste, or EF I shoot anything--I only shoot to kill.

That ain't what's up. I only kem to tell ye-- Sportin' or courtin'--trot homeward for your life!

Gals will be gals, and p'r'aps it's just ez well ye Larned there was one had no wish to be--a wife.

POET

What?

PHILOSOPHER

Is this true?

JONES OF MARIPOSA

I reckon it looks like it.

She saw ye comin'. My gun was standin' by; She made a grab, and 'fore I up could strike it, Blazed at ye both! The critter is SO shy!

POET

Who?

JONES OF MARIPOSA

My darter!

PHILOSOPHER

Rosa?

JONES OF MARIPOSA

Same! Good-by!

JACK OF THE TULES

(SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA)

Shrewdly you question, Senor, and I fancy You are no novice. Confess that to little Of my poor gossip of Mission and Pueblo You are a stranger!

Am I not right? Ah! believe me, that ever Since we joined company at the posada I've watched you closely, and--pardon an old priest-- I've caught you smiling!

Smiling to hear an old fellow like me talk Gossip of pillage and robbers, and even Air his opinion of law and alcaldes Like any other!

Now!--by that twist of the wrist on the bridle, By that straight line from the heel to the shoulder, By that curt speech,--nay! nay! no offense, son,-- You are a soldier?

No? Then a man of affairs? San Sebastian!

'Twould serve me right if I prattled thus wildly To--say a sheriff? No?--just caballero?

Well, more's the pity.

Ah! what we want here's a man of your presence; Sano, Secreto,--yes, all the four S's, Joined with a boldness and dash, when the time comes, And--may I say it?--

One not TOO hard on the poor country people, Peons and silly vaqueros, who, dazzled By reckless skill, and, perchance, reckless largesse, Wink at some queer things.

No? You would crush THEM as well as the robbers,-- Root them out, scatter them? Ah you are bitter-- And yet--quien sabe, perhaps that's the one way To catch their leader.

As to myself, now, I'd share your displeasure; For I admit in this Jack of the Tules Certain good points. He still comes to confession-- You'd "like to catch him"?

Ah, if you did at such times, you might lead him Home by a thread. Good! Again you are smiling: You have no faith in such shrift, and but little In priest or penitent.

Bueno! We take no offense, sir; whatever It please you to say, it becomes us, for Church sake, To bear in peace. Yet, if you were kinder-- And less suspicious--