Part 32 (1/2)
The mother of Anita nodded. ”You sick?” she asked.
”What? Me? Not on your life, lady! I'm the healthiest Ho--puncher in this here State. You sabe Concho?”
”Si! Zhack Corlees--'Juan,' we say. Si! You of him?”
”Yes, lady. I'm workin' for him. Lost me hoss.”
Anita and her mother exchanged glances. Sundown felt that his status as a vaquero was in question. Would he let the beautiful Anita know that he had been ignominiously ”piled” by that pinto horse? Not he.
”Circ.u.mventions alters cases,” he soliloquized, not altogether untruthfully. Then aloud, ”Me hoss put his foot in a gopher-hole.
Bruk his leg, and I had to shoot him, lady. Hated to part with him.”
And the inventive Sundown ill.u.s.trated with telling gesture the imaginary accident.
Sympathy flowed freely from the gentle-hearted Senora and her daughter.
”Si!” It was not of unusual happening that horses met with such accidents. It was getting late in the afternoon. Would the unfortunate caballero accept of their hospitality in the way of frijoles and some of the good coffee, perhaps? Sundown would, without question. He pressed a dollar into the palm of the reluctant Senora.
He was not a tramp. Of that she might be a.s.sured. He had met with misfortune, that was all. And would the patron return soon? The patron would return with the setting of the sun. Meanwhile the vaquero of the Concho was to rest and perhaps enjoy his cigarette? And the ”vaquero” loafed and smoked many cigarettes while the glowing eyes of Anita shone upon him with large sympathy. As yet Sundown had not especially noticed her, but returning from his third visit to the cooling olla, he caught her glance and read, or imagined he read, deep admiration, lacking words to utter. From that moment he became a changed man. He shed his weariness as a tattered garment is thrown aside. He straightened his shoulders and held his head high. At last a woman had looked at him and had not smiled at his ungainly stature.
Nay! But rather seemed impressed, awe-stricken, amazed. And his heart quickened to faster rhythm, driving the blood riotously through his imaginative mind. He grew eloquent, in gesture, if not in speech. He told of his wanderings, his arrival at the Concho, of Chance his great wolf-dog, his horse ”Pill,” and his good friends Bud Snoop and Hi w.a.n.gle. Sundown could have easily given Oth.e.l.lo himself ”cards and spades” in this chance game of hearts and won--moving metaphor!--in a canter. That the little Senorita with the large eyes did not understand more than a third of that which she heard made no difference to her. His ambiguity of utterance, backed by a.s.surance and illumined by the divine fire of inspiration, awakened curiosity in the placid breast of this Desdemona of the mesas. It required no sophistication on her part to realize that this caballero was not as the vaqueros she had heretofore known. He made no boorish jests; his eyes were not as the eyes of many that had gazed at her in a way that had tinged her dusky cheeks with warm resentment. She felt that he was endeavoring to interest her, to please her rather than to woo. And more than that--he seemed intensely interested in his own brave eloquence. A child could have told that Sundown was single-hearted. And with the instinct of a child--albeit eighteen, and quite a woman in her way--Anita approved of this adventurer as she had never approved of men, or man, before. His great height, his long, sweeping arms, moving expansively as he ill.u.s.trated this or that incident, his silver spurs, his loose-jointed ”tout ensemble,” so to speak, combined with an eloquent though puzzling manner of speech, fascinated her. Warmed to his work, and forgetful of his employer's caution in regard to certain plans having to do with the water-hole ranch, Sundown elaborated, drawing heavily on future possibilities, among which he towered in imagination monarch of rich mellow acres and placid herds. He intimated delicately that a rancher's life was lonely at best, and enriched the tender intimation with the a.s.surance that he was more than fond of enchiladas, frijoles, carne-con-chile, tamales, adding as an afterthought that he was somewhat of an expert himself in ”wrastlin' out” pies and doughnuts and various other gastronomical delicacies.
A delicate frown touched the gentle Anita's smooth forehead when her mother interrupted Sundown with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of frijoles, yet Anita realized, as she saw his ardent expression when the aroma of the coffee reached him, that this was a most sensible and fitting climax to his glowing discourse. Her frown vanished together with the coffee and beans.
Fortified by the strong black coffee and the nouris.h.i.+ng frijoles, Sundown rose from his seat on the doorstep and betook himself to the back of the house where he labored with an axe until he had acc.u.mulated quite a pile of firewood. Then he rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and asked permission to prepare the evening meal. Although a little astonished, the Senora consented, and watched Sundown, at first with a smile of indulgence, then with awakening curiosity, and finally with frank and complimentary amazement as he deftly kneaded and rolled pie-crust and manufactured a pie that eventually had, for those immediately concerned, historical significance.
The ”little hombre,” Chico Miguel, returning to his 'dobe that evening, was greeted with a tide of explanatory utterances that swept him off his feet. He was introduced to Sundown, apprised of the strange guest's manifold accomplishments, and partook of the substantial evidence of his skill until of the erstwhile generous pie there was nothing left save tender reminiscence and replete satisfaction.
Later in the evening, when the Arizona stars glowed and s.h.i.+mmered on the shadowy adobe, when the wide mesas grew mysteriously beautiful in the soft radiance of the slow moon, Chico Miguel brought his guitar from the bedroom, tuned it, and struck a swaying cadence from its strings. Then Anita's voice, blending with the rhythm, made melody, and Sundown sat entranced. Mood, environment, temperament, lent romance to the simple song. Every singing string on the old guitar was silver--the singer's girlish voice a sunlit wave of gold.
The bleak and almost barren lives of these isolated folk became illumined with a reminiscent glow as the tinkling notes of the guitar hushed to faint echoes of fairy bells hung on the silver boughs of starlit trees. ”Adios, linda Rosa,” ran the song. Then silence, the summer night, the myriad stars.
Sundown, turning his head, gazed spellbound at the dark-eyed singing girl. In the dim light of the lamp she saw that his lean cheeks were wet with tears.
CHAPTER XXI
ON THE MESA
With the morning sun came a brave, cloudless day and a more jovial mood to Sundown as he explained the necessity for haste to the Concho.
Chico Miguel would gladly furnish horse and saddle. Juan Corlees was of men the finest! Once upon a time, in fact, Chico Miguel had ridden range for the father of Senor Corlees, but that was in years long past, Ah, yes! Then there were no sheep in the country--nothing but cattle and vaqueros. Would the caballero accept the loan of horse and saddle?
The horse could be returned at his convenience. And possibly--and here Chico Miguel paused to roll a cigarette, light it, and smoke awhile reflectively--and possibly the caballero would again make their humble home beautiful with his presence. Such pie as the Senor made was a not unworthy meal for the saints. Indeed, Chico Miguel himself had had many pleasant dreams following their feast of the evening before.
Would Sundown condescend to grace their home with his presence again and soon? Sundown would, be Gos.h.!.+ He sure did like music, especially them Spanish songs what made a fella kind of s.h.i.+very and sad-like from his boots up. And that part of the country looked good to him. In fact he was willing to be thrun from--er--have his hoss step in a gopher-hole any day if the accident might terminate as pleasantly as had his late misfortune. He aspired to become a master of the art of cooking Mexican dishes. 'Course at reg'lar plain-cookin' and deserts he wasn't such a slouch, but when it come to spreadin' the chile, he wasn't, as yet, an expert.
Meanwhile he clung tenaciously to the few Spanish words he knew, added to which was ”Linda Rosa”--”pretty rose,”--which he intended to use with telling effect when he made his adieux. After breakfast he rose and disappeared. When he again entered the house the keen Senora noticed that his s.h.i.+rt front swelled expansively just above his heart.
She wondered if the tall one had helped himself to a few of her beloved chiles.
Presently Chico Miguel appeared with the pony. Sundown mounted, hesitated, and then nodded farewell to the Senora and the almost tearful Anita who stood in the doorway. Things were not as Sundown would have had them. He was long of arm and vigorous, but to cast a bouquet of hastily gathered and tied flowers from the gateway to the hand of the Senorita would require a longer arm and a surer aim than his. ”Gee Gos.h.!.+” he exclaimed, dismounting hurriedly. ”What's that on his hind foot?”
He referred to the horse. Chico Miguel, at the gate, hastened to examine the pony, but Sundown, realizing that the Senorita still stood beside her mother, must needs create further delay. He stepped to the pony and, a.s.suming an air of experience, reached to take up the horse's foot and examine it. The horse, possibly realizing that its foot was sound, resented Sundown's solicitude. The upshot--used advisedly--of it was that Sundown found himself sitting in the road and Chico Miguel struggling with the pony.
With a scream Anita rushed to the gateway, wringing her hands as Sundown rose stiffly and felt of his s.h.i.+rt front. The flowers that he had picked for his adored, were now literally pressed to his bosom. He wondered if they ”were mushed up much?” Yet he was not unhappy. His grand climax was at hand. Again he mounted the pony, turned to the Senorita, and, drawing the more or less mangled blossoms from his s.h.i.+rt, presented them to her with sweeping gallantry. Anita blushed and smiled. Sundown raised his hat. ”Adios! Adios! Mucha adios!