Chapter 4

On this particular morning she looked unusually well as she moved about the _patio_ engaged with her women in assorting a huge basket of freshly laundered household linen. Not a strand of silver was visible in her jet black hair, adorned with a large tortoise-shell comb and a single Castilian rose. Her gay, low-necked, short sleeved bodice, exposing her shapely neck and arms, harmonized well with her short, black silken _saya_ which rustled with every movement she made and from beneath which protruded a small pair of high instepped feet encased in black slippers ornamented with large quaint silver buckles.

It was the Señora's birthday. She had risen earlier than usual prepared to receive the congratulations of her friends who, she knew, would be sure to call during the day in honor of the occasion. A few of them would be asked to remain and dine with her in the evening.

It was on a similar occasion that Chiquita had danced in the _patio_ before her guests.

The innate vanity of the woman might have led one to suppose that she would let the years pass unnoticed, but not so. The old, time-honored custom of the country must be observed lest her friends might say: Señora Fernandez is already laying by for a ripe old age, the mere suggestion of which on the part of the world would have been enough to throw her into one of those uncontrollable fits of rage for which she was noted.

Artful, shrewd and scheming though she was, her susceptibility to flattery was her weak point, amounting almost to a mania. To be told that she still looked as young and handsome as in the days when the years justified the statement, was to win her immediate esteem. The lack of this servile attitude and cringing civility on Chiquita's part, together with the knowledge of her own superiority which she never hesitated to show when occasion required, had drawn down the Señora's enmity upon her. Whereas, an occasional soft word or smile of acquiescence--she demanded so little--would have smoothed her ruffled spirit and taken the edge off her tongue, the sharpest in Santa Fé.

It was not easy for the inveterate coquette and one time reigning belle to resign the position she had held so long and undisputed, especially to an alien--one whom the full blooded Spaniard inwardly despises, regards as of an inferior race.

How she hated the dark woman, envied the glances and flatteries and attentions which she always received wherever she went. It was said, that on Chiquita's return from school, Señora Fernandez suddenly grew cold and haughty toward the world, but finding that a proud exterior availed her little, she sulked and pouted for a time like a spoiled child, only to warm again to the world which she loved so passionately, which she felt slipping from her and without whose adulation she could not live.

_Dios de mi vida!_ but it was terrible to grow old! Not since the death of her husband, Don Carlos, had she endured so bitter a pang. The fact that she had never had any children accounted perhaps for a certain harshness in her nature.

It was a busy day for the Señora. Besides the care of her guests, the preparing of freshly killed fowl and baking of cakes and _tortillas_, there was the garden which must be hung with lanterns where there would be the usual dancing and merrymaking during the evening. All this and much more the Señora must superintend, but she was equal to the task.

As she issued her orders to the retinue of servants that came and went, she carried on a lively, though interrupted, conversation with her sister, Señora Rosario Sanchez, and her niece, Dolores, who had come to assist her in the preparations.

"It has come at last--I always said it would--I never trusted that double nature of hers!" she exclaimed triumphantly, pausing for an instant in her work of assorting the linen. The expression and gesture of Señora Sanchez plainly bespoke the shock she also had experienced.

"To think of it," she gasped. "How Padre Antonio can overlook such a breach of confidence and offense to the Church is more than I can understand!"

"Ah! that shows the extent of her influence over him," answered Señora. "She has bewitched him with her wild ways--he simply dotes on her!"

"It's scandalous!" broke in her sister.

"To my mind, it shows signs of the Padre's failing," rejoined the Señora sharply.

"It does indeed--poor man!" sighed her sister. "And what's more--it never did seem proper that so handsome a woman should live with a priest even though she be his ward and he an old man."

"Handsome?" sneered the Señora, drawing herself together as though she had received an electric shock; the pleased and animated expression of her face changing suddenly to one of utmost frigidity. "I never could understand why people considered that Indian good looking," and her black eyes snapped as she turned to resume her work, plainly betraying the jealousy aroused. Señora Sanchez, knowing her sister's temper only too well, hastened to change the subject.

Strange to say, Padre Antonio did not share the public's sentiment, or rather that of his own particular flock, concerning Chiquita's latest escapade. Instead of being overwhelmed, broken in spirit and utterly cast down by grief and shame as had been confidently predicted, he, much to the disgust of his congregation, went calmly about his duties as though nothing unusual had occurred, referring jocosely to this lark of his madcap ward as he was pleased to term it.

Lark? Heavens! had the Padre lost his senses? Excommunication might be a little too severe, but a year's solitary confinement in a convent as a penance for her sin was the least penalty she could expect.

But Padre Antonio knew what the rest of the world did not. That his charming, irrepressible protegée would have snapped her fingers lightly at the mere suggestion of either. The days of mediæval suppression of females had come to an end even in Mexico. Moreover, there existed a perfect understanding between the two.

During his long years of missionary work he had learned that the heathen often stood higher in the sight of Heaven than many a zealous devotee of the Church. Besides, dancing was not only a national pastime of the Spaniard, but among Indians, a part of their religion as well.

That Chiquita had some very good reason for dancing in public, he knew well enough. They understood one another perfectly, and he did not ask her her reason for dancing, knowing full well that some day she would tell him of her own accord.

Although Chiquita had accommodated herself marvelously well to the new conditions, imbibing the best civilization had to offer, she nevertheless remained the freeborn woman--the descendant of a freeborn race of men. The wild, free nomad whom experience and direct contact with nature had early taught to recognize the simple underlying truths and realities of life and their relations to one another, was not to be measured by the conventions or limited standards of a tamer race of men hedged about by superficial traditions and born and reared remote from the heart of nature beneath the roofs of houses. It was the cold, hard earth and equally cold and unrelenting stars that had nurtured Chiquita from earliest childhood, and to apply the petty restraints and conventions of modern society to her was like clipping the wings of an eagle and then expecting it to fly.

Ordinarily, life is dull enough without civilized man's efforts to reduce it to positive boredom, and although Chiquita's escapades had acted like a slap in the face, they had nevertheless done much to arouse the spirit of the otherwise sleepy old town. Her presence was fresh and invigorating as the north wind. Moreover, the very ones who criticised her most in secret, were usually the first to come to her for advice when in trouble. For who was so wise as the strange, beautiful woman?

True, it cost something to be hated as cordially as one was admired, nevertheless, Padre Antonio rightly conjectured that there was not a woman in Santa Fé who would not willingly exchange places with his ward were she able to. So, like the sensible man that he was, he only smiled at idle gossip and continued to watch with increasing interest the transformation of his protegée.

VI

Captain Forest had taken quarters at the _Posada_ for an indefinite period; at least until he learned the whereabouts of his friend, Dick Yankton, who had accompanied him on his former expeditions.

He had been aroused at an early hour by the cackling of affrighted fowl and the voices and footsteps of _peons_ as they came and went in the _patio_, their jests and laughter mingling with snatches of song. Not being able to sleep, he arose, and after a hasty toilet, stepped out upon the veranda, bright with the morning sunlight. Save for his presence, the place was deserted; the empty chairs standing about just as their occupants of the previous evening had left them, a proof that he was the first of the guests to be abroad.

"I wonder where Dick is?" he soliloquized, leisurely descending the veranda steps and turning into the pathway that led to the garden at the rear of the house and thence to the corrals, whither he directed his steps for a look at his horse to see whether he had been properly cared for during the night. As he disappeared around the corner of the house, a woman turned in from the highroad and paused before the Inn beneath the great cottonwood encircled by the bench.

She was tall and slender and on one arm carried a basket of eggs concealed beneath a layer of freshly cut roses; Padre Antonio's annual birthday tribute to the Señora. Her heavy blue-black hair, loosely caught up at the back of the neck and adorned with a bunch of pink passion flowers nestled about her neck and shoulders, on one of which was perched a small white dove that fluttered and cooed. From out the midst of the passion flowers shone a faint glint of silver.

Her dull white shirt waist, low at the neck and with sleeves rolled back to the elbows, exposed her long, slender neck and well rounded forearms which, like her face, were a rich red bronze. A faded orange kerchief, loosely knotted, encircled her neck; the ends thrust carelessly into her breast. Her soft mauve _saya_, worn and patched and looped up at one side, disclosing a faded blue petticoat underneath, fell to her ankles, displaying a pair of small feet encased in dull blue stockings and low black shoes.

Depositing the basket on the bench, she extended her right hand upon the back of which the dove immediately hopped, cooing and fluttering as before.

"_Cara mia!_" she murmured fondly, raising it to her lips, kissing it and caressing it gently against her cheek.

"What wouldst thou--thou greedy little Jaquino? Knowest not thou hast had one more berry than thy sweet little Jaquina?" But the dove only continued to flutter and coo on her hand.

"Hearest thou not," she continued, "she already calls thee!" And extending her lips, between which she had inserted a fresh berry, the dove eagerly seized and devoured it.

"Ah, _querida mia_!" she murmured softly, kissing it again. "Now fly away quickly like a good little Jaquino before some wicked señor comes to catch thee for his breakfast!" And tossing the dove lightly into the air with an "_á Dios_," it hovered over her head for an instant, then flew straight away over the old _Posada_ back to Padre Antonio's garden where its mate awaited it.

A sigh escaped her as she watched the flight of the bird. How free of the cares and responsibilities of the world the winged creatures seemed. She turned to the bench once more and was in the act of picking up her basket, when her attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of footsteps close at hand, and wheeling around, she came face to face with Captain Forest.

The little cry of surprise that escaped her interrupted the Captain's meditations who, with eyes cast on the ground, might otherwise have walked straight into her.

"A thousand pardons, Señorita!" he exclaimed in Spanish, stopping abruptly and raising his hat.

"I--" He paused as her full gaze met his which to his surprise was almost on a level with his own. What a face! Could his sensations have been analyzed, they might have coincided with those of Padre Antonio's on beholding his protegée when she stepped from the stagecoach on her return from the convent.

The broad sweep of her brow, her penetrating gaze, her straight nose, high cheek bones and delicately molded lips and chin and grace of her supple, sinuous body, together with the picturesqueness of her costume, presented a picture of striking beauty.

"Why," he continued abruptly, "you are the woman that danced at Carlos Moreno's! The Señorita Chiquita about whom the whole town is talking!"

"Ah! you saw me dance, Señor?" she asked, betraying a slight embarrassment.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world! Such a performance--I--" again he paused, regarding her intently. "Do you know, Señorita, all the while I watched you dance there seemed to be something familiar about you. It seemed as though I had seen you somewhere before."

"Yes?" she queried, her dark eyes glowing and a faint flush mounting to her cheeks.

"Yes," he answered. "Ever since then I have been trying to think where it could have been. Ah!" he exclaimed, stepping backwards and eyeing her critically. "Just turn your head that way again. There, that's it! I knew I had seen you before! Do you remember the night we met a year ago on the trail below La Jara?"

A smile parted her full rose-red lips, displaying her pearly teeth. "I remember it well, Señor," she answered, casting down her eyes for an instant. "I recognized you the instant I saw you."

"Strange," he muttered half to himself. Then, after a rather embarrassing silence, he said: "That was a fine horse you rode. Do you live here at the _Posada_, Señorita?"

"No. I live with Padre Antonio."

"Padre Antonio? Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, recalling the conversation at Pedro Romero's gambling hall. "Tell me," he continued, "who is Padre Antonio?"

"Ah! I see you have not been long in Santa Fé, Señor, else you must have heard something about him. Everybody knows Padre Antonio--he is our priest."

"Both you and he must have been absent when I was here before, otherwise I must have met you," he answered.

At this moment the tall figure of a man, dressed in a suit of light gray material with a soft felt hat to match, appeared in the doorway of the Inn. His eyes, like his hair and mustache, were dark brown. His hands were long and slender and delicate as a woman's, yet there was nothing effeminate in his appearance. His strong, sensitive features and roving, piercing eyes and alert carriage indicated courage and energy.

He paused as he caught sight of the two figures before him. Then, with an exclamation of surprise, he stepped quickly out on to the veranda. "Jack!" he exclaimed. "When did you get here?"

Turning swiftly, Captain Forest saw Dick Yankton standing before him. "Dick!" he cried, and rushing up the veranda steps, seized him by both hands. "I've been wondering where I would find you! You evidently didn't get my letter?"

"No," replied his companion. "I only returned from the mountains late last night. It's probably waiting for me here."

"The Señores know one another?" interrupted Chiquita, also ascending the veranda.

"Know one another? Señorita, we are brothers," said Dick.

"Brothers?" she echoed, surprised and perplexed.

"Yes, Señorita, all but in name," interposed the Captain.

"Ah! I see. Brothers in fortune!"

"Exactly," replied Dick. "But what is all this I hear concerning your doings, Señorita? I'd have given my best horse to have seen you dance, but, as you see, I'm too late. A pretty nest of hornets you've stirred up in the old place," he continued. "Why, last evening I met the Navaros on the road on their way home and they wouldn't let me pass until they had told me how wicked you were. Señora Navaro even crossed herself and said an ave at the first mention of your name."

"Ah," she sighed, then laughed unconcernedly. "I'm afraid I've been very naughty, Señor." Then suddenly recollecting her mission, she exclaimed: "I almost forgot why I came here this morning. I'm the bearer of Padre Antonio's gift and greetings to the Señora. It's her birthday, you know."

"Her birthday? I wonder she still dares have them!" exclaimed Dick.

"She does, nevertheless," laughed Chiquita; and brushing back the roses in her basket with a sweep of the hand, she disclosed the eggs beneath. "Look," she continued. "Padre Antonio's gift! Are they not beautiful--just fresh from the hens! You had better have some for your breakfast, Señor," she added.

"By all the Saints in the calendar, they are pearls, every one of them!" returned Dick enthusiastically, eyeing the contents of the basket. "Thrice blessed be thy hens, Señorita! We'll have eggs with our chocolate out here on the veranda!"

"I thought so!" came a sharp voice from the other side of the doorway just behind them, "as usual, talking with the Señores!" and Señora Fernandez, with flushed cheeks and a spiteful gleam in her eyes which she took no pains to conceal, stepped from the door into the light.

"_Buenas dias_, Doña Fernandez!" said Chiquita, unabashed by the Señora's sudden appearance and onslaught, "may the day bring you many blessings! Look! Padre Antonio's greetings," and she held up the basket for the Señora's benefit. Then, with a subtle sarcasm which she knew would avenge her amply for the Señora's unprovoked attack, she said: "I stopped to inquire what the Señores would have for their breakfast. They say they will have eggs with their chocolate."

"Indeed! Eggs and chocolate--chocolate and eggs!" angrily retorted the Señora, "just as though one didn't know what everybody takes for breakfast!" But without waiting for her to finish, Chiquita vanished through the doorway with her basket; her low laughter, followed by a snatch of song just audible from within, serving to increase the Señora's irritation.

"Holy God! I sometimes think the devil is inside of that girl!" she exclaimed, vexed beyond measure.

"Ah, but what a sweet one!" laughed Dick. "I wouldn't mind being possessed of the same myself."

"Bah, Señor! you talk like a fool!" she retorted. "I pray you, do not think too poorly of us, Señor _Capitan_," she continued in an apologetic tone, turning to Captain Forest. "I assure you, all the women in Santa Fé are not so bold as the Señorita Chiquita."

"No, most of them are a tame lot!" broke in Dick, secretly enjoying the Señora's discomfiture.

"_Caramba!_ your speech grows more foolish as you talk, Señor!" returned the Señora in a tone of intense disgust. "I see, you too have fallen under her spell. They say she has the evil-eye, Señor _Capitan_," she went on, addressing the Captain again.

"Evil-eye--ha, ha! What next?" laughed Dick.

"Blood of the Saints! I'll no longer waste my time with you, Señor!" and with an angry swish of her skirt, she turned and disappeared in the house.

VII

"What does she mean by the evil-eye?" asked the Captain after the sounds of the Señora's footsteps had died away in the corridor within the house.

"Nothing--it's only jealousy. Chiquita being the acknowledged belle of the town, most of the other women, especially those of pure Spanish blood, are jealous as cats of her, and seldom miss an opportunity of saying spiteful things about her. That's why her dancing has caused such a row. And yet," he continued, seating himself on the veranda rail, his back against one of its wooden pillars, "I can't see why. It's race hatred of course, but there's really no reason for it because she's the best educated woman between here and the City of Mexico. Padre Antonio saw to it that she received the best Mexico had to give. Why, she speaks French and English almost as well as she does Spanish. If she were a _mestiza_ or half-caste, things would go hard with her, but being a full-blood, she's easily a match for them all."

"She's certainly an unusual woman," said the Captain; "one you would hardly expect to find in this out-of-the-way place."

"Oh, that's one of the many paradoxes in life," answered Dick. "I've met many a remarkable personality in the most remote regions during my wanderings. But," he continued, abruptly changing the topic of conversation, "what brings you back here? I always felt you would come back to this country again. Civilization isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"It was a hard wrench just the same," returned the Captain, "especially when one--"

"Did you hear that?" suddenly interrupted Dick, rising from his seat on the veranda rail and gazing intently down the highroad. The sounds of a vehicle and hoof-beats on the hard road, mingled with the shouts of a driver, the crack of a whip and tinkle of bells, were distinctly heard, and presently, a heavy lumbering stagecoach enveloped in a cloud of white dust and drawn by four mules was seen coming down the road at full gallop.

The sounds had also aroused the household. Señora Fernandez at the head of a troop of _peons_ and women rushed out of the house, talking and gesticulating excitedly as they swarmed over the veranda and down the steps in front of the _Posada_, for all the world like a distracted colony of ants.

"_Dios!_ what can have happened to the stage that it comes in the morning instead of the evening?" she cried breathlessly, quite forgetting her recent ill humor in the excitement.

"There's no stage at this hour," said Dick.

"But there it comes!" answered the Captain.

"It's not the regular stage," returned Dick; "a party of tourists, most likely! I see a lot of women!" he added, as the occupants on the outside of the stage came more clearly into view.

Suddenly Captain Forest started, gasped, and gripped one of the veranda pillars with his right hand. "No--it can't be!" he muttered, passing his free hand across his eyes as though to dispel an illusion.

"What's the matter, Jack?" asked Dick.

"God in heaven! what can have brought them here?" he cried, ignoring his companion's question and leaning out over the veranda rail, his gaze riveted on the stage.

"Friends of yours?" asked Dick again.

"Friends? It's the whole family!"

Dick gave a prolonged whistle.

The women and _peons_, clamoring vociferously, instantly surrounded the stage as it drew up before the _Posada_ with a great clatter of wheels and hoofs; assisting its occupants to alight and carrying the luggage into the house.

On the box beside the driver sat Blanch Lennox, looking a trifle pale the Captain thought, and Bessie Van Ashton, his cousin, a pretty blond with large violet eyes and small hands and feet that matched her slender, willowy figure.

"Is this the infernal place?" came a voice from the interior of the coach that sounded more like a snarl of a wild beast than a human voice. "If ever I pass another night in such a damned ark--" came the voice again, as its possessor, Colonel Van Ashton, enveloped in a much wrinkled traveling coat, stepped with difficulty from the coach to the ground. "I'm so stiff I can hardly walk! Ough!" he cried, and his right hand went to his back as a fresh spasm of pain seized him.

"It's just what I told you it would be like! The country's beastly--beastly!" and Mrs. Forest, white with dust and completely exhausted by the journey, followed the Colonel, supported on either side by her maid and her brother's valet.

"Merciful God! they must be very grand people to talk so foolish!" ejaculated the Señora who knew enough English to grasp the import of Mrs. Forest's words. Although she had never devoted much time to the study of the language, she had picked up a smattering of English from the Americans and Englishmen who annually stopped at the _Posada_ on their way to the mines in the interior of the country in which much foreign capital was invested.