Part 47

“Yes,” he said: “at the Senora Moreno's.”

“So I heard,” she said. “That is a fine great place, is it not? Is her son grown a fine man? He was a lad when I saw him. He went through here with a drove of sheep once.”

“Ay, he is a man now,” said Alessandro, and buried his face in his hands again.

“Poor fellow! I don't wonder he does not want to speak,” thought Mrs. Hartsel. “I'll just let him alone;” and she spoke no more for some moments.

Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy seemed to have seized him; at last he said wearily: “I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr. Hartsel a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store.”

“Yes,” she said, “a lot of San Francisco men; they belong to the company that's coming in here in the valley; they've been here two days. Oh, Alessandro,” she continued, bethinking herself, “Jim's got your violin here; Jose brought it.”

“Yes, I know it,” answered Alessandro. “Jose told me; and that was one thing I stopped for.”

“I'll run and get it,” she exclaimed.

“No,” said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. “I do not want it. I thought Mr. Hartsel might buy it. I want some money. It was not mine; it was my father's. It is a great deal better than mine. My father said it would bring a great deal of money. It is very old.”

“Indeed it is,” she replied; “one of those men in there was looking at it last night. He was astonished at it, and he would not believe Jim when he told him about its having come from the Mission.”

“Does he play? Will he buy it?” cried Alessandro.

“I don't know; I'll call Jim,” she said; and running out she looked in at the other door, saying, “Jim! Jim!”

Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises, “Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night. Wait till morning.”

“Till morning!” A groan escaped from Alessandro, in spite of himself. “I can't!” he cried. “I must go on to-night.”

“Why, what for?” exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much astonished. For one brief second Alessandro revolved in his mind the idea of confiding everything to her; only for a second, however. No; the fewer knew his secret and Ramona's, the better.

“I must be in San Diego to-morrow,” he said.

“Got work there?” she said.

“Yes; that is, in San Pasquale,” he said; “and I ought to have been there three days ago.”

Mrs. Hartsel mused. “Jim can't do anything to-night,” she said; “that's certain. You might see the man yourself, and ask him if he'd buy it.”

Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repugnance withheld him. He could not face one of these Americans who were “coming in” to his valley. Mrs. Hartsel understood.

“I'll tell you, Alessandro,” said the kindly woman, “I'll give you what money you need to-night, and then, if you say so, Jim'll sell the violin to-morrow, if the man wants it, and you can pay me back out of that, and when you're along this way again you can have the rest. Jim'll make as good a trade for you's he can. He's a real good friend to all of you, Alessandro, when he's himself.”

“I know it, Mrs. Hartsel. I'd trust Mr. Hartsel more than any other man in this country,” said Alessandro. “He's about the only white man I do trust!”

Mrs. Hartsel was fumbling in a deep pocket in her under-petticoat. Gold-piece after gold-piece she drew out. “Humph! Got more'n I thought I had,” she said. “I've kept all that's been paid in here to-day, for I knew Jim'd be drunk before night.”

Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold. How he longed for an abundance of those little shining pieces for his Majella! He sighed as Mrs. Hartsel counted them out on the table,--one, two, three, four, bright five-dollar pieces.

“That is as much as I dare take,” said Alessandro, when she put down the fourth. “Will you trust me for so much?” he added sadly. “You know I have nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, till I get some work to do.”

The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel's eyes. “It's a shame!” she said,--“a shame, Alessandro! Jim and I haven't thought of anything else, since it happened. Jim says they'll never prosper, never. Trust you? Yes, indeed. Jim and I'd trust you, or your father, the last day of our lives.”

“I'm glad he is dead,” said Alessandro, as he knotted the gold into his handkerchief and put it into his bosom. “But he was murdered, Mrs. Hartsel,--murdered, just as much as if they had fired a bullet into him.”

“That's true.” she exclaimed vehemently. “I say so too; and so was Jose. That's just what I said at the time,--that bullets would not be half so inhuman!”