Part 38

The same earth rolled beneath her feet--the same stars that looked down upon her in the past still glittered in the heavens overhead--the same winds that crept through the garden and sighed among the trees, wafting the spicy, fragrant odors of the flowers into her face, were the same that had fanned her cheek in the past. All things remained practically the same, only the people were different. But could the old interests and friendships and associations compensate her for the loss of the man that had come into her life to remain for the rest of her days whether she chose to keep him or not? These new and perplexing questions she was forced to ask herself for the first time, and she knew that there could be but one answer forthcoming.

Love was knocking at the portals of her heart as it had never knocked before. It had come to her warm and living, deep and subtle and indefinable, leaving nothing to be said or desired. She saw clearly that principle, as the world conceives it, was not involved. Affection recognizes no such principle--only virtuous longing and desire which is a principle in itself--the fulfillment of creation's grandest purpose; and it rested with her to accept this truth or pass it by.

The chill of the early morning caused her to draw her wrap more closely about her shoulders. A deep sigh of relief escaped her as she glanced upwards once more for a last look at the paling stars. How satisfactory it was to know even though the knowledge pained her!

She had entered the garden a girl, she returned to the house a woman, hugging her secret close to her heart.

XXV

Success had crowned Juan Ramon's efforts. The pretty little hacienda of which he had dreamed so long was no longer a vision of the future, but a reality. It was actually in his possession, purchased with a part of the money he had received from Don Felipe for his work. It now only remained for the pretty Rosita to consent to become the mistress of the place and he, Juan Ramon, would bid farewell to the old Posada and the gaming-tables forever. This Juan naïvely promised himself as his thoughts dwelt upon the bright picture of domestic felicity which his imagination conjured up before him.

The attractive presence of Rosita was undoubtedly the source of this inspiration which actually led him to believe in the possibility of the sudden and complete reformation of an inveterate gambler whose desire for play was like the toper's insatiable thirst for liquor. And then, there was Captain Forest's horse. Juan had an idea regarding that animal. When everybody's attention was occupied with the festivities during the night of the fandango, and he had succeeded in filling José with the proper amount of aguardiente, he would slip quietly away with the horse and conceal him at his hacienda. Caramba! what a horse--the like of which there was not in all Mexico! And Juan Ramon, the champion vaquero of Chihuahua, was the man to ride him! And he rolled and smoked innumerable cigarillos as he sauntered about the garden and corrals, or lounged in the patio, musing on these and many other things.

To say that Don Felipe was elated by what he had discovered but mildly describes his state of exultation. At last the woman who had ruined his life was in his power. Not for years had he experienced such delicious transports of rapture. How sweet a thing is revenge! He was like one born anew. The expression of melancholy faded from his countenance, his eyes shone with renewed luster and he smiled upon all the world. There was no more escape for her than there had been for him when she so treacherously thrust the knife into his heart. What he had discovered was different from anything his imagination had pictured in connection with her. Nothing could be more compromising, and the marvel of it was that she had been able to keep the facts concealed from the world so long. Only a woman could have done it, and only the cleverest of women at that. No wonder she had danced in public. She had reason to!

Never had he dreamed that he would live to enjoy this hour. When he first imparted his information to Blanch, she refused to believe it; but the proofs were too convincing to leave so much as the shadow of a doubt in her mind. How fortunate that he had discovered her secret at this time; just before the fandango. What an opportunity to confront her with the truth; force her to make a public confession of her guilt. Nothing could be more propitious for the execution of his plans; the annihilation of the woman who had wrecked his life. It was not enough that she should be exposed. She must be humiliated publicly as he had been.

He did not entirely reveal his plans to Blanch, knowing that the woman in her and her consideration for the Captain would cause her to shrink from inflicting so cruel a revenge even upon a rival. He was far too clever for that. So, without going into details concerning his plans, he led her to believe that, at a prearranged signal from her, he would confront Chiquita personally and compel her to acknowledge the truth before himself and the Captain. Her nature revolted at that which Don Felipe told her, cried out for justice, for the exposure of the impostor; nevertheless, she disliked a scene, and for the Captain's sake, made Don Felipe promise to do nothing unless she gave the signal.

One week hence and their scores would be even. The thought thrilled him as he paced the length of his room, his hands clasping and unclasping nervously behind his back; his mind actively engaged in rehearsing the events of the last few days which led to the discovery, and the details of the plan he had formulated, the carrying out of which was to be deferred until that eventful evening when the principal families of the town and neighborhood, her friends and acquaintances, would be gathered together to witness her shame--the same as they had witnessed his. Her disgrace would be far worse than his had been. She would be an outcast; for let a man transgress and the world may forgive him, but let a woman fall and she is damned forever so far as the world is concerned. He would make no mistake this time. He carefully weighed every detail of his plan, considered every eventuality that might arise. Subtle and resourceful though he knew her to be, there would be no loophole of escape for her.

It was almost too good to be true. He was beside himself. He talked and laughed aloud repeatedly when alone, scarcely able to retain himself, so rapturously sweet was the thought of her humiliation. Suddenly a new thought flashed through his mind. He had sworn that he would kill Captain Forest--lay him dead at her feet; but that, thanks to circumstances, would not now be necessary. The thought of killing a man in cold blood was not pleasant even to one of Don Felipe's temperament in his present state of mind. But should circumstances compel him to do so to complete his revenge, he would stop at nothing, let the consequences be what they might.

That he had received his just deserts for his betrayal of a woman, did not enter his thoughts. Had he not atoned for that misdeed through years of suffering? Had ever mortal been humiliated as he had been? That fact alone decided him. The memory of his transgression had been effaced long since by his intense longing for revenge. Nothing short of revenge could satisfy him now.

A grim smile lit up his countenance as he pondered upon what he knew. And yet, he reflected, who could tell? Infatuation might blind the Captain to the truth. It was best to be prepared for all emergencies. Stepping to his dresser, he opened the top drawer from which he took a knife which lay concealed beneath the numerous articles it contained. Drawing the blade from its leathern sheath, he ran his thumb lightly over its double edge to assure himself that it had lost none of its keenness. He always carried a pistol, but considering the circumstances a knife would be better. It would make no noise, create less disturbance. It would be so easy, in some secluded part of the garden, to thrust it home and get away quietly before the deed was discovered. One quick thrust, a stifled cry, that would be all. As a youth he could have placed that blade at ten paces in the center of a mark no larger than a silver dollar at every cast. But he had no thought of employing such a method now even if he were able to. Striking the Captain would be like sinking the blade in Chiquita's heart; for did he not hate the Captain, because she loved him, almost as much as he hated her? No, he would not forego that exquisite sense of pleasure and satisfaction, born of jealousy and his insatiable thirst for revenge.

For some time he toyed absently with the knife. Then, from sheer exuberance of spirits, he began tossing it aloft; watching with sparkling eyes the glittering blade as it turned over and over in the air and catching it deftly by the hilt in his right hand as it descended. His hand and wrist were firm and supple as of old; they had lost none of their vigor during the long years he had wandered aimlessly about the world. Again that cold smile, cruel and cutting as the edge of his knife, lit up his face as he at length sheathed the blade in its leathern case and returned it to its resting place in the drawer of his dresser.

XXVI

Conviction is one thing, decision another. Any one who has been taught from earliest childhood to regard black as white could hardly be expected to distinguish in a moment the virtue of the latter.

Daily Bessie resolved to follow the promptings of her heart; usually at the close of the day when the cool of the evening set in, when the stars again took up their procession across the heavens and she walked and chatted with Dick in the garden. But when morning dawned and she thought of her father's awful prognostications and the dire consequences which must inevitably ensue should she take the step, her ardor cooled and she as often changed her mind. Her father spent hours arguing with her, trying to impress her with the importance of the duty she owed society which consisted in obeying to the letter the behests of the set in which she had always moved.

Greatly to the Colonel's astonishment and disgust, his daughter seemed strangely lacking in this particular moral quality. How had her insight become so obtuse? He could not understand it, especially as he had taken particular pains while bringing her up to steel her heart against the insidious longings of maudlin sentiment and to teach her to despise everything outside of her particular world. He and his wife had not regarded love the chief essential to marriage, so why should his daughter? That she, under the circumstances, should hesitate between happiness and a life of regret, was a thing unique, almost incomprehensible to him. That she should question his authority, his right to choose for her, and his superior knowledge of the world, was still more surprising. Her disaffection was strongly suggestive of disrespect, a lack of faith in his infallibility in which he, the Colonel, firmly believed, if nobody else did.

The thought that the efforts of years might come to naught was bitter as wormwood to him. It was bad enough that his nephew should besmirch the family escutcheon, but that his daughter should deliberately contract a mesalliance in the face of his objections, was too much. It was the last straw. The country was going to the dogs. He argued, pleaded, stormed and swore and beat his head against the wall of indifference and obstinacy which his daughter reared between them with the unremitting fury of a wasp that finds itself on the wrong side of a windowpane. This new turn in affairs rendered Mrs. Forest so furious that she snapped right and left regardless of persons like a dog possessed of the rabies, rendering herself the most disagreeable person in the house.

The alarming rapidity with which event succeeded event, whirling them onward to some unseen end, was more than sufficient to convince them all that life was fast becoming a very uncertain quantity. No one knew what the morrow might bring forth; and all, with the exception of the Captain, were wrought up to a pitch of nervous tension that threatened the breaking point. Don Felipe shadowed Chiquita and the Captain--Chiquita and Blanch regarded one another with increasing suspicion--Dick pressed his suit with the ardor of desperation; while the Colonel and Mrs. Forest nagged on all sides. Even Señora wore an anxious, worried look. It was evident to all that things, as they were, could not continue much longer. Only the Captain seemed capable of keeping his head above water; for him the future held no terrors. The more complicated matters became, the more serene he grew; for had he not vowed that he would see things through to the end? They would all have an opportunity of judging who it would be that would laugh last.

The fandango would relieve the tension. Blanch's inspiration was truly a stroke of genius, for anything was better than a continuance of the present state of affairs. Ever since Dick's declaration of love, Bessie had fought and struggled against the tide of events which was overwhelming her by making herself as disagreeable as possible in his eyes. But what could she do to thwart the machinations of a man who laughed at her moods, who encouraged her with each fresh outburst?

Scarcely an hour elapsed after parting from him, than a note was slipped into her hand by some one of the many Mexican attendants, telling her how he adored her moods. That a frown from her was sweeter than the perpetual smile of another woman; that he loved a woman of spirit; that she would find him on the morrow in the dust at her feet as usual; that the sensation he experienced while being trampled upon could only be likened unto that of being borne aloft on wings, etc. She grew hot and cold by turns as she read these missives, and sulked and softened and flew into fits of passion, and tore them into bits, thoroughly disgusted with her weakness and her inability to remedy matters, and invariably ended by wishing to see him again. Clearly, her only hope of delivery lay in the alternatives of instant flight, or of ridding herself of his importunities by marrying him; either of which she found equally difficult and impossible to execute. She did not know that Dick was putting on a bold front; that his attitude was assumed; that, like her, he was at his wits' end; that, if she suffered, he suffered tenfold. Her annoyance was insignificant in comparison to the cyclonic outbursts that swept over him.

Ah, yes, Anita, Concho's wife, had predicted events with fair accuracy. When he sought to take her, she was not there, but somewhere else--everywhere. Just like a kitten that frisks among the leaves in autumn when they are whirled about by the wind; now here, now there, now up a tree. Though each had taken the measure of the other with fair accuracy, each had misjudged the other's strength; and it was becoming problematical just how much longer he would be able to hold out. Nothing had ever daunted him. All his life long he had never failed to accomplish the things of real importance. No undertaking had ever proved too great. Colonel Yankton, his foster-father, had taught him the value of perseverance, and he had learned his lesson well. He instinctively felt that the great crisis of his life was at hand; that all his efforts, his successes in life must count for naught so far as he personally was concerned, should he fail to win her. He knew that his fate hung in the balance, that the morrow would practically decide whether the one thing his life lacked would be added unto it, or that he would go on to the end alone.

He had gone for a stroll in the town after the customary gathering in the patio in the evening. The others had long since retired for the night when he returned to the Posada. Feeling no inclination to sleep, he seated himself on the veranda in front of the house, and lighting a fresh cigar, smoked and mused; his gaze fixed on the tall moonlit hedge which separated the Posada from the highroad; his thoughts reverting to the days of his boyhood. Again he saw the Colonel, tall and erect, the personification of manhood, indomitable will and courage, seated upon his horse at the head of his regiment, and heard the ringing, clarion notes of the bugle--the signal for the charge. Yes, he would make one more supreme effort, and if that failed, well.... His cigar had burned low. He tossed it over the veranda rail and rose with the intention of retiring, when his attention was arrested by the faint sound of a horse's hoofs on the highroad in the distance. Something seemed to tell him to wait, and acting on the impulse, he paused and listened. The sounds drew nearer, increasing in volume as the animal approached, until a horseman finally turned in from the road at an easy canter and drew rein before the Posada. Both man and horse were covered with dust which shone white as snow in the moonlight; a proof that they had traveled far during the day.

"Buenas noches, Señor," said the rider, a Mexican, swinging himself from the saddle and ascending the steps to where Dick stood.

"Good evening," replied the latter in Spanish, eyeing the man curiously.

"I wish," continued the stranger, "to speak with one Señor Yankton who, I was told, lives in Santa Fé. Perhaps, Señor, you can tell me where I may find him?"