Jessica, the Heiress

“But–the mistress!” Elsa had panted. “I come so long for to speak her good cheer. I must see the mistress, then I rest.”

“The mistress isn’t seeing anybody just now, except me and–a few others. You do as I say, or you’ll never knit another wool shawl.”

“No, no. I knit no more, forever, is it? Not I. Why the reason? The more one earns the more one may lose. Yes, yes, indeed. Yes.”

“That’s the true word,” Mrs. Benton had replied; “and so being you’ve no yarn to worry you, nor no mistress to see, off to bed, I say, and don’t you dast to get sick on my hands, I warn you!”

So Elsa had obeyed the command, glad enough to rest and be idle for a time. Aunt Sally had seen to it that the visitor was kept duly alarmed concerning her red-and-yellow condition, nor had she given the permission to arise when Wolfgang and Otto arrived from their fruitless visit to El Desierto. They found the place crowded with returning searchers, and joyfully hailed the good news of Jessica’s safety. But when there was added to this the information that their own property had been found, they demanded to be taken to Elsa, and it was their visit to her room which had sent her afield, half-clad, and with thought for nothing but her lost treasure.

Even now, husband and son joined their entreaties to hers, though Samson soon brought them to hear reason, and to withdraw from public for the present, asking, indignantly:

“Have you folks lost all your manners, as well as your dollars, up there on the foothill? The idee of a woman screeching her lungs out afore all the ranchers in Southern Californy! Your money? Well, what of it? If it’s found, it’ll be give to you, and if it isn’t you ain’t the first feller’s been robbed. Besides, can’t you smell? Don’t you know that you’re interruptin’ the prettiest spread ever was seen at old Sobrante? Like chicken? Like roast pig? Like hot biscuit and plum sess? Then go wash your face, and make your folks fix up and come enjoy yourself. So far as I hear, it’s old Pedro holds the cash, and you might as well try to move the Sierras as him, if he ain’t ready to move. At this present writin’ he’s set himself guard over that scalliwag, Ferd, and I ain’t envying him his job, I ain’t. Hurry up, there won’t be anything but necks and drumsticks left for you laggards.”

Thus admonished and reassured, Wolfgang hurried his family away to prepare for the feast, and the interruption they had caused to the proceedings at the horse block effectually relieved Mrs. Trent from an immediate answer to an awkward question, so she said:

“Come, daughter. I see by Aunt Sally’s manner that she wishes the people would begin to eat. Every pair of hands, that belongs to us, must help in serving these kind neighbors who have flocked to our aid. Some of them have forty good miles to ride before they sleep, and they must be fed first. I’ll stand by the head table yonder, and name them, and do you, for whom they left their business, wait upon them yourself. That will show them your gratitude, and give them honor due.”

So it was, and to every dish she brought, the little captain added a graceful word of thanks, which seasoned the food better than even Aunt Sally’s wondrous skill had done; and many an encomium did the child hear, in return, of that lost father who had made himself so well-beloved in all that countryside.

When all was over and done, when the last “neighbor” had ridden homeward, when everybody had had his fill, and more than his fill of good things, and the rudely constructed tables had been removed from the wide lawn, came Aunt Sally, beaming with happiness, and glanced over the scene, till there broke from her lips the wondering question:

“Can this be the same spot that was so dark and lonely yesterday? I’ve had my heartstrings so stretched and tugged at, betwixt joy and sorrow, that I don’t know myself. I–I believe I’m tired! And if I am, it’s about the first time in my life. Well, well! Talking of Christmas–this little supper we’ve just give is about equal to forty Christmases in one. Seem’s if.”

“Dear, kind, Aunt Sally, how shall I ever thank you for all you’ve done for us?” cried Mrs. Trent, appearing at her friend’s side, and impetuously clasping the portly matron. The embrace was so unexpected, for the ranch mistress was never a demonstrative woman, that its recipient was, for the instant, speechless; the next, she had turned herself about and demanded:

“Gabriella Trent, have you had a bite to eat?”

“No. Have you, Mrs. Benton?”

“Not a morsel. I’m as empty as a bubble. No more has the captain touched a thing. She’s here, there and everywhere, among her precious ‘boys,’ yet not a one of ’em has the decency to say: ‘Share my supper, Lady Jess.’ If they were my ‘boys,’ I’d–”

“No, you wouldn’t, mother. And I’m glad to see you two women resting a spell. Keep on sitting there. We’re going to wait on you now, and don’t you believe we haven’t put by the pick of the pies for you all! The captain is fetchin’ the tackers, and Pasqual’s fetchin’ the food. But what about old Pedro and the coyote?”

“John, don’t call names, ’specially hard ones. They always come home to roost. But I’m glad you do some credit to your upraisin’, and did remember that somebody else, except yourself, might be hungry. Wait, Gabriell’. Don’t you worry about that Indian. I’ll just step in and fix him somethin’.”

“You’d better not, mother. He’s got all the company he wants at this present writing.”

This was sufficient to spur Mrs. Benton’s energy afresh. Curiosity was her besetting sin, and she could not endure that anything should go on about the ranch in which she had no hand. Rising rather hastily from a chair that was much too frail for her weight, she and it came to grief, and the fact diverted her attention for the time.

John was glad of this, though outwardly he sympathized with her slight mishap, and facetiously offered her a dose of her own picra.

Mrs. Trent also rose, saying:

“I will go to Pedro. Though I did try to thank him, when he first came, I had but a moment to give him then, and I fear he will feel he has been neglected. As if I could ever neglect one to whom I owe my darling’s restoration!”

Mrs. Benton looked after her, and sighed.

“There she goes again! and that woman hasn’t tasted a mouthful in a dog’s age!”

“How long’s a ‘dog’s age,’ Aunt Sally?” demanded Ned as he helped himself to a buttered biscuit which Pasqual had just placed on the old lady’s plate.

“Age as long as a dog,” commented Luis, seizing the biscuit from his mate and running away with it. Of course, Ned gave chase, and the usual battle ensued, after which they dropped down upon the spot where they had fought, threw their arms around each other’s necks, and munched the biscuit together with an air of cherubic delight.

Everybody laughed at the pair, upon which Aunt Sally now descended with a threatening mien and a plate of plum cake.

“Ain’t you ashamed of yourselves, you naughty children? Fighting half your time. Here! Eat that and let your suppers stop. By the way, how many suppers have you had already?”

“Six or seven,” promptly replied Ned, who had eaten with whoever invited him.

“Sixty-seven,” echoed Luis.

“Then to bed you go, this instant!” And off they were marched, without delay. Of course, this was another postponement of Mrs. Benton’s own meal, but she didn’t mind that, so long as she had an opportunity to deal with the small lads. Explaining to them, as she undressed and bathed them: “You’d go to wrack and ruin if ’twasn’t for me takin’ a hand in your upbringin’ now and then. You pull the wool over Gabriella’s eyes the worst ever was. My! What you doing now, Edward Trent?”

“Pullin’ wool, like you said!” and wound the white blanket he had caught from his cot the more tightly about Luis’ head.

Meanwhile, the ranch mistress had gained the office and asked admission at its locked door. When a long wait ensued, she reflected rather anxiously upon what the men had often said, “That Old Century is as top-lofty as a king. Thinks he is a king, in his own rights, and his having lived a hundred years makes him better’n anybody else.”

This was quite true. Faithful and devoted to her as he was, the shepherd exacted even from her the respect that was his due. On that day he felt that much more than ordinary consideration was owing him; yet he had been left for hours, unvisited by her for whom he had done, and meant still to do, so much. Therefore, it was with a bearing full of injured dignity that he at last slid the bolt and opened the door, though he did not invite the visitor to enter, nor withdraw from the opening.

“I came to see about your supper, good Pedro. Do you know that it has been cooked in the old mission oven? That should make it taste fine to you. You must pardon my not being earlier, but there have been so many, many guests. All gone now, save our own people.”

“Senorita, am I not also a guest, yes? Was one at Sobrante as old as me? Should not I have ruled the feast?”

“Indeed, you should, my friend, if there had been any ruling whatever. It was simply take and eat, and away to their distant homes. You are already at home, nor have I, either, tasted food. Come now and feast with me. I am hungry, and so should you be. You mustn’t keep the mistress waiting, you know!”

Pedro’s countenance had softened, and he had expended all his sternness, but his caution remained. With a significant glance toward his prisoner, the dwarf, he shook his head.

“When he is safe, then will I break my fast. The senorita does me honor.”

“That is what I should like to do, dear Pedro. But is not poor Ferd safe in here? Can we not send him in some supper and turn the lock upon him?”

She could not hide the repugnance she felt toward the miserable, misshapen creature, now sleeping on the floor, and after one glance in his direction looked swiftly away. But that glance had been sufficient to startle her by its resemblance to another face she hoped never to see again.

Pedro’s keen old eyes noticed her surprise and dismay, and he smiled grimly.

“The mistress sees. Slumber shows it–the likeness. One breed of snakes were in the den. Fear both, watch both, for they are brothers. Yes.”

This, then, explained many things; not the least, the wonderful influence and control which Antonio had always maintained over his half-witted “left hand,” as the “boys” called the unfortunate hunchback.

“Antonio–Ferdinand–both Bernals–brothers?” asked Mrs. Trent, in a tremulous voice.

“Si. Yes, indeed. In truth.”

“And all this time nobody knew or suspected it?”

“Senorita, the master knew. That was part of his great goodness to the wicked one who would ruin him if he could. ’Ware Antonio–’ware Ferd. One is the shadow of the other. One thinks, the other works. When Antonio went, Ferd stayed. No good, senorita. Watch him.”

The lady sat down upon the nearest chair, and, as she did so, caught sight of the basket upon the desk. It was filled to overflowing with articles of various sorts, and beside it lay the curious metal-pointed staff. Her impulse was to reach forward and take it, but the Indian arrested her hand by an upward motion of his own. Then he opened it himself and showed her, at the bottom, a number of leathern bags with knitted covers.

“Elsa’s money?”

Pedro silently assented.

“Oh, let us call her, and give it back to her at once.”

“Fools must learn. Let the miner come, and Samson.”

Mrs. Trent stepped outside and dispatched a messenger for the two men, who presently came; the one glum and offended, thinking in his slow way that he had been made a jest of, and that the money his wife so loved had not, after all, been found. The other, as always, proud and alert to serve the “admiral.”

When they had entered the room, Wolfgang’s eyes at once rested greedily upon the basket, which Pedro had again closed, as if he guessed what treasure lay within. Samson’s glance went straight to the sleeping dwarf, and an almost irresistible impulse to kick the inert figure possessed him. But he restrained himself, and colored high when he met the lady’s own glance.

“No, Samson, please. No violence. Yet it is Pedro’s wise advice that Ferd be placed under the charge of somebody who shall know at all times just where he is and what he is about. Will you take that charge, herder?”

“That ain’t the kind of cattle I keep, ‘admiral.’”

“I understand it isn’t a pleasant task. That’s not the question, which is simply: Will you be responsible for–Ferdinand Bernal?”

The mighty sailor fairly jumped, but his reply was: “You could knock me down with a feather!”

Mrs. Trent laughed. “Yes, it is strange. But look sharp. The resemblance is strong. Pedro knows the relationship, and my husband knew it. I did not, until just now. Something better may suggest itself to you or me, but for the present, will you take charge of this unhappy one?”

A delayed and most reluctant “Yes” came at last from the herder’s lips. If he had been asked to punish the dwarf the answer would have been swift and eager; but “take charge!” That meant constant association, decent treatment and responsibility for the most “slippery” of human beings.

“Then, please take him away at once.”

Ferd had roused, and was sitting up; so that when Samson laid his great hand on the lad’s shoulder, the latter understood, in a dim way, that he was now the herder’s, rather than the shepherd’s prisoner. Of the two, he would have preferred the latter keeper; but he would bother with neither very long.

It was a relief when the door closed upon the outgoing pair, and Pedro rose and locked it. There was something preternaturally solemn and mysterious in his manner as, placing a chair nearer to the desk for Mrs. Trent, he motioned Wolfgang to take another opposite. Then, standing between them he drew the basket toward himself, and keeping one hand upon it, thrust the other within his shirt and drew from that the reddish bit of rock which Jessica had seen him so careful of.

Holding it so that the last rays of the sun fell through the window full upon it, he extended it on his open palm and demanded of the miner:

“What?”

CHAPTER VII.

A ROYAL GIFT

Wolfgang took the bit of stone in his own fingers and examined it critically. Always deliberate in his words and actions, he was now doubly so, and Mrs. Trent grew impatient of a situation which seemed unimportant, and that delayed for others, as well as herself, a much needed supper.

But Pedro was not impatient. He stood with folded arms and triumphant bearing, ready for the miner’s reply, whether it came soon or late; also, quite ready to disregard it should it be different from that expected.

“Well, Wolfgang?” asked the ranch mistress.

The miner heaved a prodigious sigh, and returned the ambiguous answer:

“That is what I have thought already, is it not?”

“What have you thought, good Wolfgang?” demanded the lady, looking toward the Indian’s glowing eyes.

“Copper. Copper, without alloy.”

“Ugh!” grunted Pedro, with satisfaction, and taking the metal again in his hand bowed low and gravely presented it to his mistress.

She received it without enthusiasm, wondering what significance could attach to a bit of stone that might have been picked up anywhere. Her husband had believed that everything valuable would, sooner or later, be unearthed from the mountains of the State he so loyally loved, but her own interest in the subject was slight. However, she must say something grateful or again offend the dignity of her venerable servitor.

“Thank you, Pedro. It is very pretty. I will add it to the case of minerals that your master arranged yonder.”

The shepherd cast one contemptuous glance toward the shelves she indicated, and straightened himself indignantly. He had loved and revered her, ever since she came a bride to Sobrante, and had tended him through a scourge of smallpox, unafraid and unscathed. Though she was a woman, the sex of whose intelligence he had small opinion, he had regarded her as an exception, and his disappointment was great.

“Is it but a ‘thank you,’ si? Does not the senorita know what this gift means?”

“I confess that I do not, Pedro. Please explain.”

“Were the old padres wise, mistress?”

“So I have always understood.”

“Listen. From them it came; from the last who left the mission here for another–to me, his son and friend. Into the heart of the world we went, and he showed me. Down low, so low none dream of it, lies that will make you rich. Will there be anybody anywhere so rich as the senorita and her little ones? No. But no, not one. This I give you. It is for the Navidad, the last old Pedro will ever see. And the senorita answers, ‘thank you’!”

He was deeply hurt, and his manner was now full of an eloquent scorn. He was returning the stone to his breast, when she asked for it again, saying, gently:

“You are so old and wise, good Pedro, you must bear with my ignorance and teach me. This is copper, you say. It is very pretty, but how can it make me rich? I do not understand.”

Wolfgang answered for the other, and his phlegmatic face had lost its ordinary expression for one of keen delight.

“It is true, what the old man tells you, mistress. He means–he must mean–somewhere on your property lies a vein of this metal. The dead master thought the coal was fine already. Ay, so, so. But copper! Mistress Trent, when this vein is mined, what Pedro says–yes, yes. In all this big country is not one so rich as he who owns a copper mine. Ach, himmel! It is a queen he has made you, and you say, ‘Thank you!’”

He had fully caught the shepherd’s enthusiasm and feeling, and for the first time in his life looked upon the lady of Sobrante as a dull-witted person.

But she was no longer dull. Even if it seemed an impossibility that even this “vein” could be mined, since she had no money to waste in an experiment so costly, still she realized, at last, what Pedro’s will had been. Catching his hand between her own soft palms, she pressed it gratefully, and beamed upon him till he smiled again.

“Whatever comes of it. Pedro, you have given us a royal aguinaldo2, and I do appreciate it. Come now, and share our rejoicing over that greater good that you have brought to Sobrante–the salvation of its little captain. For that–for that–I have not even the ‘thank you’; my feeling is too deep.”

Though he showed it little, the old man was almost as moved as she, and he followed her as proudly as if he were the “king” his fellow ranchmen called him. Yet even pride did not prevent his being cautious still, and he carried the basket and staff away with him, though Wolfgang protested, and asked, angrily now:

“The money? Is it not my Elsa’s, yes? Would you break her heart already, and the little one so needing it?”

Mrs. Trent laughed. She, too, wondered that the Indian had not at once surrendered the other’s property, but understood that he could not be hurried. So she merely suggested that Wolfgang bring his family around to the living room immediately after sunset, when, doubtless, he would receive his own again.

At that time, also, she meant to have John Benton present, to hear what Pedro had to say about this copper find, and to comfort him in his disappointment, for between these two there had always been close friendship.

However, to her surprise, John attempted no comfort. He was instantly and heartily on the shepherd’s side, and demanded, excitedly:

“Begging pardon for plain words, as you are a woman with growing children, can you sit there calm as molasses and say ‘you wish you could do something about it,’ yet say no more. ‘Wish!’ Why, land of Goshen! this ain’t a wishin’ sort of business, this ain’t! It’s ‘Hurray for old Sobrante! Hurray, hurray, hurray!’ Call ’em in, captain, dearie! Call in the whole crowd! That was the luckiest gettin’ lost anybody ever had! Oh, won’t somebody call ’em in?”

To the group about the table it seemed that the sensible carpenter had suddenly gone mad. Nobody had ever heard him so address the mistress whom he loved, and his excited prancing around the room, alternately hugging and examining the mineral in his hand, added to the impression. While the captain departed to summon the other “boys,” Aunt Sally attempted to reduce her hilarious son to sanity by a sharp box on the ear, and the sharper reprimand:

“You, John Benton! Do you mean to bring my gray hairs with sorrer to the grave? What’s the reason of these goings on, I’d like to know? I never was so disgraced in all my life, never. Now, quit! Quit to once, or–”

He paid no heed to her, but laid his hand on Pedro’s shoulder and shook it vigorously, demanding:

“What kind of a feller are you, anyway? Why in the name of sense didn’t you tell this thing while the boss was alive? Shucks! Half of you is Indian, and that means dirt. Known it all this time, and kept it hid! You’d ought to be drawn and quartered, that’s what you had!”

Mrs. Benton advanced with threatening hand, and from force of habit he retreated before her, and sank into the nearest chair; so that, when his mates entered, they found him sitting with bent head and down-hanging hands, as limp and inert as if his vitality had been sapped by the news he had heard.

“What’s up?” asked “Marty,” making his respectful salutation to the mistress, but looking past her toward the carpenter, who, with another change of mood, sprang again to his feet and waved the fragment of mineral overhead, exclaiming:

“This is ‘up’! Copper’s ‘up’! Sobrante’s ‘up’! And lucky the men that belong to it. Only–that old villain, yonder, has known it even since forever, and was mean enough to keep his secret. That’s what he is, that Pedro, yonder!”

Yet, with another whimsical change, he seized the shepherd’s hand and wrung it till even that hardened member ached. But the Indian remained as calm and undisturbed, amid the torrent of blame or praise, as if he had been sitting alone at his weaving on the mesa. His soul was satisfied at last. He had done that which he had pondered doing for many years, without being able, heretofore, to bring his thought to action. Surely he had known that, locked within his own breast, his “secret” was worthless; yet he had clung to it tenaciously. Now he had imparted it to others, and behold! all the world knew it, even so soon. Well, that did not matter. It was no longer his. His part was ended. Meanwhile, on his beloved upland, there was a faithful collie watching for his return, and lambs bleating, needing his care. Suddenly he rose, placed his cherished staff in Mrs. Trent’s hands, and bowing low, said:

“Keep this, as I have kept it, where none but you may find. At the Navidad I come once more, the last. Adios.”

His departure was so unexpected that, at first, they did not try to prevent it, but Jessica was swift to follow and protest:

“Not to-night, dear Pedro! Please not to-night. You have been so good to me, you must stay and be glad with us this one night. In the morning–”

“In the morning the sheep will need new pasture. Adios, nina.”

“Then, if go you must, it shall not be on foot. Wait! I know! Prince, Mr. Hale’s horse, that he left with you on the mesa. It is here. The naughty children painted him, but I saw him in the corral, just now, and you shall ride him home. That is if you will not stay, even for me.”

“The Navidad. Till then, adios.”

She had never heard him talk so much nor so well as since these few hours among his friends. He seemed to be almost another Pedro than the silent shepherd of the mesa, and as she followed him, taking his direct way to the paddock, she wondered at the uprightness of his bearing and the unconscious dignity which clothed him like a garment. Then she remembered something else–his blanket, and sprang to his side again, entreating:

“Just one five minutes more, Pedro. Your blanket. You must have a new one.”

He hesitated and sighed. Then shook his head sadly. That which he had torn, to bind the dwarf, had been a Navajo weave, so fine and faultless that even he, the wonderful weaver, knew it for a marvel. There could not be its mate in all that country, nor had been since the old padres went and took with them, as he believed, all the wisdom of the world.

Before he had caught and bridled the horse, Jessica was back, and playfully enveloped in a wonderful piece of cloth that made the Indian stare. If it were not the mate to his lost treasure, it was quite as fine and soft, as generous in size, and far cleaner.