With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of the Indian, Alessandro saw how, hour by hour, there grew in Ramona's eyes the wonted look of one at home; how she watched the shadows, and knew what they meant.
“If we lived here, the walls would be sun-dials for us, would they not?” she said, in a tone of pleasure. “I see that yon tall yucca has gone in shadow sooner than it did yesterday.”
And, “What millions of things grow here, Alessandro! I did not know there were so many. Have they all names? The nuns10 taught us some names; but they were hard, and I forgot them, We might name them for ourselves, if we lived here. They would be our relations.”
And, “For one year I should lie and look up at the sky, my Alessandro, and do nothing else. It hardly seems as if it would be a sin to do nothing for a year, if one gazed steadily11 at the sky all the while.”
And, “Now I know what it is I have always seen in your face, Alessandro. It is the look from the sky. One must be always serious and not unhappy, but never too glad, I think, when he lives with nothing between him and the sky, and the saints can see him every minute.”
And, “I cannot believe that it is but two days I have lived in the air, Alessandro. This seems to me the first home I have ever had. Is it because I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?”
It was strange how many more words Ramona spoke12 than Alessandro, yet how full she felt their intercourse13 to be. His silence was more than silent; it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllable of Alessandro's, nay14, a look, told what other men took long sentences to say, and said less eloquently15.
After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, “You speak as the trees speak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without saying anything!”
This delighted Alessandro's very heart. “And you, Majella,” he exclaimed; “when you say that, you speak in the language of our people; you are as we are.”
And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words,—happier than she would have been made by any other praise or fondness.
Alessandro found himself regaining16 all his strength as if by a miracle. The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour was already fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy who wooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, herself invisible to all but the Prince, hovered17 in the air, sang loving songs to draw him away from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice and summoned magicians to rout18 her by all spells and enchantments19 at their command. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off; but as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw him an apple,—a magic golden apple. Once having tasted of this, he refused all other food. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple; and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay the golden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had not fed upon it; and when the Fairy came the next time, the Prince leaped into her magic boat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in his kingdom again. It was only an allegory, this legend,—a beautiful allegory, and true,—of love and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, now growing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, and just as strength-giving.
“My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so soon?” said Ramona, studying his countenance20 with loving care. “I thought that night you would die. Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes shine, and your hand is not hot! It is the blessed air; it has cured you, as it cured Felipe of the fever.”
“If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Majella,” replied Alessandro. “I had been under no roof except the tule-shed, till I saw you. It is not the air;” and he looked at her with a gaze that said the rest.
At twilight21 of the third day, when Ramona saw Alessandro leading up Baba, saddled ready for the journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noon Alessandro had said to her: “To-night, Majella, we must go. There is not grass enough for another day. We must go while the horses are strong. I dare not lead them any farther down the canon to graze, for there is a ranch22 only a few miles lower. To-day I found one of the man's cows feeding near Baba.”
Ramona made no remonstrance23. The necessity was too evident; but the look on her face gave Alessandro a new pang24. He, too, felt as if exiled afresh in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses slowly up, and saw Ramona sitting in a dejected attitude beside the nets in which were again carefully packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. Again the sense of his homeless and destitute25 condition settled like an unbearable26 burden on his soul. Whither and to what was he leading his Majella?
But once in the saddle, Ramona recovered cheerfulness. Baba was in such gay heart, she could not be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairly rollicking with satisfaction at being once more on the move. Capitan, too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, spite of its refreshing27 shade and cool water. He longed for sheep. He did not understand this inactivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ramona laugh more than once, as he would come and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixing his eyes intently on her face, as if he said in so many words, “What in the world are you about in this canon, and do not you ever intend to return home? Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do you not see that I have nothing to do?”
“We must ride all night, Majella,” said Alessandro, “and lose no time. It is a long way to the place where we shall stay to-morrow.”
“Is it a canon?” asked Ramona, hopefully.
“No,” he replied, “not a canon; but there are beautiful oak-trees. It is where we get our acorns28 for the winter. It is on the top of a high hill.”
“Will it be safe there?” she asked.
“I think so,” he replied; “though not so safe as here. There is no such place as this in all the country.”
“And then where shall we go next?” she asked.
“That is very near Temecula,” he said. “We must go into Temecula, dear Majella. I must go to Mr. Hartsel's. He is friendly. He will give me money for my father's violin. If it were not for that, I would never go near the place again.”
“I would like to see it, Alessandro,” she said gently.
“Oh, no, no, Majella!” he cried; “you would not. It is terrible; the houses all unroofed,—all but my father's and Jose's. They were shingled29 roofs; they will be just the same; all the rest are only walls. Antonio's mother threw hers down; I don't know how the old woman ever had the strength; they said she was like a fury. She said nobody should ever live in those walls again; and she took a pole, and made a great hole in one side, and then she ran Antonio's wagon30 against it with all her might, till it fell in. No, Majella. It will be dreadful.”
“The saints forbid!” he said solemnly. “I think it would make me a murderer to stand in that graveyard! If I had not you, my Majel, I should kill some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak of it!” he added, after a moment's silence; “it takes the strength all out of my blood again, Majella. It feels as if I should die!”
And the word “Temecula” was not mentioned between them again until dusk the next day, when, as they were riding slowly along between low, wooded hills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, marshy32 place, with a little thread of trickling33 water, at which their horses stopped, and drank thirstily; and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in the distance. “Lights, Alessandro, lights!” she exclaimed, pointing to them.
“Yes, Majella,” he replied, “it is Temecula,” and springing off his pony35 he came to her side, and putting both his hands on hers, said: “I have been thinking, for a long way back, Carita, what is to be done here. I do not know. What does Majella think will be wise? If men have been sent out to pursue us, they may be at Hartsel's. His store is the place where everybody stops, everybody goes. I dare not have you go there, Majella; yet I must go. The only way I can get any money is from Mr. Hartsel.”
“I must wait somewhere while you go!” said Ramona, her heart beating as she gazed ahead into the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast as the sea. “That is the only safe thing, Alessandro.”
“I think so too,” he said; “but, oh, I am afraid for you; and will not you be afraid?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I am afraid. But it is not so dangerous as the other.”
“If anything were to happen to me, and I could not come back to you, Majella, if you give Baba his reins36 he will take you safe home,—he and Capitan.”
Ramona shrieked37 aloud. She had not thought of this possibility. Alessandro had thought of everything. “What could happen?” she cried.
“I mean if the men were there, and if they took me for stealing the horse,” he said.
“But you would not have the horse with you,” she said. “How could they take you?”
“That mightn't make any difference,” replied Alessandro. “They might take me, to make me tell where the horse was.”
“Oh, Alessandro,” sobbed38 Ramona, “what shall we do!” Then in another second, gathering39 her courage, she exclaimed, “Alessandro, I know what I will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one will come there. Shall I not be safest there?”
“Why not?” she said. “It is not the dead that will harm us. They would all help us if they could. I have no fear. I will wait there while you go; and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to Mr. Hartsel's after you. If there are men of the Senora's there, they will know me; they will not dare to touch me. They will know that Felipe would punish them. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered to take Baba, they can have him; we can walk when the pony is tired.”
Her confidence was contagious41. “My wood-dove has in her breast the heart of the lion,” said Alessandro, fondly. “We will do as she says. She is wise;” and he turned their horses' heads in the direction of the graveyard. It was surrounded by a low adobe42 wall, with one small gate of wooden paling. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, “The thieves have taken the gate!”
“What could they have wanted with that?” said Ramona
“To burn,” he said doggedly43, “It was wood; but it was very little. They might have left the graves safe from wild beasts and cattle!”
As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose from one of the graves. Ramona started.
“Fear nothing,” whispered Alessandro. “It must be one of our people. I am glad; now you will not be alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That was the corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her;” and leaving Ramona at the gate, he went slowly on, saying in a low voice, in the Luiseno language, “Carmena, is that you? Have no fear. It is I, Alessandro!”
It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed with grief, was spending her days by her baby's grave in Pachanga, and her nights by her husband's in Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, for the Americans were there, and she feared them. After a short talk with her, Alessandro returned, leading her along. Bringing her to Ramona's side, he laid her feverish44 hand in Ramona's, and said: “Majella, I have told her all. She cannot speak a word of Spanish, but she is very glad, she says, that you have come with me, and she will stay close by your side till I come back.”
Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to comfort the girl; but all she could do was to press her hand in silence. Even in the darkness she could see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy. Carmena felt in every fibre how Ramona was pitying her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to draw her from the saddle. Ramona bent45 down and looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew her gently with one hand, and with the other pointed46 to the corner from which she had come. Ramona understood. “She wants to show me her husband's grave,” she thought. “She does not like to be away from it. I will go with her.”
Dismounting, and taking Baba's bridle47 over her arm, she bowed her head assentingly, and still keeping firm hold of Carmena's hand, followed her. The graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each mound48 marked by a small wooden cross. Carmena led with the swift step of one who knew each inch of the way by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and nearly fell, and Baba was impatient and restive49 at the strange inequalities under his feet. When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piled earth of the new grave. Uttering a wailing50 cry, Carmena, drawing Ramona to the edge of it, pointing down with her right hand, then laid both hands on her heart, and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst into weeping, and again clasping Carmena's hand, laid it on her own breast, to show her sympathy. Carmena did not weep. She was long past that; and she felt for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, sudden sympathy of this stranger,—this girl like herself, yet so different, so wonderful, so beautiful, Carmena was sure she must be. Had the saints sent her from heaven to Alessandro? What did it mean? Carmena's bosom51 was heaving with the things she longed to say and to ask; but all she could do was to press Ramona's hand again and again, and occasionally lay her soft cheek upon it.
“Now, was it not the saints that put it into my head to come to the graveyard?” thought Ramona. “What a comfort to this poor heart-broken thing to see Alessandro! And she keeps me from all fear. Holy Virgin! but I had died of terror here all alone. Not that the dead would harm me; but simply from the vast, silent plain, and the gloom.”
Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they would return to the gate. Considerate and thoughtful, she remembered that Alessandro would expect to find them there. But it was a long and weary watch they had, waiting for Alessandro to come.
After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had struck off at a quick run for Hartsel's, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile from the graveyard. His own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew near, he saw a light in its windows. He stopped as if shot. “A light in our house!” he exclaimed; and he clenched52 his hands. “Those cursed robbers have gone into it to live already!” His blood seemed turning to fire. Ramona would not have recognized the face of her Alessandro now. It was full of implacable vengeance53. Involuntarily he felt for his knife. It was gone. His gun he had left inside the graveyard, leaning against the wall. Ah! in the graveyard! Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting for him. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world held now but one work, one hope, one passion, for him. But he would at least see who were these dwellers54 in his father's house. A fierce desire to see their faces burned within him. Why should he thus torture himself? Why, indeed? But he must. He would see the new home-life already begun on the grave of his. Stealthily creeping under the window from which the light shone, he listened. He heard children's voices; a woman's voice; at intervals55 the voice of a man, gruff and surly; various household sounds also. It was evidently the supper-hour. Cautiously raising himself till his eyes were on a level with the lowest panes56 in the window, he looked in.
A table was set in the middle of the floor, and there were sitting at it a man, woman, and two children. The youngest, little more than a baby, sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the table, impatient for its supper. The room was in great confusion,—beds made on the floor, open boxes half unpacked57, saddles and harness thrown down in the corners; evidently there were new-comers into the house. The window was open by an inch. It had warped58, and would not shut down. Bitterly Alessandro recollected59 how he had put off from day to day the planing of that window to make it shut tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he could hear all that was said. The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was a sensitive one, and her voice kindly60; but the man had the countenance of a brute61,—of a human brute. Why do we malign62 the so-called brute creation, making their names a unit of comparison for base traits which never one of them possessed63?
“It seems as if I never should get to rights in this world!” said the woman. Alessandro understood enough English to gather the meaning of what she said. He listened eagerly. “When will the next wagon get here?”
“I don't know,” growled64 her husband. “There's been a slide in that cursed canon, and blocked the road. They won't be here for several days yet. Hain't you got stuff enough round now? If you'd clear up what's here now, then 'twould be time enough to grumble65 because you hadn't got everything.”
“But, John,” she replied, “I can't clear up till the bureau comes, to put the things away in, and the bedstead. I can't seem to do anything.”
“You can grumble, I take notice,” he answered. “That's about all you women are good for, anyhow. There was a first-rate raw-hide bedstead in here. If Rothsaker hadn't been such a fool's to let those dogs of Indians carry off all their truck, we might have had that!”
The woman looked at him reproachfully, but did not speak for a moment. Then her cheeks flushed, and seeming unable to repress the speech, she exclaimed, “Well, I'm thankful enough he did let the poor things take their furniture. I'd never have slept a wink34 an that bedstead, I know, if it had ha' been left here. It's bad enough to take their houses this way!”
“Oh, you shut up your head for a blamed fool, will you!” cried the man. He was half drunk, his worst and most dangerous state. She glanced at him half timorously66, half indignantly, and turning to the children, began feeding the baby. At that second the other child looked up, and catching67 sight of the outline of Alessandro's head, cried out, “There's a man there! There, at the window!”
Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground, and held his breath. Had he imperilled all, brought danger on himself and Ramona, by yielding to this mad impulse to look once more inside the walls of his home? With a fearful oath, the half-drunken man exclaimed, “One of those damned Indians, I expect. I've seen several hangin' round to-day. We'll have to shoot two or three of 'em yet, before we're rid of 'em!” and he took his gun down from the pegs68 above the fireplace, and went to the door with it in his hand.
“Oh, don't fire, father, don't.” cried the woman. “They'll come and murder us all in our sleep if you do! Don't fire!” and she pulled him back by the sleeve.
Shaking her off, with another oath, he stepped across the threshold, and stood listening, and peering into the darkness. Alessandro's heart beat like a hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of Ramona, he would have sprung on the man, seized his gun, and killed him.
“I don't believe it was anybody, after all, father,” persisted the woman. “Bud's always seein' things. I don't believe there was anybody there. Come in; supper's gettin' all cold.”
“Well, I'll jest fire, to let 'em know there's powder 'n shot round here,” said the fiend. “If it hits any on 'em roamin' round, he won't know what hurt him;” and levelling his gun at random69, with his drunken, unsteady hand he fired. The bullet whistled away harmlessly into the empty darkness. Hearkening a few moments, and hearing no cry, he hiccuped70, “Mi-i-issed him that time,” and went in to his supper.
Alessandro did not dare to stir for a long time. How he cursed his own folly71 in having brought himself into this plight72! What needless pain of waiting he was inflicting73 on the faithful one, watching for him in that desolate74 and fearful place of graves! At last he ventured,—sliding along on his belly75 a few inches at a time, till, several rods from the house, he dared at last to spring to his feet and bound away at full speed for Hartsel's.
Hartsel's was one of those mongrel establishments to be seen nowhere except in Southern California. Half shop, half farm, half tavern76, it gathered up to itself all the threads of the life of the whole region. Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at Hartsel's, drank at Hartsel's, slept at Hartsel's. It was the only place of its kind within a radius77 of twenty miles; and it was the least bad place of its kind within a much wider radius.
Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow—when he was sober; but as that condition was not so frequent as it should have been, he sometimes came near being a very bad fellow indeed. At such times everybody was afraid of him,—wife, children, travellers, ranchmen, and all. “It was only a question of time and occasion,” they said, “Hartsel's killing78 somebody sooner or later;” and it looked as if the time were drawing near fast. But, out of his cups, Hartsel was kindly, and fairly truthful79; entertaining, too, to a degree which held many a wayfarer80 chained to his chair till small hours of the morning, listening to his landlord's talk. How he had drifted from Alsace to San Diego County, he could hardly have told in minute detail himself, there had been so many stages and phases of the strange journey; but he had come to his last halt now. Here, in this Temecula, he would lay his bones. He liked the country. He liked the wild life, and, for a wonder, he liked the Indians. Many a good word he spoke for them to travellers who believed no good of the race, and evidently listened with polite incredulity when he would say, as he often did: “I've never lost a dollar off these Indians yet. They do all their trading with me. There's some of them I trust as high's a hundred dollars. If they can't pay this year, they'll pay next; and if they die, their relations will pay their debts for them, a little at a time, till they've got it all paid off. They'll pay in wheat, or bring a steer81, maybe, or baskets or mats the women make; but they'll pay. They're honester 'n the general run of Mexicans about paying; I mean Mexicans that are as poor's they are.”
Hartsel's dwelling-house was a long, low adobe building, with still lower flanking additions, in which were bedrooms for travellers, the kitchen, and storerooms. The shop was a separate building, of rough planks82, a story and a half high, the loft83 of which was one great dormitory well provided with beds on the floor, but with no other article of bedroom furniture. They who slept in this loft had no fastidious standards of personal luxury. These two buildings, with some half-dozen out-houses of one sort and another, stood in an enclosure surrounded by a low white picket84 fence, which gave to the place a certain home-like look, spite of the neglected condition of the ground, which was bare sand, or sparsely85 tufted with weeds and wild grass. A few plants, parched86 and straggling, stood in pots and tin cans around the door of the dwelling-house. One hardly knew whether they made the place look less desolate or more so. But they were token of a woman's hand, and of a nature which craved87 something more than the unredeemed wilderness88 around her afforded.
A dull and lurid89 light streamed out from the wide-open door of the store. Alessandro drew cautiously near. The place was full of men, and he heard loud laughing and talking. He dared not go in. Stealing around to the rear, he leaped the fence, and went to the other house and opened the kitchen door. Here he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartsel had never any but Indian servants in her employ. The kitchen was lighted only by one dim candle. On the stove were sputtering90 and hissing91 all the pots and frying-pans it would hold. Much cooking was evidently going on for the men who were noisily rollicking in the other house.
Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In a few moments Mrs. Hartsel came hurrying back to her work. It was no uncommon92 experience to find an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim light she did not recognize Alessandro, but mistook him, as he sat bowed over, his head in his hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort of recognized hanger-on of the place, earning his living there by odd jobs of fetching and carrying, and anything else he could do.
“Run, Ramon,” she said, “and bring me more wood; this cotton wood is so dry, it burns out like rotten punk; I'm off my feet to-night, with all these men to cook for;” then turning to the table, she began cutting her bread, and did not see how tall and unlike Ramon was the man who silently rose and went out to do her bidding. When, a few moments later, Alessandro re-entered, bringing a huge armful of wood, which it would have cost poor old Ramon three journeys at least to bring, and throwing it down, on the hearth93, said, “Will that be enough, Mrs. Hartsel?” she gave a scream of surprise, and dropped her knife. “Why, who—” she began; then, seeing his face, her own lighting94 up with pleasure, she continued, “Alessandro! Is it you? Why, I took you in the dark for old Ramon! I thought you were in Pachanga.”
“In Pachanga!” Then as yet no one had come from the Senora Moreno's to Hartsel's in search of him and the Senorita Ramona! Alessandro's heart felt almost light in his bosom, From the one immediate95 danger he had dreaded, they were safe; but no trace of emotion showed on his face, and he did not raise his eyes as he replied; “I have been in Pachanga. My father is dead. I have buried him there.”
“Oh, Alessandro! Did he die?” cried the kindly woman, coming closer to Alessandro, and laying her hand on his shoulder. “I heard he was sick.” She paused; she did not know what to say. She had suffered so at the time of the ejectment of the Indians, that it had made her ill. For two days she had kept her doors shut and her windows close curtained, that she need not see the terrible sights. She was not a woman of many words. She was a Mexican, but there were those who said that some Indian blood ran in her veins96. This was not improbable; and it seemed more than ever probable now, as she stood still by Alessandro's side, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes fixed97 in distress98 on his face. How he had altered! How well she recollected his lithe99 figure, his alert motion, his superb bearing, his handsome face, when she last saw him in the spring!
“You were away all summer, Alessandro?” she said at last, turning back to her work.
“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 apathy100 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!”
Alas101, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance102. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining103 all disguises, “Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night. Wait till morning.”
“Till morning!” A groan104 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 revolved105 in his mind the idea of confiding106 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 mused107. “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 invincible108 repugnance109 withheld110 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 fumbling111 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 prosper112, 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 vehemently113. “I say so too; and so was Jose. That's just what I said at the time,—that bullets would not be half so inhuman114!”
The words had hardly left her lips, when the door from the dining-room burst open, and a dozen men, headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laughing, reeling into the kitchen.
“Where's supper! Give us our supper! What are you about with your Indian here? I'll teach you how to cook ham!” stammered115 Jim, making a lurch116 towards the stove. The men behind caught him and saved him. Eyeing the group with scorn, Mrs. Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in her body, said: “Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the table, I will bring in your supper immediately. It is all ready.”
One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone, led the rest back into the dining-room, where, seating themselves, they began to pound the table and swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs.
“Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro,” whispered Mrs. Hartsel, as she passed by him, standing117 like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred118 and contempt, fixed on the tipsy group. “You'd better go. There's no knowing what they'll do next.”
“Are you not afraid?” he said in a low tone.
“No!” she said. “I'm used to it. I can always manage Jim. And Ramon's round somewhere,—he and the bull-pups; if worse comes to worse, I can call the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are always the worst to get drunk. But you'd better get out of the way!”
“And these are the men that have stolen our lands, and killed my father, and Jose, and Carmena's baby!” thought Alessandro, as he ran swiftly back towards the graveyard. “And Father Salvierderra says, God is good. It must be the saints no longer pray to Him for us!”
But Alessandro's heart was too full of other thoughts, now, to dwell long on past wrongs, however bitter. The present called him too loudly. Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, knotted handkerchief, he thought: “Twenty dollars! It is not much! But it will buy food for many days for my Majella and for Baba!”
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1
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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2
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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3
reclaims
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| v.开拓( reclaim的第三人称单数 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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4
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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5
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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6
subterfuges
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| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
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7
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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8
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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9
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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10
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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12
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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13
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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14
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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15
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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16
regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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17
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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18
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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19
enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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20
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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21
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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24
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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25
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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26
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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27
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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28
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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29
shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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30
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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31
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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32
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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33
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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34
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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35
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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36
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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37
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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39
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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40
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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41
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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42
adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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43
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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44
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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45
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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46
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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47
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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48
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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49
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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50
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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51
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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52
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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54
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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55
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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56
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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57
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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58
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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59
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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61
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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62
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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63
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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64
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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65
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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66
timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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67
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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68
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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69
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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70
hiccuped
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| v.嗝( hiccup的过去式和过去分词 )；连续地打嗝；暂时性的小问题；短暂的停顿 | |
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71
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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72
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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73
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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74
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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75
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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76
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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77
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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78
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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79
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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80
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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81
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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82
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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83
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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84
picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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85
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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86
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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87
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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88
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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89
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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90
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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91
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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92
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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93
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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94
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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95
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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96
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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97
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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98
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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99
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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100
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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101
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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102
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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103
disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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104
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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105
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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106
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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107
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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108
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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109
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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110
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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111
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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112
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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113
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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114
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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115
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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117
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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118
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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