Heart of the West Part 25

"But then," she murmured in liquid Spanish, "I had not beheld thee, thou great, red mountain of a man! And thou art kind and good, as well as strong. Could one choose him, knowing thee? Let him die; for then I will not be filled with fear by day and night lest he hurt thee or me."

"How can I know when he comes?" asked Sandridge.

"When he comes," said Tonia, "he remains two days, sometimes three.

Gregorio, the small son of old Luisa, the _lavendera_ [74], has a swift pony. I will write a letter to thee and send it by him, saying how it will be best to come upon him. By Gregorio will the letter come.

And bring many men with thee, and have much care, oh, dear red one, for the rattlesnake is not quicker to strike than is '_El Chivato_,'

[75] as they call him, to send a ball from his _pistola_."

[FOOTNOTE 74: lavendera--(Spanish) laundress, washerwoman]

[FOOTNOTE 75: El Chivato--(Spanish) literally translated as The Sneak or The Informer but more likely meaning The Villain or The Evil One. This was one of the nicknames of Billy the Kid.]

"The Kid's handy with his gun, sure enough," admitted Sandridge, "but when I come for him I shall come alone. I'll get him by myself or not at all. The Cap wrote one or two things to me that make me want to do the trick without any help. You let me know when Mr. Kid arrives, and I'll do the rest."

"I will send you the message by the boy Gregorio," said the girl. "I knew you were braver than that small slayer of men who never smiles.

How could I ever have thought I cared for him?"

It was time for the ranger to ride back to his camp on the water hole.

Before he mounted his horse he raised the slight form of Tonia with one arm high from the earth for a parting salute. The drowsy stillness of the torpid summer air still lay thick upon the dreaming afternoon.

The smoke from the fire in the _jacal_, where the _frijoles_ [76]

blubbered in the iron pot, rose straight as a plumb-line above the clay-daubed chimney. No sound or movement disturbed the serenity of the dense pear thicket ten yards away.

[FOOTNOTE 76: frijoles--(Spanish) beans, usually cooked a long time until very soft, with various seasonings added]

When the form of Sandridge had disappeared, loping his big dun down the steep banks of the Frio crossing, the Kid crept back to his own horse, mounted him, and rode back along the tortuous trail he had come.

But not far. He stopped and waited in the silent depths of the pear until half an hour had pa.s.sed. And then Tonia heard the high, untrue notes of his unmusical singing coming nearer and nearer; and she ran to the edge of the pear to meet him.

The Kid seldom smiled; but he smiled and waved his hat when he saw her. He dismounted, and his girl sprang into his arms. The Kid looked at her fondly. His thick, black hair clung to his head like a wrinkled mat. The meeting brought a slight ripple of some undercurrent of feeling to his smooth, dark face that was usually as motionless as a clay mask.

"How's my girl?" he asked, holding her close.

"Sick of waiting so long for you, dear one," she answered. "My eyes are dim with always gazing into that devil's pincus.h.i.+on through which you come. And I can see into it such a little way, too. But you are here, beloved one, and I will not scold. _Que mal muchacho_ [77]! not to come to see your _alma_ [78] more often. Go in and rest, and let me water your horse and stake him with the long rope. There is cool water in the jar for you."

[FOOTNOTE 77: Que mal muchacho!--(Spanish) What a bad boy!]

[FOOTNOTE 78: alma--(Spanish) soul, spirit; in this sense a "soul-mate"]

The Kid kissed her affectionately.

"Not if the court knows itself do I let a lady stake my horse for me,"

said he. "But if you'll run in, _chica_ [79], and throw a pot of coffee together while I attend to the _caballo_ [80], I'll be a good deal obliged."

[FOOTNOTE 79: chica--(Spanish) girl, little one]

[FOOTNOTE 80: caballo--(Spanish) horse]

Besides his marksmans.h.i.+p the Kid had another attribute for which he admired himself greatly. He was _muy caballero_ [81], as the Mexicans express it, where the ladies were concerned. For them he had always gentle words and consideration. He could not have spoken a harsh word to a woman. He might ruthlessly slay their husbands and brothers, but he could not have laid the weight of a finger in anger upon a woman.

Wherefore many of that interesting division of humanity who had come under the spell of his politeness declared their disbelief in the stories circulated about Mr. Kid. One shouldn't believe everything one heard, they said. When confronted by their indignant men folk with proof of the _caballero's_ deeds of infamy, they said maybe he had been driven to it, and that he knew how to treat a lady, anyhow.

[FOOTNOTE 81: muy caballero--(Spanish) very much a gentleman]

Considering this extremely courteous idiosyncrasy of the Kid and the pride he took in it, one can perceive that the solution of the problem that was presented to him by what he saw and heard from his hiding-place in the pear that afternoon (at least as to one of the actors) must have been obscured by difficulties. And yet one could not think of the Kid overlooking little matters of that kind.

At the end of the short twilight they gathered around a supper of _frijoles_, goat steaks, canned peaches, and coffee, by the light of a lantern in the _jacal_. Afterward, the ancestor, his flock corralled, smoked a cigarette and became a mummy in a grey blanket. Tonia washed the few dishes while the Kid dried them with the flour-sacking towel.

Her eyes shone; she chatted volubly of the inconsequent happenings of her small world since the Kid's last visit; it was as all his other home-comings had been.

Then outside Tonia swung in a gra.s.s hammock with her guitar and sang sad _canciones de amor_ [82].

[FOOTNOTE 82: canciones de amor--(Spanish) love songs]

"Do you love me just the same, old girl?" asked the Kid, hunting for his cigarette papers.

"Always the same, little one," said Tonia, her dark eyes lingering upon him.

"I must go over to Fink's," said the Kid, rising, "for some tobacco. I thought I had another sack in my coat. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour."

"Hasten," said Tonia, "and tell me--how long shall I call you my own this time? Will you be gone again to-morrow, leaving me to grieve, or will you be longer with your Tonia?"

"Oh, I might stay two or three days this trip," said the Kid, yawning.

"I've been on the dodge for a month, and I'd like to rest up."

He was gone half an hour for his tobacco. When he returned Tonia was still lying in the hammock.

"It's funny," said the Kid, "how I feel. I feel like there was somebody lying behind every bush and tree waiting to shoot me. I never had mullygrubs like them before. Maybe it's one of them presumptions.

I've got half a notion to light out in the morning before day. The Guadalupe country is burning up about that old Dutchman I plugged down there."

"You are not afraid--no one could make my brave little one fear."

"Well, I haven't been usually regarded as a jack-rabbit when it comes to sc.r.a.pping; but I don't want a posse smoking me out when I'm in your _jacal_. Somebody might get hurt that oughtn't to."

"Remain with your Tonia; no one will find you here."

The Kid looked keenly into the shadows up and down the arroyo and toward the dim lights of the Mexican village.

"I'll see how it looks later on," was his decision.

At midnight a horseman rode into the rangers' camp, blazing his way by noisy "halloes" to indicate a pacific mission. Sandridge and one or two others turned out to investigate the row. The rider announced himself to be Domingo Sales, from the Lone Wolf Crossing. he bore a letter for Senor Sandridge. Old Luisa, the _lavendera_, had persuaded him to bring it, he said, her son Gregorio being too ill of a fever to ride.

Sandridge lighted the camp lantern and read the letter. These were its words:

_Dear One_: He has come. Hardly had you ridden away when he came out of the pear. When he first talked he said he would stay three days or more. Then as it grew later he was like a wolf or a fox, and walked about without rest, looking and listening. Soon he said he must leave before daylight when it is dark and stillest. And then he seemed to suspect that I be not true to him. He looked at me so strange that I am frightened. I swear to him that I love him, his own Tonia. Last of all he said I must prove to him I am true. He thinks that even now men are waiting to kill him as he rides from my house. To escape he says he will dress in my clothes, my red skirt and the blue waist I wear and the brown mantilla over the head, and thus ride away. But before that he says that I must put on his clothes, his _pantalones_ and _camisa_ [83] and hat, and ride away on his horse from the _jacal_ as far as the big road beyond the crossing and back again. This before he goes, so he can tell if I am true and if men are hidden to shoot him. It is a terrible thing. An hour before daybreak this is to be.

Come, my dear one, and kill this man and take me for your Tonia. Do not try to take hold of him alive, but kill him quickly. Knowing all, you should do that. You must come long before the time and hide yourself in the little shed near the _jacal_ where the wagon and saddles are kept. It is dark in there. He will wear my red skirt and blue waist and brown mantilla. I send you a hundred kisses.

Come surely and shoot quickly and straight.

[FOOTNOTE 83: pantalones and camisa--(Spanish) trousers and s.h.i.+rt]