They were always going, going--never stopping, hurrying on to the gold mines, hurrying away from the gold mines, hurrying to look for other gold mines: but always going on foot, on horseback, in queer wagons--hurrying, pushing everywhere.Ah, it took away the breath.
All, except one American--he did not hurry, he did not go with the others, he came and stayed here at Buenaventura.He was very quiet, very civil, very sad, and very discreet.He was not like the others, and always kept aloof from them.He came to see Don Andreas Pico, and wanted to beg a piece of land and an old vaquero's hut near the road for a trifle.Don Andreas would have given it, or a better house, to him, or have had him live at the casa here; but he would not.He was very proud and shy, so he took the vaquero's hut, a mere adobe affair, and lived in it, though a caballero like yourself, with white hands that knew not labor, and small feet that had seldom walked.In good time he learned to ride like the best vaquero, and helped Don Andreas to find the lost mustangs, and showed him how to improve the old mill.And his pride and his shyness wore off, and he would come to the casa sometimes.And Don Andreas got to love him very much, and his daughter, Dona Rosita--ah, well, yes truly--a leetle.
"But he had strange moods and ways, this American, and at times they would have thought him a lunatico had they not believed it to be an American fashion.He would be very kind and gentle like one of the family, coming to the casa every day, playing with the children, advising Don Andreas and--yes--having a devotion--very discreet, very ceremonious, for Dona Rosita.And then, all in a moment, he would become as ill, without a word or gesture, until he would stalk out of the house, gallop away furiously, and for a week not be heard of.The first time it happened, Dona Rosita was piqued by his rudeness, Don Andreas was alarmed, for it was on an evening like the present, and Dona Rosita was teaching him a little song on the guitar when the fit came on him.And he snapped the guitar strings like thread and threw it down, and got up like a bear and walked away without a word.""I see it all," said Demorest, half seriously: "you were coquetting with him, and he was jealous."But Dona Rosita shook her head and turned impetuously, and said in English to Joan:
"No, it was astutcia--a trick, a ruse.Because when my father have arrived at his house, he is agone.And so every time.When he have the fit he goes not to his house.No.And it ees not until after one time when he comes back never again, that we have comprehend what he do at these times.And what do you think? Ishall tell to you."
She composed herself comfortably, with her plump elbows on her knees, and her fan crossed on the palm of her hand before her, and began again:
"It is a year he has gone, and the stagecoach is attack of brigands.Tiburcio, our vaquero, have that night made himself a pasear on the road, and he have seen HIM.He have seen, one, two, three men came from the wood with something on the face, and HE is of them.He has nothing on his face, and Tiburcio have recognize him.We have laugh at Tiburcio.We believe him not.It is improbable that this Senor Huanson--""Senor who?" said Demorest.
"Huanson--eet is the name of him.Ah, Carr!--posiblemente it is nothing--a Don Fulano--or an apodo--Huanson.""Oh, I see, JOHNSON, very likely."
"We have said it is not possible that this good man, who have come to the house and ride on his back the children, is a thief and a brigand.And one night my father have come from the Monterey in the coach, and it was stopped.And the brigands have take from the passengers the money, the rings from the finger, and the watch--and my father was of the same.And my father, he have great dissatisfaction and anguish, for his watch is given to him of an old friend, and it is not like the other watch.But the watch he go all the same.And then when the robbers have made a finish comes to the window of the coach a mascara and have say, 'Who is the Don Andreas Pico?' And my father have say, 'It is I who am Don Andreas Pico.' And the mask have say, 'Behold, your watch is restore!' and he gif it to him.And my father say, 'To whom have Ithe distinguished honor to thank?' And the mask say--""Johnson," interrupted Demorest.
"No," said Dona Rosita in grave triumph, "he say Essmith.For this Essmith is like Huanson--an apodo--nothing.""Then you really think this man was your old friend?" asked Demorest.
"I think."
"And that he was a robber even when living here--and that it was not your cruelty that really drove him to take the road?"Dona Rosita shrugged her plump shoulders."You will not comprehend.It was because of his being a brigand that he stayed not with us.My father would not have object if he have present himself to me for marriage in these times.I would not have object, for I was young, and we have knew nothing.It was he who have object.For why? Inside of his heart he have feel he was a brigand.""But you might have reformed him in time," said Demorest.
