A Daughter of the Dons by William MacLeod Raine

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"It is Don Manuel Pesquiera," explained Sebastian. "I brought him here
to help us out of this trouble we are in. Let him in and I will tell you
all."

For an instant Pablo suspected that his accomplice had sold him, but he
dismissed the thought almost at once. He had known Sebastian all his
life. He stepped aside and let Pesquiera come into the hall.

The three men talked for a few minutes and then passed into the bedroom
where the prisoner was confined. Evidently this had formerly been the
apartment of the cook, who had slept in the basement in order no doubt
to be nearer her work. Pesquiera looked around and at last made out a
figure in the darkness lying upon the bed.

He stepped forward, observing that the man on the bed had his hands
bound. Bending down, he recognized the face of Gordon. Beaten and
bruised and gaunt from hunger it was, but the eyes still gleamed with
the same devil-may-care smile.

"Happy to meet you, Don Manuel."

The Spaniard's heart glowed with admiration. He did not like the man. It
was his intention to fight him as soon as possible for the insult that
had been put upon him some weeks earlier. But his spirit always answered
to the call of courage, and Gordon's pluck was so debonair he could not
refuse a reluctant appreciation.

"I regret to see you thus, Mr. Gordon," he said.

"Might have been worse. Sebastian has had se-vere-al notions about
putting me out of business. I'm lucky to be still kicking."

"I have come from Miss Valdes. She came to Santa Fe when she heard from
your friend Mr. Davis that you had disappeared. To-night we saw
Sebastian for the first time. He brought me here."

"Good of him," commented Dick ironically.

"You will be freed of course--at once." Manuel drew out his knife and
cut the cords that bound the prisoner. "But I must ask your forbearance
in behalf of Sebastian and Pablo and the others that have injured you.
May I give them your pledge not to appear as a witness against them for
what they have done?"

"Fine! I'm to be mauled and starved and kidnaped, but I'm to say 'Thank
you kindly' for these small favors, hoping for a continuance of the
same. You have another guess coming, Mr. Pesquiera. I offered those
terms two days ago. They weren't accepted. My ideas have changed. I'm
going to put your friends behind the bars--unless you decide to let them
murder me instead. I've been the goat long enough."

"Your complaint is just, Mr. Gordon. It iss your right to enforce the
law. Most certainly it iss your right. But consider my position.
Sebastian brought me here only upon my pledge to secure from you a
promise not to press your rights. What shall I do? I must see that you
are released. That goes without saying. But shall I break faith with him
and let him be delivered to justice? I have given my word, remember."

Gordon looked up at him with his lean jaw set. "You couldn't give _my_
word, could you? Very well. Go away. Forget that you've seen me. I'll be
a clam so far as you are concerned. But if I get free I'm going to make
things hot for these lads that think they can play Ned with me. They're
going to the pen, every last one of them. I'm going to see this thing
out to a finish and find out if there's any law in New Mexico."

Manuel stiffened. "You put me in an awkward position, Mr. Gordon. I have
no choice but to see you are set at liberty. But my honor is involved.
These men shall not go to prison. They have made a serious mistake, but
they are not what you call criminals. You know well----"

"I know that they and their friends have shot at me, ambushed me, beaten
me, and starved me. They've been wanting to kill me ever since they got
me here--at least one of them has--but they just didn't have the guts to
do it. What is your definition of a criminal anyhow? Your friends here
fill the specifications close enough to suit me. I ain't worried about
their being too good for the company they'll join at the pen."

"You are then resolve', _Senor_?"

"That's what I am. I'm going to see they get the limit. I've not got a
thing against you, Mr. Pesquiera, and I'd like to oblige you if I could.
But I'm playing this hand myself."

The Spaniard spoke to him in a low voice. "These men are the people of
Miss Valdes. She drove all night across the mountains to get here sooner
when she found you were gone. She offered and paid a reward of one
hundred dollars to help find you. Do you not owe something to her?"

"I owe one hundred dollars and my thanks, sir. I'll pay them both. But
Miss Valdes cannot ask me to give up prosecuting these men because she
would not stand back and see murder done."

"Will you then leave it to her to punish these men?"

"No. I pay my own debts."

Manuel was troubled. He had expected to find the prisoner so eager for
release that he would consent at once to his proposal. Instead, he found
a man hard and cold as steel. Yet he had to admit that Gordon claimed
only his rights. No man could be expected to stand without an appeal to
the law such outrageous treatment as he had been given.

"Will you consent then to settle the matter with me, man to man? These
men are but peons. They are like cattle and do not think. But I--I am a
more worthy foeman. Let me take the burden of their misdeeds on my
shoulders."

Dick wagged a forefinger at him warningly. "Now you've got that
swashbuckler notion of a duel again. I'm no cavalier of Spain, but a
plain American business man, Don Quixote. As for these jail-birds"--his
hand swept the room to include the Mexicans--"since I'm an unregenerate
human I mean to make 'em pay for what they've done. That's all there is
to it."

Don Manuel bowed. "Very good, Mr. Gordon. We shall see. I promise you
that I shall stand between them and prison. I offer you a chance to win
the friendship of the Mexicans in the valley. You decline. So be it. I
wash my hands, sir."

He turned away and gave directions to Pablo, who left the room at once.
The Spaniard called for candles and lit two. He pointedly ignored
Gordon, but sat with his hands in his pockets whistling softly a popular
air.

About a quarter of an hour later Pablo returned with a hot meal on a
tray. Gordon, having done without food for two days, ate his ham and
eggs and drank his coffee with an appetite given to few men. Meanwhile
Pesquiera withdrew to the passage and laid down an ultimatum to the
Mexicans. They must take horse at once and get back to the hills above
the Rio Chama Valley. He would bring saddle horses from a stable so that
they could start within the hour and travel all night.

The Mexicans listened sullenly. But they knew that the matter was now
out of their hands. Since the arrival of Pesquiera it had become
manifestly impossible to hold their prisoner longer. They agreed to the
plan of the Spaniard reluctantly.

After Pablo and Sebastian had taken horse Pesquiera returned to the
prisoner.

"We will, if it pleases you, move upstairs, Mr. Gordon," he announced.
"To-night I must ask you to remain in the house with me to give those
poor fools a little start on their ride for freedom. We shall find
better beds upstairs no doubt."

"They're hitting the trail, are they?" Dick asked negligently as he
followed his guide.

"Yes. If you'll give me your parole till morning, Mr. Gordon, I shall be
able to return to Miss Valdes and let her know that all is well.
Otherwise I shall be obliged to sit up and see that you do not get
active in interfering with the ride of Pablo and his friend."

"I'll stay here till seven o'clock to-morrow morning. Is that late
enough? Then I'll see the sheriff and start things moving."

Pesquiera bowed in his grand, formal manner. "The terms satisfy. I wish
Mr. Gordon a very good night's sleep. This room formerly belonged to the
brother of Miss Valdes. It is curious, but she was here airing this room
only to-day. She did not know you were in the house at the time. _Adios,
Senor._"

"Good night, Mr. Pesquiera. I reckon I'm in your debt quite a bit. Sorry
we couldn't agree about this little matter of what to do with the boys."

Manuel bowed again and withdrew from the room.

Inside of ten minutes Gordon was fast asleep.

CHAPTER XIX

VALENCIA ACCEPTS A RING

Manuel found Valencia pacing up and down the porch of the hotel in a
fever of impatience. Instantly at sight of him she ran forward quickly.

"Where have you been? What have you done with Sebastian? Why did you
leave without telling me about it?" she demanded.

"One question at a time, my cousin," he answered, smiling at her. "But
let us walk while I tell you."

She fell into step beside him, moving with the strong, lissom tread that
came from controlled and deliberate power.

"What is it you have to tell? If you were called away, why did you not
leave a message for me?" she asked, a little imperiously.

"I wasn't called away, Valencia. You were excited and angry. My opinion
was that Sebastian would speak if the matter was put to him right. So I
cut the rope that tied him and we ran away through the back door of the
hotel."

Her dark eyes, proud and passionate, began to smoulder. But the voice
with which she answered him was silken smooth.

"I see. You pretended to be working with me--and then you betrayed me.
Is that it?"

"If you like," he said with a little shrug. "I backed my judgment
against your impatience. And it turns out that I was right."

"How? What has happened? Where is Sebastian?"

"He is galloping toward the hills as fast as he can--at least I hope he
is. What happened is that he told me where Gordon is hidden."

"Where?"

"At your house. When you were there to-day you must have passed within
twenty feet of him."

"But--do you mean that Pablo and Sebastian took him there?"

"Exactly. They did not foresee that you would come to town, Valencia."
He added, after a moment: "I have seen Mr. Gordon, talked with him, and
released him. At this moment he is in your brother's room, probably
asleep."

All the sharpness had died out of the young woman's voice when she
turned to her cousin and spoke with a humility rare to her.

"Forgive me, Manuel. I always know best about everything. I drive ahead
and must have my own way, even when it is not the wise one. You did just
right to ignore me."

She laid her hand on his coat sleeve pleadingly, and he lifted it to his
lips.

"_Nina_ ... the Queen can do no wrong. But I saw you were driving
Sebastian to stubbornness. I tried to let him see we meant to be his
friends if he would let us."

"Yes, you were right. Tell me everything, please." She paused just a
moment before she said quietly: "But first, what about Mr. Gordon? He is
... uninjured?"

"Beaten and mauled and starved, but still of the gayest courage,"
answered the Spaniard with enthusiasm. "Did I not say that he was a
hero? My cousin, I say it again. The fear of death is not in his heart."

He did not see the gleam in her dark eyes, the flush that beat into her
dusky face. "Starved as well as beaten, Manuel?"

"They were trying to force him to give up his claim to the valley. But
he--as I live the American is hard as Gibraltar."

"They dared to starve him--to torture him. I shall see that they are
punished," she cried with the touch of feminine ferocity that is the
heritage of the south.

"No need, Valencia," returned Pesquiera with a dry little laugh. "Mr.
Gordon has promised himself to attend to that."

He told her the story from first to last. Intently she listened, scarce
breathing until he had finished.

Manuel had told the tale with scrupulous fairness, but already her
sympathies were turning.

"And he wouldn't agree not to prosecute?" she asked.

"No. It is his right to do so if he likes, Valencia."

She brushed this aside with an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh, his
right! Doesn't he owe something to us--to me--and especially to you?"

"No, he owes me nothing. What I did was done for you, and not for him,"
the Spaniard replied instantly.

"Then to me at least he is in debt. I shall ask him to drop the
prosecution."

"He is what his people call straight. But he is hard--hard as jade."

They were walking along a dark lane unlighted save by the stars.
Valencia turned to him impetuously.

"Manuel, you are good. You do not like this man, but you save him
because--because my heart is torn when my people do wrong. For me you
take much trouble--you risk much. How can I thank you?"

"_Nina mia_, I am thanked if you are pleased. It is your love I seek,
Heart of mine." He spoke tremulously, taking her hands in his.

For the beat of a heart she hesitated. "You have it. Have I not given my
word that--after the American was saved----?"

He kissed her. Hers was a virginal soul, but full-blooded. An
unsuspected passion beat in her veins. Not for nothing did she have the
deep, languorous eyes, the perfect scarlet lips, the sumptuous grace of
an artist's ideal. Fires lay banked within her in spite of the fine
purity of her nature. Nature had poured into her symmetrical mold a rich
abundance of what we call sex.

The kisses of Manuel stirred within her new and strange emotions, though
she accepted rather than returned them. A faint vague unease chilled her
heart. Was it because she had been immodest in letting him so far have
his way?

When they returned to the hotel Manuel's ring was on her finger. She was
definitely engaged to him.

It was long before she slept. She thought of Manuel, the man chosen it
seemed by Fate to be her mate. But she thought, too, of the lithe,
broad-shouldered young American whose eyes could be so tender and again
so hard. Why was it he persisted in filling her mind so much of the
time? Why did she both admire him and resent his conduct, trust him to
the limit one hour and distrust the next? Why was it that he--an
unassuming American without any heroics--rather than her affianced lover
seemed to radiate romance as he moved? She liked Manuel very much, she
respected him greatly, trusted him wholly, but--it was this curly-headed
youth of her mother's race that set her heart beating fast a dozen times
a day.

She resolved resolutely to put him out of her mind. Had he not proved
himself unworthy by turning the head of Juanita, whom he could not
possibly expect to marry? Was not Manuel in every way worthy of her
love? Her finger touched the diamond ring upon her hand. She would keep
faith in thought as well as in word and deed.

At last she fell asleep--and dreamed of a blond, gray-eyed youth
fighting for his life against a swarm of attacking Mexicans.

CHAPTER XX

DICK LIGHTS A CIGARETTE

Gordon met Miss Valdes in the El Tovar dining-room next morning. He was
trying at the same time to tell Davis the story of his kidnaping and to
eat a large rare steak with French-fried potatoes. The young man had
chosen a seat that faced the door. The instant his eyes fell upon her he
gave up both the story and the steak. Putting aside his napkin, he rose
to meet her.

She had fallen asleep thinking of him, her dreams had been full of his
vivid personality, and she had wakened to an eager longing for the sight
of his gay, mocking eyes. But she had herself under such good control
that nobody could have guessed how fast her heart was beating as her
fingers touched his.

"We are glad your adventure is ended, Mr. Gordon, and that it has turned
out no worse. Probably Mr. Davis has told you that he and I got our
heads together a great many times a day," she said, a little formally.

"You were mighty good to take so much interest in such a scalawag," he
answered warmly.

The color deepened ever so little in her face. "I couldn't let my men
commit murder under the impression they were doing me a service," she
explained lightly. "There are several things I want to talk over with
you. Can you call on me this morning, Mr. Gordon?"

"Can I?"

He put the question so forcefully that she smiled and dashed a bucket of
cold water over his enthusiasm.

"If you'll be so good then. And bring Mr. Davis along with you, please.
He'll keep us from quarreling too much."

"I'll throw him out of the window if he don't behave right," Davis
promised joyfully. He was happy to-day, and he did not care who knew it.

Valencia passed on to her table, and Dick resumed his seat. He had a
strong interest in this young woman, but even the prospect of a talk
with her could not make him indifferent to the rare steak and
French-fried potatoes before him. He was a healthy normal American in
his late twenties, and after several days of starvation well-cooked food
looked very good to him.

"There's some mail waiting for you upstairs--one of the letters is a
registered one, mailed at Corbett's," his friend told him as they rose
to leave. He was like a hen with one chick in his eagerness to supply
Dick's wants and in his reluctance to let Gordon out of his sight.

The registered letter was the one Valencia had sent him, inclosing the
one written by her grandfather to her father. Her contrite little note
went straight to his emotions. If not in words, at least in spirit, it
pleaded for pardon. Even the telegram she had wired implied an
undeniable interest in him. Dick went with a light heart to the
interview she had appointed him.

He slipped an arm through that of Davis. "Come on, you old bald-headed
chaperone. Didn't you hear the lady give you a bid to her party this
mo'ning? Get a move on you."

"Ain't you going to let her invite get cold before you butt in?"
retorted Steve amiably.

Valencia took away from the dining-room a heart at war with itself. The
sight of his gaunt face, carrying the scars of many wounds and the lines
marked by hunger, stirred insurgent impulses. The throb of passion and
of the sweet protective love that is at the bottom of every woman's
tenderness suffused her cheeks with warm life and made her eyes
wonderful. Out of the grave he had come back to her, this indomitable
foe who played the game with such gay courage. It was useless to tell
herself that she was plighted to a better man, a worthier one. Scamp he
might be, but Dick Gordon held her heart in the hollow of his strong
brown hand.

Some impulse of shyness, perhaps of reluctance, had restrained her from
wearing Manuel's ring at breakfast. But when she returned to her room
she went straight to the desk where she had locked it and put the
solitaire on her finger. The fear of disloyalty drove her back to her
betrothed from the enticement of forbidden thoughts. She must put
Richard Gordon out of her mind. It was worse than madness to be dreaming
of him now that she was plighted to another.

Gordon, coming eagerly to meet her, found a young woman more reserved,
more distant. He was conscious of this even before his eyes stopped at
the engagement ring sparkling on her finger, the visible evidence that
his rival had won.

"You have been treated cruelly, Mr. Gordon. Tell me that you are again
all right," she said, the color flooding her face at the searching
question of his eyes.

"Right as a rivet, thanks. It is to you I owe my freedom, I suppose."

"To Manuel," she corrected. "His judgment was better than mine."

"I can believe that. He didn't ride all night across dangerous mountain
roads to save me."

"Oh, that!" She tossed off his thanks with a little shrug. "They are so
impulsive, my boys ... like children, you know.... I was a little afraid
they might----"

"I was a little afraid myself they might," he agreed dryly. "But when
you say children--well, don't you think wolves is a more accurate term
for them?"

"Oh, no--no!" Her protest was quick, eager, imperative. "You don't know
how loyal they can be--how faithful. They are really just like children,
so impulsive--so unreasoning."

"Afraid I can't enthuse with you on that subject for a day or two yet,"
he answered with a laugh. "Truth is I found their childlike impulses
both painful and annoying. Next time you see them you might mention that
I'm liable to have an impulse of my own they won't enjoy."

"That's one of the things I want to talk with you about. Manuel says you
mean to prosecute. I hope you won't. They're friends of mine. They
thought they were helping me. Of course I have no claim on you, but----"

"You have a claim, Miss Valdes. We'll take that up presently. Just now
we're talking about a couple of criminals due for a term in the
penitentiary. I offered them terms. They wouldn't accept. Good enough.
They'll have to stand the gaff, I reckon."

She realized at once there was no use arguing with him. The steel in his
eyes told her he had made up his mind and was not to be moved. But she
could not desert her foolish dependents.

"I know. What you say is quite true, but--I'll have to come to some
agreement with you. I can't let them be punished for their loyalty to
me."

Her direct, unflinching look, its fearlessness, won his admiration. In
her slim suppleness, vibrant, feminine to the finger tips, alluring with
the unconscious appeal of sex, there was a fine courage to face frankly
essential facts. But he was a hard man to move once he had made up his
mind. For all his frivolous impudence and his boyish good nature, he
knew his own mind, and held to it with the stiffness characteristic of
outdoor Westerners.

"You're not in this, Miss Valdes. I'll settle my own accounts with your
friends Sebastian and Pablo."

"But even for your own sake----" She stopped, intuitively aware that
this was not the ground upon which to treat with him. He would never
drop the charges against the Mexicans merely because there was danger in
pressing them.

"I reckon I'll have to try to look out for myself. Maybe next time I
won't be so easy a mark," he answered with an almost insolent laugh.

Valencia was a little puzzled. Things were not going right, and she did
not quite know the reason. There was just a touch of bitterness in his
voice, of aloofness in his manner. She did not know that the sight of
the solitaire sparkling on her left hand stirred in him the impulse to
hurt her, to refuse rather than concede her requests.

"You're not going to push the cases against Pablo and Sebastian and
still try to live in the valley, are you?" she asked, beginning to feel
a little irritation at him.

"That's just what I'm going to do."

"You mustn't. I won't have it. Don't you see what my people will think,
that because Pablo and Sebastian were loyal to me----"

His acrid smile cut her sentence in two. "That's about the third time
you've mentioned their loyalty. Me, I don't see it. Sebastian owns land
under the Valdes grant. He didn't want me to take it from him. Mr. Pablo
Menendez--well, he had private reasons of his own, too."

The resentment flamed in her heart. If he was shameless enough to refer
to the affair with Juanita she would let him know that she knew.

"What were his reasons, Mr. Gordon--that is, if they are not a private
affair between you and him?"

"Not at all." The steel-blue eyes met hers, steadily. Dick was yielding
to a desire to hurt himself as well as her, to defy her judgment if she
had no better sense than to condemn him. "The idiot is jealous."

"Jealous--why?" The angry color beat its way to the surface above her
cheek bones. Her disdain was regal.

"About Juanita."

"What about Juanita?"

"The usual thing, Miss Valdes. He was afraid she had the bad taste to
prefer another man to himself."

Davis broke in. "Now, don't you be a goat, Dick. Miss Valdes, he----"

"If you please, Mr. Davis. I'm quite sure Mr. Gordon is able to defend
himself," she replied scornfully.

"Didn't know I _was_ defending myself. What's the charge against me?"
asked the young miner with a touch of quiet insolence.

"There isn't any--if you don't see what it is. And you're quite right,
Mr. Gordon. Your difficulties with Pablo are none of my business. You'll
have to settle them yourselves--with Juanita's help. May I ask whether
you received the registered letter I sent you, Mr. Gordon?"

Dick was angry. Her cool contempt told him that he had been condemned.
He knew that he was acting like an irresponsible schoolboy, but he would
not justify himself. She might think what she liked.

"Found it waiting for me this morning, Miss Valdes."

"It was very fair and generous of you to send me the letter, I recognize
that fully. But of course I can't accept such a sacrifice," she told him
stiffly.

"Not necessary you should. Object if I smoke here?"

Valencia was a little surprised. He had never before offered to smoke in
the house except at her suggestion. "As you please, Mr. Gordon. Why
should I object?"

From his coat pocket Dick took the letter Don Bartolome had written to
his son, and from his vest pocket a match. He twisted the envelope into
a spill, lit one end, and found a cigarette. Very deliberately he puffed
the cigarette to a glow, holding the letter in his fingers until it had
burned to a black flake. This he dropped in the fireplace, and along
with it the unsmoked cigarette.

[Illustration: Holding the letter in his fingers until it had burned to
a black flake]

"Easiest way to settle that little matter," he said negligently.

"I judge you're a little impulsive, too, sometimes, Mr. Gordon,"
Valencia replied coldly.

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