A Daughter of the Dons by William MacLeod Raine

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"No--no! I will not have it, Pablo. You do not know. This _Senor_ Gordon
is good. He would not drive us away." Her arms slid around the neck of
her lover and she pleaded with him impetuously. "You must not let them
hurt him, for it is a kind heart he has."

"Why should I interfere? He is only a gringo. Let him die. I tell you he
means harm to all of us."

"I do not know my Pablo when he talks like this. My Pablo was always
kind and good and of a soft heart. I do not love him when he is cruel."

"It is then that you love the American," he cried. "Did I not know it?
Did I not say so?"

"You say much that is foolish, _muchacho_. The American is a stranger to
me ... and you are Pablo. But how can I love you when your heart is full
of cruelty and jealousy and revenge? Go to the Blessed Virgin and
confess before the good priest your sins, _amigo_."

"_Amigo!_ Since when have I been friend to you and not lover, Juanita? I
know well for how long--since this gringo with the white face crossed
your trail."

Suddenly she flung away from him. "_Muy bien!_ You shall think as you
please. Adios, my friend with the head of a donkey! _Adios, icabron!_"

She was gone, light as the wind, flying with swift feet down the trail
to the house. Sulkily he waited for her to come out again, but the girl
did not appear. He gave her a full half hour before he swung to the
saddle and turned the head of his pony toward the Valdes' hacienda. A
new and poignant bitterness surged in his heart. Had this stranger, who
was bringing trouble to the whole valley, come between him and little
Juanita, whom he had loved since they had been children? Had he stolen
her heart with his devilish wiles? The hard glitter in the black eyes of
the Mexican told that he would punish him if this were true.

His younger brother Pedro took the horse from him as he rode into the
ranch plaza an hour later.

"You are to go to the _senorita_ at once and tell her how the gringo is,
Pablo." After a moment he added sullenly: "_Maldito_, how is the son of
a thief?"

"Sick, Pedro, sick unto death. The devil, as you say, may take him yet
without any aid from us," answered Pablo Menendez brusquely.

"Why does the _senorita_ send you every day to find out how he is? Can
she not telephone? And why should she care what becomes of the traitor?"
demanded Pedro angrily.

His brother shrugged. "How should I know?" He had troubles enough with
the fancies of another woman without bothering about those of the
_senorita_.

Valencia Valdes was on the porch waiting for her messenger.

"How is he, Pablo? Did you see the doctor and talk with him? What does
he say?"

"_Si, senorita_. I saw Doctor Watson and he send you this letter. They
say the American is a sick man--oh, very, very sick!"

The young woman dismissed him with a nod and hurried to her room. She
read the letter from the doctor and looked out of one of the deep adobe
windows into the starry night. It happened to be the same window from
which she had last seen him go hobbling down the road. She rose and put
out the light so that she could weep the more freely. It was hard for
her to say why her heart was so heavy. To herself she denied that she
cared for this jaunty debonair scoundrel. He was no doubt all she had
told him on that day when she had driven him away.

Yes, but she had sent him to pain and illness ... perhaps to death. The
tears fell fast upon the white cheeks. Surely it was not her fault that
he had been so obstinate. Yet--down in the depth of her heart she knew
she loved the courage that had carried him with such sardonic derision
out upon the road for the long tramp that had so injured him. And there
was an inner citadel within her that refused to believe him the sneaking
pup she had accused him of being. No man with such honest eyes, who
stood so erect and graceful in the image of God, could be so
contemptible a cur. There was something fine about the spirit of the
man. She had sensed the kinship of it without being able to put a finger
exactly upon the quality she meant. He might be a sinner, but it was
hard to believe him a small and mean one. The dynamic spark of
self-respect burned too brightly in his soul for that.

CHAPTER VI

JUANITA

The fifth day marked the crisis of Gordon's illness. After that he began
slowly to mend.

One morning he awoke to a realization that he had been very ill. His
body was still weak, but his mind was coherent again. A slender young
woman moved about the room setting things in order.

"Aren't you Juanita?" he asked.

Her heart gave a leap. This was the first time he had recognized her.
Sometimes in his delirium he had caught at her hand ind tried to kiss
it, but always under the impression that she was Miss Valdes.

"_Si, senor_," she answered quietly.

"I thought so." He added after a moment, with the childlike innocence a
sick person has upon first coming back to sanity: "There couldn't be two
girls as pretty as you in this end of the valley, could there?"

Under her soft brown skin the color flooded Juanita's face. "I--I don't
know." She spoke in a flame of embarrassment, so abrupt had been his
compliment and so sincere.

"I've been very sick, haven't I?"

She nodded. "Oh, _senor_, we have been--what you call--worried."

"Good of you, Juanita. Who has been taking care of me?"

"Mrs. Corbett."

"And Juanita?"

"Sometimes."

"Ah! That's good of you, too, _amiga_."

She recalled a phrase she had often heard an American rancher's daughter
say. "I loved to do it, _senor_."

"But why? I'm your enemy, you know. You ought to hate me. Do you?"

Once again the swift color poured into the dark cheeks, even to the
round birdlike throat.

"No, _senor_."

He considered this an instant before he accused her whimsically. "Then
you're not a good girl. You should hate the devil, and I'm his agent.
Any of your friends will tell you that."

"_Senor_ Gordon is a joke."

He laughed weakly. "Am I? I'll bet I am, the fool way I acted."

"I mean a--what you call--a joker," she corrected.

"But ain't I your enemy, my little good Samaritan? Isn't that what all
your people are saying?"

"I not care what they say."

"If I'm not your enemy, what am I?"

She made a great pretense of filling the ewer with water and gathering
up the soiled towels.

"How about that, _nina_?" he persisted, turning toward her on the pillow
with his unshaven face in his hand, a gentle quizzical smile in his
eyes.

"I'm your ... servant, _senor_," she flamed, after the embarrassment of
silence had grown too great.

"No, no! Nothing like that. What do you say? Will you take me for a
friend, even though I'm an enemy to the whole valley?"

Her soft, dark eyes flashed to meet his, timidly and yet with an effect
of fine spirit.

"_Si, senor_."

"Good. Shake hands on it, little partner."

She came forward reluctantly, as if she were pushed toward him by some
inner compulsion. Her shy embarrassment, together with the sweetness of
the glad emotion that trembled in her filmy eyes, lent her a rare charm.

For just an instant her brown fingers touched his, then she turned and
fled from the room.

Mrs. Corbett presently bustled in, fat, fifty, and friendly.

"I can't hardly look you in the face," he apologized, with his most
winning smile. "I reckon I've been a nuisance a-plenty, getting sick on
your hands like a kid."

Mrs. Corbett answered his smile as she arranged the coverlets.

"You'll just have to be good for a spell to make up for it. No more
ten-mile walks, Mr. Muir, till the knee is all right."

"I reckon you better call me Gordon, ma'am." His mind passed to what she
had said about his walk. "Ce'tainly that was a fool _pasear_ for a man
to take. Comes of being pig-headed, Mrs. Corbett. And Doc Watson had
told me not to use that game leg much. But, of course, I knew best," he
sighed ruefully.

"Well, you've had your lesson. And you've worried all of us. Miss Valdes
has called up two or three times a day on the phone and sent a messenger
over every evening to find out how you were."

Dick felt the blood flush his face. "She has?" Then, after a little:
"That's very kind of Miss Valdes."

"Yes. Everybody has been kind. Mr. Pesquiera has called up every day to
inquire about you. He has been very anxious for you to recover."

A faint sardonic smile touched the white lips. "A fellow never knows how
many friends he has till he needs them. So Don Manuel is in a hurry to
have me get on my feet. That's surely right kind of him."

He thought he could guess why that proud and passionate son of Spain
fretted to see him ill. The humiliation to which he had been subjected
was rankling in his heart and would oppress him till he could wipe it
out in action.

"You've got other friends, too, that have worried a lot," said Mrs.
Corbett, as she took up some knitting.

"More friends yet? Say, ain't I rich? I didn't know how blamed popular I
was till now," returned the invalid, with derisive irony. "Who is it
this time I've got to be grateful for?"

"Mr. Davis."

"Steve Davis--from Cripple Creek, Colorado, God's Country?"

"Yes."

"Been writing about me, has he?"

Mrs. Corbett smiled. She had something up her sleeve. "First writing,
then wiring."

"He's a kind of second dad to me. Expect the old rooster got anxious."

"Looks that way. Anyhow, he reached here last night."

Gordon got up on an elbow in his excitement. "Here? Here now? Old
Steve?"

She nodded her head and looked over her shoulder toward the dining-room.
"In there eating his breakfast. He'll be through pretty soon. You see,
he doesn't know you're awake."

Presently Davis came into the room. He walked to the bed and took both
of his friend's hands in his. Tears were shining in his eyes.

"You darned old son-of-a-gun, what do you mean by scaring us like this?
I've lost two years' growth on account of your foolishness, boy."

"Did Mrs. Corbett send for you?"

"No, I sent for myself soon as I found out how sick you was. Now hustle
up and get well."

"I'm going to do just that"

Dick kept his word. Within a few days he was promoted to a rocking-chair
on the porch. Here Juanita served his meals and waited on his demands
with the shy devotion that characterized a change in her attitude to
him. She laughed less than she did. His jokes, his claim upon her as his
"little partner," his friendly gratitude, all served to embarrass her,
and at the same time to fill her with a new and wonderful delight.

A week ago, when he had been lying before her asleep one day, she had
run her little finger through one of his tawny curls and admired its
crisp thickness. To her maiden fancy something of his strong virility
had escaped even to this wayward little lock of hair. She had wondered
then how the _Senorita_ Valdes could keep from loving this splendid
fellow if he cared for her. All the more she wondered now, for her
truant heart was going out to him with the swift ardent passion of her
race. It was as a sort of god she looked upon him, as a hero of romance
far above her humble hopes. She found herself longing for chances to
wait upon him, to do little services that would draw the approving smile
to his eyes.

Gordon was still in the porch-dwelling stage of convalescence when a
Mexican rider swung from his saddle one afternoon with a letter from
Manuel Pesquiera. The note was a formal one, written in the third
person, and it wasted no words.

After reading it Dick tossed the sheet of engraved stationery across to
his companion.

"Nothing like having good, anxious friends in a hurry to have you well,
Steve," he said, with a smile.

The old miner read the communication. "Well, what's the matter with his
hoping you'll be all right soon?"

"No reason why he shouldn't. It only shows what a Christian, forgiving
disposition he's got. You see, that day I most walked my leg off I
soused Mr. Pesquiera in a ditch."

"You--what?"

"Just what I say. I picked him up and dropped the gentleman in the
nearest ditch. That's why he's so anxious to get me well."

"But--why for, boy?"

Dick laughed. "Can't you see, you old moss-back? He wants me well enough
to call out for a duel."

"A duel." Davis stared at him dubiously. He did not know whether or not
his friend was making game of him.

"Yes, sir. Pistols and coffee for two, waiter. That sort of thing."

"But folks don't fight duels nowadays," remonstrated the puzzled miner.
"Anyhow, what's he want to fight about? I reckon you didn't duck him for
nothing, did you? What was it all about?"

Dick told his tale of adventures, omitting only certain emotions that
were his private property. He concluded with an account of the
irrigating-ditch episode. "It ain't the custom in this part of the
country to duck the blue bloods. Shouldn't wonder but what he's some hot
under the collar. Writes like he sees red, don't you think, but aims to
be polite and keep his shirt on."

Davis refused to treat the matter as a joke.

"I told you to let your lawyers 'tend to this, Dick, and for you not to
poke your nose into this neck of the woods. But you had to come, and
right hot off the reel you hand one to this Pesky fellow, or whatever
you call him. Didn't I tell you that you can't bat these greasers over
the head the way you can the Poles in the mines?"

"Sure you told me. You're always loaded with good advice, Steve. But
what do you expect me to do when a fellow slaps my face?"

"They won't stand fooling with, these greasers. This Pesky fellow is
playing squarer than most would if he gives you warning to be ready with
your six-gun. You take my advice, and you'll burn the wind out of this
country. If you git this fellow, the whole pack of them will be on top
of you, and don't you forget it, son."

"So you advise me to cut and run, do you?" said Dick.

"You bet."

"That's what you'd do, is it?"

"Sure thing. You can't clean out the whole of New Mexico."

"Quit your lying, Steve, you old war-horse. You'd see it out, just like
I'm going to."

Davis scratched his grizzled poll and grinned, but continued to dispense
good advice.

"You ain't aiming to mix with this whole blamed country, are you?"

The man in the chair sat up, his lean jaw set and his eyes gleaming.

"I've been called the scum o' the earth. I've been kicked out of her
house as a fellow not decent enough to mix with honest folks. Only
yesterday I got a letter from some of her people warning me to leave the
country while I was still alive. This Pesquiera is camping on my trail."

"Maybe he ain't. You've only guessed that."

"Guess nothing. It's a cinch."

"What you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"But if he lays for you."

"Good enough. Let him go to it. I'm going through with this thing. I'm
going to show them who's the best man. And when I've beat them to a
standstill I've got a revenge ready that will make Miss Valdes eat
humble pie proper. Yes, sir. I'm tied to this country till this thing's
settled."

"Then there ain't any use saying any more about it. You always was a
willful son-of-a-gun," testified his partner, with a grin. "And I reckon
I'll have to stay with you to pack you home after the greasers have shot
you up."

"Don't you ever think it, Steve," came back the cheerful retort. "I've
got a hunch this is my lucky game. I'm sitting in to win, old hoss."

"What's your first play, Dick?"

"I made it last week, within twenty minutes of the time I got back here.
Wired my lawyers to bring suit at once, and to push it for all it was
worth."

"You can't settle it by the courts inside of a year, or mebbe two."

"I ain't aiming to settle it by the courts. All I want is they should
know I've got them beat to a fare-ye-well in the courts. Their lawyers
will let them know that mighty early, just as soon as they look the
facts up. There ain't any manner of doubt about my legal claim. I guess
Miss Valdes knows that already, but I want her to know it good and sure.
Then I'll paddle my own canoe. The law's only a bluff to make my hand
better. I'm calling for that extra card for the looks of it, but my hand
is full up without it"

"What's in your hand, anyhow, outside of your legal right? Looks to me
they hold them all from ace down."

Dick laughed.

"You wait and see," he said.

CHAPTER VII

TWO MESSAGES

Because Dick had always lived a clean, outdoor life he rallied
magnificently from the relapse into which his indiscretion had thrown
him. For a few days Dr. Watson was worried by reason of the danger of
blood-poisoning, but the splendid vitality of his patient quickly swept
him out of danger. Soon he was hobbling round with a cane, and shortly
after was able to take long rides over the country with his friend.

On one of these occasions, while they were climbing a hill trail, Davis
broke a long silence to say aloud to himself: "There's just one way to
account for it."

"Then it can't be a woman you're thinking of," Dick laughed; "for as far
as I can make out there's always several ways to account for them, and
the one you guess usually ain't right."

"You've said it, son. It's a woman. I been doing some inquiring about
this Miss Valdes, and from all telling she's the prettiest ever."

"I could have told you that. It ain't a secret."

"I notice you didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask, you old geezer."

"Sho! You ain't such a clam when it comes to pretty girls. You didn't
talk about her, because your haid's been full of her. It don't take a
mind-reader to know that."

"You're ce'tainly a wizard, Steve," came back his partner dryly.

"I know you and your little ways by this time."

"So I'm in love, am I?"

"You're there, or traveling there mighty fast. Course I don't know about
the lady."

"What don't you know about her?" asked Dick, who was by way of being
both amused and pleased that the subject had been broached.

"How she feels about the proposition. She had you kicked out of the
house. That looks kinder as if your show was slim. She did send over
right often to see how you was getting along, but I reckon she didn't
want to feel responsible for your turning up your toes. Women are that
way, even when they hate a man real thorough."

"You're quite an expert. I wonder you know so much about them, and you
never married."

To this sarcastic reminder Steve made philosophic reply. "Mebbe it was
because I knew so much about them I never married."

"You're surely a wise old rooster. You think she hates me, then?"

Davis covered a grin. He knew from his friend's tone that the barb had
pierced the skin.

"Well, looking at it like a reasonable man, there ain't any question
about it. Soon as you begin to mend she quits taking any interest in
you; don't know you're on the earth any more. A reasonable man----"

"A reasonable goat!" Dick reined up till the other horse was abreast of
his, then dived into his pocket and handed Steve a letter. "She's quit
taking any interest in me, has she? Don't know I'm on the earth, you old
owl? Looks like it, and her sending me a letter this very day."

Steve turned the square envelope around and weighed it in his hand.

"Am I to read this here _billy doo_?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, sir."

Gravely the old miner opened and read the following:

"Miss Valdes begs to inform Mr. Gordon that she has reason to fear
Mr. Gordon's life is not safe in the present feeling of the
country. Out of regard for her people, whom she would greatly
regret to see in trouble, Miss Valdes would recommend Mr. Gordon to
cut short his pleasure trip to New Mexico. Otherwise Miss Valdes
declines any responsibility for the result."

"Can't be called very affectionate, can it?" was Mr. Davis's comment.
"Ain't it jest a leetle mite--well, like she was writing with a poker
down her back?"

"I didn't say it was affectionate," snorted the young man.

"Oh, I allowed you thought she was in love with you."

"I didn't say or think anything of the kind," protested Dick
indignantly. "I said she hadn't forgotten me."

"Well, she ain't, if that's any comfort."

With which, Mr. Davis handed back the letter. "What did you answer to
the _billy doo_?"

"I said that Mr. Gordon presented his compliments and begged to reply
that he had large business interests in this part of the country that
necessitated a visit of some length, and probably in the end a permanent
residence here; and that he would very fully absolve Miss Valdes of any
responsibility for his remaining."

"Both of you used up a heap of dictionary words; but that wasn't so bad,
either," grinned Steve. "You got back at her, all right, for the
'pleasure trip' part of her letter, but I expect you and she would
disagree as to what that 'permanent residence' means. I hope it won't be
more permanent than you think."

From the rocks above came the sound of an exploding rifle. Dick's hat
was lifted from his head as by a gust of wind. Immediately after they
caught sight of a slim, boyish figure dodging among the rocks.

"There he goes," cried Dick; and he slid from his saddle and took up the
chase.

"Come back. There may be several of them up there," called the old
miner.

Gordon paid no attention; and Steve had nothing left to do but follow
him up the rocky hillside.

"He'll spoil that game leg of his again, first thing he knows," the
old-timer growled as he followed in the rear.

Presently a second shot rang out. Davis hastened forward as fast as he
could.

At the top of the ridge he came on his companion sitting behind a rock.

"Lost him in these rocks, did you?" he asked.

A sardonic smile lit up the face of his friend.

"No, Steve, I found him; but he persuaded me I oughtn't to travel so
fast on this leg. You see, he had a rifle, and my six-gun was
outclassed. I couldn't get into range, and decided to hunt cover, after
he took another crack at me."

"I should think you'd know better than to go hunting bear with a
twenty-two."

"It ain't a twenty-two; but, for a fact, it don't carry a mile. I got
what I want, though. I know who the gentleman is."

"Sure it wasn't a lady, Dick?"

"Don't you, Steve," warned Gordon. "She's a lady and a Christian. You
wouldn't say that if you knew her. Besides, she saved my life."

"Who was it? That Pesky fellow?"

"No. He's hot-blooded; but he wouldn't strike below the belt. He's a
gentleman. This was one of the lads on her home-place, an
eighteen-year-old boy named Pedro. He's in love with her. I saw it soon
as I set eyes on him the day I went there. He worships her as if she
were a saint. Of course, he loves her without any hope; but that doesn't
keep him from being jealous of me. He's heard about the row, and he
thinks he'll do her a service by putting me out of the game."

"Sort of fix you up with that permanent residence you were talking
about," suggested Steve.

"He didn't make good this time, anyhow. I'll bet a hat he'd catch it if
Miss Valdes knew what he had been doing."

"She may be a Christian and all you say, Dick, but she don't run a
Sunday school on her ranch and train these young greasers proper. I
don't like this ambushing. They might git the wrong man."

"I'm not partial to it, myself. That lead pill hummed awful close to
me."

They had by this time returned to the road, and Dick picked up his hat
from the dust. There were two little round holes in the crown, and one
in the brim.

"If he had shot an inch lower I would have qualified for that permanent
residence, Steve," Dick laughed.

"Hmp! Let's get out of here _pronto_, Dick. I'm darned if I like to be
the target at a shooting gallery. And next time I go riding there's
going to be a good old Winchester lying over my saddle-horn."

Now, as very chance would have it, Miss Valdes, too, rode the hill trail
that afternoon; and every step of the broncos lessened the distance
between them.

They met at a turn of the steep path. Davis was in the lead, and the
girl passed him just in time to meet Dick's bow. It was a very
respectful bow; but there was a humorous irony in the gray eyes that met
hers, which hinted at a different story. She made as if to pass him,
but, on an impulse, reined in. His ventilated hat came off again, as he
waited for her to speak.

For an instant she let her gaze rest in his, the subdued crimson of her
cheeks triumphant over the olive. But the color was not of
embarrassment, and in her eyes shone the spirit of a descendant of old
Don Alvaro de Valdes y Castillo. She sat her mount superbly; as jimp and
erect as a willow sapling.

"You received a message from me this morning, sir," she said haughtily.

"Yes, Miss Valdes; I received a message from you this morning and
answered it. This afternoon I received one from one of your friends; but
I haven't answered that yet."

As he spoke he let his eyes fall upon the hat in his hand.

Hers followed his, and she started in spite of herself.

"Did--did--were you shot at?" she asked, with dilating eyes.

"Oh, well! He didn't hit me. It's not worth mentioning."

"Not worth mentioning? Who did it, sir? I demand to know who did it?"

He hesitated as he picked his words.

"You see--well--he was behind a rock, and not very close, at that."

"But you knew him. I demand his name. He shall be punished. I myself
will see to that."

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