Well, Señor Vives, I am at your service now,” announced Judge Courtenay, at the next appearance of Steenie and her caballero at Rookwood. “In what can I advise you?”
“Hm-m. It is a profound secret. Ten thousand pardons, Señor Juez [Mr. Judge]; but I may close the door, no?”
“Close it, certainly, if you wish; but we are not likely to be disturbed. This is my private office.”
“I would not for a hundred worlds that others should hear what I disclose!” repeated old Sutro, cautiously.
“You are perfectly safe. Be assured.”
“Si? Then here is my desire: I wish to prepare my testamento [will]. In verity, that is my hope and prayer.” The Spaniard’s face wore an expression of grave importance.
“Your will? Well, that is, indeed, a serious matter. Have you fully considered it?”
“Caramba! Have I not? En verdad, it has long since been arranged—in here,” said the client, tapping his forehead, solemnly.
“Very well, then, let us to business. Give me the points of the matter, and my clerk shall draw up the paper.”
“Clerk? No, no! No. Por Dios! No. Thinkest thou that I would give such knowledge as I shall make known to the winds? It is a secret, I tell thee. A secret!”
“Very well, then,” answered the Judge, a little impatiently. He was a very busy man, just then enjoying a needed vacation, and he had little inclination for clerical work, especially in a case like this where the interests at stake were, presumably, very small. He was doing what he did for Steenie’s sake only; because the old Californian was dear to the child in whom he was so much interested. “Very well, then; let us begin. What is the first bequest?”
“The first? It is the last,—first, last, and the whole. I wish to give everything I possess—that is Santa Trinidad—to the most adorable Doña Steenie Calthorp.”
“Indeed? You are generous. What is Santa Trinidad?”
“It is a mountain. It was part of Santa Felisa Rancho, when San’ Felis’ was greater than now, and belonged to the family of Vives, yes.”
“It is valuable?”
For a moment the eye of the old man gleamed craftily; then he asked: “Must thou know that?”
“As you please.”
Sutro considered. By nature he was not very secretive, and of lesser matters he was as sure to babble as to breathe; but this was different. He held, or believed that he held, knowledge of utmost importance; and he had seen enough of property dealings among the—to him—new possessors of his old California to understand that it was just the knowledge which would make them defraud him if they could. Lord Plunkett had seemed an honest man; yet it was such as Lord Plunkett who had usurped the broad acres once belonging to his own race and people. However, he must trust somebody. He must have help.
“Caramba! Wilt thou, Señor Juez, swear—por Dios—that thou wilt not betray me? That I can trust thee?”
“You can trust me entirely, but I will not swear; for I give my oath to no man,” answered the Judge, becoming interested.
For a full half-minute Sutro stared fixedly into the face of his new friend; then, reading in that noble countenance nothing but good-will and uprightness, he plunged into his subject with a recklessness which hid nothing, either of knowledge or imagination. “La Trinidad is a cloven mountain. Its inhabitants are rattlesnakes, who, poor beasts, the Americans fear. Not so Spaniards and men of sense—not even Indians; a thousand times not so old Sutro. Why? Because I understand, can meet them without peril; and because they are the guards to treasure untold. No man knows it save Sutro Vives—and now thou; but the heart of La Trinidad is a heart of—” The testator rose from his chair, his face thrilled by excitement, and placing his lips to the Judge’s ear, hissed one word therein.
“What is that you say?”
Sutro repeated the whisper.
“What! Man alive! Do you mean it? Do you know this to be true?”
“As I know that the sun shines now. En verdad.”
“What proof have you?”
“This.” Sutro unfastened his buckskin vest, and opened a leathern bag which depended from his swarthy neck. “Believest thou now?”
“I believe what I see, always. But that this came from Santa Trinidad, how am I to know that?”
“Humph! A caballero may lie, yes; but not where he loves as I love Doña Steenie. Sawest thou ever a child like her? Eyes of such clear truthfulness? Lips so loving and so sweet? Face so bonny? Ways so—not-to-be-resisted? And heart so pure? No, a thousand times. She is one—alone. She is under the especial charge of Heaven. She is worth all—all. If the whole of California were mine I would give it her, and know it were well given. I would so, yes!” And warmed by his own theme, the old man left his chair and paced the room, gesturing eloquently, as is the custom of his race.
Judge Courtenay’s interest increased; but, at that moment, it centred less in the bequest than in the beneficiary. “I agree with you, Señor Vives, that there is something ‘not-to-be-resisted’ about this ‘Little Lady of the Horse,’ as you say you Westerners call her; but still I cannot help wondering how she has gained your devotion so entirely.”
“How? Listen and thou shalt learn. When the good Dios sent her into this world Sutro Vives was a miserable old man,—even then. He had been wronged—wronged—wronged—till his heart was hard and bitter. He had lost faith in everything, below and above; and he kept Santa Trinidad in spite of everybody,—because its serpent-infested rocks were a menace to the world. From them he meant to take his revenge. He used to carry them, the snakes, down to the hacienda, and place them where they would do the most harm. It was the only joy left.”
“One day—the day they buried the poor Señora Calthorp—he carried a creature bigger, more venomous than any other. He turned it loose on the threshold of Santa Felisa, and sat down to watch. By-and-by, a little thing, all soft and white, came creeping, creeping through the doorway, and spied the serpent, yes. It was pretty, too, and soft; but it was not white nor good. The wicked Sutro watched. Santa Maria watched also. The little fingers went out and touched the reptile, and the Mother of God touched a wicked heart. In a second—before the beautiful head of the serpent could rear itself—la criaturita [the baby girl] was in the old man’s arms. Did she hate him, no? Gracias a Dios [Thanks be to God]!—she folded her own little arms about his neck and buried her rose-leaf face against his ugly face; and the demon of hate and murder left him. Si! That is the tale.”
It was a moving one. Judge Courtenay was not the man to resist its influence; nor did he ever thereafter doubt one assertion of Sutro Vives where Steenie was concerned. The love that is rooted in superstition is love that lasts.
“Well, I will draw up the document for you as carefully as possible. But the inheritor is a minor. She must have some one appointed to act for her until lawfully able to act for herself; in case your demise occurs prior to that time.”
This suggestion had a legal sound about it that captivated Sutro’s ears; and he gathered enough of its meaning to reply: “I understand. If I die, it is the Señor Calthorp and Kentucky Bob who will carry out my desires, no? But I do not wish to die first. I wish to live, I myself.”
“Yes—yes! We all wish that.”
“And must I die that my little one may get the good of Santa Trinidad?”
“There is nothing to prevent your giving it to her now, while you are still alive; but a ‘last will and testament’ implies the death of the testator before action is taken upon it.” Then Judge Courtenay went on to explain, as simply and briefly as he could, the various methods by which Sutro Vives could benefit his favorite; and the old Spaniard did the best he could to comprehend.
But gradually a belief came into Sutro’s mind, and fixed itself there, that if he died she would be better off. Because while he lived nobody would care to spend the necessary money to investigate the discovery he claimed,—mining being a most expensive business; but if he were dead, Steenie’s guardians or trustees might do so for her benefit in justice to their ward.
Poor Sutro! It was a bitter notion, and one that made his face grow pale as he contemplated it. He didn’t want to die; he loved life dearly—dearly! Even at this strange East, where it rained whenever it felt like it, and not at stated seasons when people were prepared for it and duly expectant—as at San’ Felisa,—even here, and with disagreeable Resolved Tubbs “to boot,” existence had many pleasures,—not the least among these being Mary Jane’s excellent cookery. To die—to put himself forever out of the reach not only of the Little Un, but of Mazan´ to whom he had hoped to be reunited, and of delicious chicken-patties, all at one fell swoop—that was too much!
“Very well, then. I will delay the evil day, no? They are not suffering now; and if this thousand dollars is not paid yet—why, when it falls due, there will still be time! En verdad. Is it not so, Señor Juez?”
“I do not understand you, Caballero; but if you have finished your directions I will put aside these notes for the present. The will shall be duly drawn up and read to you; when, if satisfactory, it can be attested by your own chosen witnesses. It is about time for me to take my second lesson in colt training; and before I go, I want to ask you if you have heard the Calthorp family speak of this great bank failure, which has ruined so many?”
“Have I not? Si? Is it not that which has prompted, this day so soon, the testamento? That, but for this sudden poverty, I could have postponed till some far away mañana [future]. Señor Tubbs says that my people have become poor—poor—poor. My Señor Calthorp goes into his room and broods and broods; and Señora, the Madam, she smiles,—but with pale lips and heavy eyes. Ah, it is cruel, cruel! I do not understand. I am no—what shall I say? Here, in my head, it is not clear to comprehend this ‘business’ of the Americans, I. It was that ‘business’ which was wrong when Santa Felisa Rancho passed from my family to other men. It is ‘business’ again,—a ‘bank,’ which is worst of all,—and, lo! to-day our pockets burst with the gold, to-morrow they hold not a coin. Por Dios! It is all wrong—”
The Judge listened gravely. The flying rumors he had heard were confirmed by Sutro’s statement. He had known, all along, that his old friends would be losers to some extent by this failure; but the fact that it involved their all was new to him and very painful. How to assist them would be the question. The legal advice he could give them would be theirs without the asking; but if the reports were wholly true, they would need something besides legal advice to put the bread into their mouths.
“Papa! Are you never coming? We were as good as we could be, yesterday; but we were better to-day! And we were let off from study five minutes before the eleven o’clock. Come, please! Won’t you? I want to see you and Diablo take your lesson, now Steenie and I have done.”
Beatrice’s interruption was a pleasant relief to the sombre thoughts of both lawyer and client; and Diablo’s owner answered, promptly, “Oh! oh! That is all, is it? Revenge? You wish to see somebody else suffer the torture which the last two hours have been to you? Eh? For lessons and torture are synonyms in your book-hating mind, I fancy, my daughter.”
“Now, Papa Courtenay! ’Xcuse me, but it’s no such thing. You’re teasing me. And I shouldn’t think it hard work just to play with a colt!”
“Should you not? Unless I mistake my valiant small girl, entirely, I think it would take a deal of persuasion to make her exchange even her dull lessons for mine!”
At which playful irony Beatrice pouted, then laughed good-naturedly. She had now no ambition horseward, beyond riding a very gentle old pony at odd times; but she did enjoy the spectacle of others doing that which she feared.
“And how about you, Miss Steenie? Are you anxious to resume your ‘teaching’?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I am a’most hungry to see Diablo! I told Papa ’bout him; an’ he said, ‘Then you’re happy, dearie!’ and I am. Horses are so dear and lovely. They are so—so—what is it when you love anything and it loves you back?” asked Steenie, who had slipped her hand into one of Judge Courtenay’s, while his own little daughter held fast to the other.
“Responsive may be the word. But what is Sir Tito being brought along for? Is he to be introduced to Diablo?”
“Ye-es. But that wasn’t the first, the truly why. I—I have—there’s something I want to ask you, by-and-by. That is, do you own that big race-track over yonder, as Sutro says?”
“Yes. I had it prepared for speeding my own horses; but some of the neighbors use it also. I am anxious to increase the interest, hereabouts, in well-bred stock, and so we have trials on it occasionally. By the way, there is to be a public affair soon. The very best horses in the county are entered for the contest,—prizes, and so forth. I am quite anxious and doubtful over the result; for, till now, my black filly Trix has carried everything before her. But Doctor Gerould, of South Knollsboro, has just bought the famous Mordaunt, and I fear my lady Trix will be hard pushed this time.”
“Isn’t it funny, Steenie? My mama says that Papa would rather win that race than the biggest ‘case’ that ever was! She says live horses are his hobby-horses, ’at he rides to death! ’Cause she says ’at a’most every rich man finds out some way to use money foolishly, an’ Papa’s way is the goodest way there is, maybe.”
“Come, come, Miss Beatrice! Retailing family affairs for a stranger’s benefit?” asked the father, pinching his little girl’s cheek, roguishly.
“Steenie an’ Sutro aren’t strangers, are they? They’re just—us, I thought.”
“‘Just us’—quite right. But here we are! Now, my fine fellow, look out for yourself!”
“I’ll go in first with this halter, please. Then you can come when I call you,” said the small mistress of ceremonies, and vaulted over the paling, lightly and joyously.
There was no pretence about the sincerity of her pleasure. Her sparkling eyes and dimpling face declared that without words; and, to his utter amazement, Judge Courtenay saw that the pleasure was mutual, for, instead of showing fear or resentment, or any trace of forgetfulness, up marched Diablo, with all the eagerness in the world, and extended his handsome nose with a neigh of salutation.
“Well—well—well! Has the age of miracles returned?” exclaimed the observer, almost unable to believe his own eyes.
But when Diablo’s friendliness was forced to extend to himself, and when, after an hour or two of a “lesson” which the gray-haired pupil enjoyed beyond expression, he was able to lead the “unbreakable brute” quietly out of the paddock to the “track,” his delight knew no bounds.
“Upon my word, my little lady, I am your debtor to a very great extent. I am ready to give you anything you ask!”
“Huyler’s!” suggested Beatrice, in an eager whisper. “Ask him for ‘Huyler’s’—do!”
“No conspiracy! What’s that you’re whispering, missy?”
“Now, Papa! You said ‘anything,’ and I thought—candy.”
“Is ‘Huyler’s’ candy? Pooh! I don’t care for that. I want you to do something, though, Beatrice. Will you?”
“Course. What?”
“Let me show you how to ride. On my own Tito, that nobody ever rode but me, that could be helped, that—Oh, you know!”
“Why? What for?”
“’Cause. Won’t you?”
“Will he run away?”
“He never did such a mean thing in all his darling life! Swing her up, dear Sutro, please!”
Sutro lifted Beatrice, who uttered a little squeal, half of terror, half of pleasure, and placed her squarely on Steenie’s own comfortable saddle. Then followed “lesson two,” while the Judge continued his own experiments in horse-training on another part of the course. At the close of which, all came gayly together at the entrance, and not a face showed any care,—not even Sutro’s, who had now relegated to that convenient “mañana” of his, the time when he should “die.”
“Really, little Steenie, can I not serve you in some practical way? I wish to do so most heartily,” asked the master of Rookwood, gratefully.
“Yes, sir. You can give me some advice. I mean if you will,” answered she.
“Heigho! my practice is increasing!” thought the legal magnate. Aloud he said: “To the best of my ability.”
“I want to earn some money. I want to show other little girls how to ride, same as I showed Beatrice, here. An’ maybe to teach other folks horses, too, like Diablo. ’Cause we’re ‘ruined,’ Grandmother says; an’ she’s an old lady, an’ my father’s blind, an’—an’—Can I?”
“Wh-e-ew! You baby, you!”
A hurt, indignant flush rose into Steenie’s eager face, and her lip trembled.
“There, there! My dear child! It was only astonishment—admiration—which made me say that! Don’t misunderstand me. You can do anything—anything—which you set out to do, you—you—brave little thing!”
With that the Judge wheeled sharply round, and tears gathered in somebody’s eyes, but not in Steenie’s.
