Jessica Trent: Her Life on a Ranch
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“Ay, ay,” echoed her friends, heartily; but the superintendent regarded her as he might have done some amusing little insect.
“Very pretty, senorita. The filial devotion, almost beautiful. But the facts–well, am I not merciful and generous, I? There is no haste. Indeed, no. A month–”
“Before a month is out I will have found that deed and placed it in my darling mother’s hands. I may be too young to understand the ‘business’ you talk about so much, but I am not too young to save my mother’s happiness. I can see that paper now, in my mind, and I remember exactly how it looked inside and out. It seemed such a little thing to be worth a whole, great ranch. I don’t know how nor where, but somehow and somewhere, I shall find that paper. ‘Boys,’ will you help me?”
“To the last drop of our hearts’ blood!” cried John Benton, and the others echoed, “Ay, ay!”
Antonio thought it time to end this scene and walked toward the porch, at the further end of which was another long window opening into his own apartments. But he was not permitted to leave so easily. Great Samson placed himself in the manager’s path and remarked:
“There’s no call to lose sight of the main business ’count o’ this little side-play of yours. We boys come up here to-night to quit your employ and hire out to Our Lady Jess. We’re all agreed, every man jack of us. Your day’s over. Account of Mrs. Trent and the kids, we’d like things done quiet and decent. There’s a good horse of yours in the stable and though there isn’t any moon, you know the roads well. If you tarry for breakfast, likely you won’t have much appetite to eat it. More’n that, the senora, as you call her, has waited on your whelpship for just the last time. Before you start you might as well pay up some of our back wages, and hand over to the mistress the funds you’ve been keeping from her.”
“Insolent! Stand aside. How dare you? Let me pass.”
“I’m not quite through yet. There’s no real call to have talk with such as you, but we ‘boys’ kind of resent being set down as plumb fools. We’ve seen through you, though we’ve kept our mouths shut. Now they’re open; leastways, mine is. This here notion of yours about ownin’ Sobrante is a bird of recent hatchin’. ’Tisn’t full-fledged yet, and ’s likely never to be. Your first idea was to run the ranch down till your mistress had to give it up out of sheer bad luck. Fail, mortgage, or such like. Oranges didn’t sell for what they ought; olives wasn’t worth shucks; some little varmint got to eating the raisin grapes; mine petered out; feathers growing poorer every plucking, though the birds are getting valuabler. Never had accounts quite ready–you, that was a master hand at figures when the boss took you in and made you, You–”
Antonio strode forward, furious, and with uplifted hand.
“You rascal! This to me–I, Antonio Bernal, descendant of–Master of Sobrante and Paraiso, I–”
“Master? Humph! Owner? Fiddlesticks! Why, that little tacker there, asleep on the floor,” pointing to Luis, “is likelier heir to this old ranch than you. The country’s full of Garcias and always has been, Pedro says. Garcia himself, when all’s told. As for Bernals, who ever heard of more’n one o’ them? That’s you, you skunk! Now, usin’ your own fine, highfalutin’ language: ‘Go. Vamos. Depart. Clear out. Get!’”
“I go–because it so suits me, I, myself. But I return. New servants will be with me and your quarters must be empty. Let me pass.”
“Certain. Anything to oblige. But don’t count on them quarters. We couldn’t leave them if we would ’cause we’ve all took root. Been growing so long; become indigenous to the soil, like the boss’ experiments. Thrive so well might have been born here and certainly mean to die on the spot. Going? Well, good-night. Call again. Adios.”
By this time Jessica was laughing, as her old friend had meant she should be. In his contemptuous harangue of the man he disliked and mistrusted, there had been more humor than anger.
“Well, my lady, that did me good. Haven’t had such a thorough housecleaning of my mean thoughts in quite a spell. Feel all ready for a fresh voyage under the new captain. You rest run along and find that long sufferin’ mother of yours and tell her the coast’s clear of that pirate craft. We’ve all shipped men-o’-war, now, and run up the old flag of truth and love. That was the banner your father floated from his masthead, and the colors that’ll never dip to lying or cheating. Wait. I’ll pack this baby Luis to his bed. Poor little castaway, that your good father picked up in the canyon and fetched home in his arms, to share the best with his own. Well, needn’t tell me that the family of a man as good as he was’ll ever come to want. Heave ahead, captain. Show me the track to sail.”
Jessica stopped to bid the other ranchmen good-night, then led the sailor to the little bedroom which the lads shared in common, and where Ned was already asleep, tucked in his white cot by his mother, who let no personal grief interfere with her care for others.
“Good-night, dear Samson. I must find that paper. You must help me. My mother must not, shall not, lose her home.”
“Never. Good-night, captain. You’ve a good crew on deck and we’ll make happy haven yet.”
That was Jessica Trent’s first wakeful night. Though she tried to lie quietly in her own little bed, lest she should disturb her mother whose room she shared, she fancied all sorts of strange sounds, both in-doors and out; and whenever she dropped into a doze, dreamed of the missing paper and of searching for it.
One dream was so vivid that she woke, exclaiming:
“Oh, mother! I’ve found it. The black tin box under the three sharp rocks!”
But her eyes opened upon vacancy, and there was no response from the larger bed where her anxious parent had, at last, fallen asleep. Yet the vision remained, painted upon the darkness, as it were, a sun-lighted glowing spot, with three pyramidal rocks and a clump of scraggly live oaks. A spot she had never seen, indeed, but felt that she should instantly recognize, should she come upon it anywhere.
Then she curled back upon her pillows and again shut her eyes.
Could it be possible that she, a healthy little girl, was growing fidgety, like Aunt Sally Benton, who sometimes came to visit her son and help with the sewing? For she surely was hearing things. Movements, hushed footfalls, softly closing doors, creaking floors, at an hour when all the household should be at rest.
“How silly! It may be somebody is ill! Wun Lung’s hand may hurt him, though it seemed so nearly well, and nobody else would have minded it. That stranger! Yes, I fancy it’s he. He may need something that I can get him, and I’ll go inquire.”
Slipping a little wrapper over her gown, but in her bare feet, the girl noiselessly left the room and followed the sound she had heard. These led her to a small apartment which her father had used as an office and where stood the desk in whose secret drawer she had expected to find the title deed. A small fireproof safe was in this office. It was an old-fashioned affair, with a simple, but heavy key, which the Sobrante children had played with in their infancy. She remembered her father remarking, with a laugh, that a safe was the most useless thing he possessed, for he never had anything worth putting in it; but it had been a belonging of old “Forty-niner” Marsh, a gift to his employer, and therefore accorded a place of honor.
Before this safe now bent a man whom Jessica recognized with surprise and relief.
“Why, Mr. Marsh! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here at this hour? Are you ill? Do you want something?”
“No, dearie. I’m not ill; and I’m not robbing you. And I’ve got all I want. That’s one more look at your bonny face, God bless it!”
It was close to his shoulder now, that face he loved, and he kissed it tenderly; though with equal tenderness, if less emotion, the little maid returned his caress and clasped his neck with those strong, young arms that so yearned to protect and comfort everybody.
“That’s funny. Should think you’d be tired of it, sometimes, I disappoint you so. But never mind. I’m getting handier with my new rifle every day, I think, and I mean to do yet what Samson claims I should–just beat the world. Have you finished looking at your things?” For it was Mr. Marsh himself who had always used the safe, even after giving it away. “Can’t I get you something to eat, so you can sleep better?”
“No, dearie, no, just one more good kiss–to remember. Good-by. Good-by. It–it might have been done kinder, maybe, but–her heart is sad, I know, and her first thought is for you. She must save for you. Here, Lady, take the key. Some time you–you might want to look in that safe for yourself. Good-night.”
Jessica went with him to the outer door, wondering much at this oddly-timed visit. Yet the ranchman walked erect, still carrying his lighted candle quite openly, as one who had done nothing of which to be ashamed; and when he had departed the girl returned to her own bed still more wakeful because of this queer incident.
Ten minutes later, it may have been, she heard the limping footfall of a slowly-moving horse, the echoes growing fainter continually.
Again she sat up and listened.
“That’s Mr. Marsh’s ‘Stiffleg!’ What should send him off riding now? Oh! I do wish mother was awake, things seem so queer. Yet I don’t really wish it. She has so many wakeful nights and just this one is more than I want. Now, Jessica Trent, don’t be foolish any longer. Go straight to sleep or you’ll be late in the morning.”
Nature acted upon this good advice, and Our Lady knew no more till a pair of chubby hands were pulling her curls and Ned’s voice was screeching in her ear:
“Wake up, Jessie Trent. We had our breakfast hours ago, and the ‘boys’ is all out-doors, can’t go to work ’ithout their captain. That’s me, Jessie Trent, ’cause I’m the ‘heir.’ Samson said so.”
“I’s the heir, Samson said so!” echoed Luis from the floor where he was trying the fit of Jessica’s new “buckskins”–the comfortable moccasin-like footgear which Pedro made for her–upon his own stubby toes.
“He, he! What’s the heir Samson said? You’re a stupid, Luis Garcia.”
“Stupid Garcia!” laughed the little mimic, not in the least offended.
“Well, run away then, laddies, and I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Poor mother. To think that I should have left her to do so much alone.”
As she threw open the sash of the rear window, Jessica started back, surprised; for there, reined close to the porch, was Nero’s black form, with the dark face of his master bending low over the saddle.
“Good-morning, senorita, and good fortune. Those who hid may find. I kiss your hand in farewell, and may it rule in peace till I return, I myself, the master. One month hence I come, bringing my servants with me. Adios. Ah! but what did you and the old sharpshooter at the office safe at midnight? When the senora would seek her title, seek him. It is farewell.”
CHAPTER VII
CAPTAIN JESS
Jessica drew back, repelled. Why did that man make her so unhappy whenever she saw him nowadays? What did he mean by that speech about old Ephraim Marsh and the safe? Well, he was gone, riding swiftly away and lightening her trouble with every rod of ground he put between them.
“He’ll not come for a month, he said, and by that time everything will be straight. If Sobrante is ours it cannot possibly be his. That’s simple. Though he might have lived here always if he’d wished. The title paper has been mislaid. That’s all. I’m sure to find it when I have time to look thoroughly, and how different things do seem by daylight. Now, to say good-morning to the ‘boys,’ dear fellows, and then for breakfast. I’m as hungry as on ostrich.”
Though since sunrise each had been busy about his accustomed duties, neglecting nothing because of the change in command, it suited the ideas of these faithful ranchmen to report for duty to their newly appointed “captain” and to ask for orders from her. With the ready intuition of childhood she fell in with their mood at once and received them in a manner which robbed the affair of burlesque and invested it with dignity.
From a shaded corner of the porch, from behind his book, Mr. Hale watched the scene with an amusement that soon gave place to wonder and admiration. They were all profoundly in earnest. The fair young girl with folded arms and serene composure, poised at the head of the steps and the group of sunburned workmen standing respectfully before her.
By tacit consent Samson was spokesman for the company and his words had their usual nautical tinge.
“We’re ready to set sail, captain, and here’s wishing good luck to the v’yge! Old ‘Forty-niner’ hasn’t showed up on deck yet, but he’ll likely soon heave to, and the rest the crew’ll vouch for his being a good hand in any sort o’ storm we’re apt to strike. We’ve overhauled this chart. Each of us solemnly promise to abide and obey no orders but yours, captain, or the admiral’s through you. And would respectfully suggest–each man sticks to the post he’s always filled, till ordered off it by his superior officer. Right, mates?”
“Ay, ay.”
“How’s that suit you, commodore?”
“That suits me, Samson. It will suit my mother.”
“As for pay–being as we’ve got along without any these five months back, and Senor Top-Lofty’s rode off, forgettin’ to leave them arrears we mentioned, we wash the slate clean and start all over again. For five months to come we’ll serve you and the admiral for mess and berth, no more, no less.”
“Samson, do you mean that? Haven’t you boys been paid your wages regularly, just as in my father’s time?”
“Come, now, captain, that’s all right. Give us the word of dismissal and let that slide. You missed your own mess this morning–”
“But that will break my mother’s heart. I know! I know! I’ve often heard her ask him, and Antonio tell her–he said that your wages were always taken out before he brought what little money he could to her. I know you said something about ‘arrears’ last night, but I didn’t understand. What are ‘arrears,’ Samson?”
“Blow me, for an old numskull. Why couldn’t I keep my long tongue still! I only meant that we are willing, we want, we must work for you and all the Trents for nothing till we’ve made up part to ’em of what that sweet ‘senor’ cheated ’em of. That’s all. We’ve settled it. No use for anybody to try change our minds, even if there was spot cash lying around loose, waiting to be picked up and you havin’ no call for it. Not one of which conditions hits the case.”
“You are a good talker, dear old Samson, and a long one. I can talk, too, sometimes. Maybe you’ve heard me! You’ve read me your chart. Hear mine. It’s my father’s own–that he always meant, but was never able to follow. That I know my mother wants to follow for his sake, though she does know so little of business. Now, if we’re starting fresh, with the clean slates you like, we’ll put this at the top: ‘share and share alike.’ There was another long name dear father used to call it–I–”
“Co-operation,” suggested John Benton.
“Yes, yes. That’s it. As soon as he was out of debt and had a right to do what he would with Sobrante, he meant to run it that way. But you know, you know. It was only that last day when he came home so late from that far-off town that he had his own ‘title’ and was all ready to do as he wished. Let us do that now. I know how. He told me. He was to make you, Samson, responsible for all the cattle on the ranch. You were to hire as many of the other boys as you needed and were to have a just share for your own money. The more you made out of the cattle the better it would be for yourself. Isn’t that right?”
“Right to a dot. Atlantic! but you’ve a head for business, captain!”
“I’ve a head must learn business, if I’m to be your captain. That is true enough. It isn’t my father’s fault if I don’t know some simple things. He was always teaching me, because Ned was too little and my mother–well, business always worried her and he’d do anything to save her worry, even talk to a little girl like me. And as Samson was to do with the cattle, so George Cromarty was to do with the raisins and oranges. The ostriches–Oh! but they were to be Antonio’s charge. And now–”
“They’re yours, captain, with any one or lot of us you choose for helpers.”
“Ferd knew much about them, and they minded him. But–”
“Ferd’ll trouble Sobrante none while the senor is away. Joe is a good hand at all live stock, and I’ll pledge you’ll get every feather that’s plucked when he does the counting. He won’t let any eggs get cooked in hatchin’, neither. You can trust Joseph–if you watch him a mite.”
A laugh at honest Joe’s expense, in which he heartily joined, followed this and Lady Jess stepped down among her friends, holding out her hands to first one, then another. Her blue eyes were filled with happy moisture, for she was not too young to feel their devotion to be as unselfish as it was sincere, and her smile was full of confidence in them and in herself.
“Eleven years old is pretty early to be a captain, I guess, but I’ll be a good one–just as good and true as you are! What I don’t know you’ll teach me, and if I make mistakes you’ll be patient, I know. One thing I can do, I can copy bills and papers. I can put down figures and add them up. It was good practice for me, my father said. So I’ll put down your names and all your business in these new books he bought and was going to use in his co–co-operation–is that right, John?”
“Right as a trivet.”
“And our admiral, that’s the dear mother, will not have to fret so any longer. Between us we’ll make Sobrante all my father meant it should be and–as soon as I have my breakfast–I will find that title. I must find it. I will. Sobrante is yours and ours forever. Oh, boys, I love you! I’m all choked up–I love you so and I feel like that my father used to read in Dickens: ‘God bless you every one!’”
With her hands clasped close against her breast, and her beloved face luminous with her deep affection, their little maid stood before her hardy henchmen, a symbol to them of all that was best and purest in life. Their own eyes were moist, and even Mr. Hale had to take off his glasses and wipe them as, looking around upon his comrades, great Samson swung his hat and cried:
“And may God bless Our Lady Jess! And may every man who seeks to injure her be–stricken with numb palsy! And may every crop be doubled, prices likewise! Peace, prosperity and happiness to Sobrante–destruction to her enemies!”
“Forgiveness for her enemies, Samson, dear, if there really are. That will be nobler, more like father’s rule. Make it peace, prosperity and happiness to all the world! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
Mr. Hale clapped his hands to his ears, then hastily moved forward and joined in the cheer, that was deafening enough to have come from many more throats than uttered it. Yet he had an uncomfortable feeling that he might be classed among those “enemies” whom Samson wished afflicted with numb palsy and that, at that moment, he was, by no fault of his own, playing a double part.
But he gave himself the benefit of the doubt until he should learn, as he meant to do at once, the whole history of Sobrante with its strange hodge-podge of industries, its veteran employees, and its childish “captain.” So, while the ranchmen dispersed to their business and Jessica sought her long-delayed breakfast, he turned towards the kitchen where he hoped to find the mistress of the ranch.
But he was disappointed. There was visible only the broad, purple-covered back and black pig-tail of a Chinaman, pounding away at the snowy loaves of his kneading-board, as if they were “enemies” of his own and deserving something much worse than “numb palsy.”
“Wun Lung!”
No answer, save the whack, whack, whack of the tormented dough.
“Ahem. I say, John!”
Whack, whack.
“Wun Lung, where’s your mistress?”
“Dlaily.”
“Indeed? I fancy your hand is better. I’m glad of it. That bread ought to be fine. At your leisure, kindly point the direction of the ‘dlaily,’ will you?”
One yellow, floury hand was lifted and extended eastward, but as this signified nothing definite to the stranger he continued his inquiries.
“Where’s Pasqual?”
“Sclub.”
“And the little boys?”
“Alle glone.”
“I congratulate you on your English, though I’m uncertainly whether you mean me to ‘go on’ or assert that somebody else has gone on. I don’t like to disturb Miss Jessica at breakfast, but–”
“Back polchee,” suggested Wun Lung, anxious to be rid of the intruder, whose irony he suspected if he did not understand.
Mr. Hale betook himself around the house, and, fortunately, in the right direction; for just issuing from her dairy, which was in a cellar under the cottage, was Mrs. Trent, bearing a wooden bowl of freshly made butter.
The guest’s heart smote him as he saw her sad face brighten at meeting him, for he knew she trusted him for help he was in duty bound to give elsewhere. But it was not a lawyer’s habit to anticipate evil, and he was thankful for her suggestion.
“You should have a ride this fine morning, Mr. Hale, before the sun is too high. I’ve ordered a horse brought round for you at nine o’clock, and Jessica shall act your guide, on Scruff. That is–if the laddies haven’t already disappeared with him. Ah! here comes my girl, herself. You are to show our friend as much of Sobrante as he cares to see, in one morning, daughter. If the children have ridden the burro off you may have Buster saddled.”
“Shan’t you need me, mother? One of the men–”
“No, dear. Wun Lung is at his post again and Pasqual will do the milk and things. But as you go, I’d like you to take this butter to John’s. It’s the weekly portion for the men, who mess for themselves,” she explained to the stranger.
“Lucky men to fare on such golden balls as those!”
“Come and see my dairy. I’m very proud of it. You know, I suppose, that cellars are rarities in California. Everything is built above ground, in ordinary homes; but I needed a cooler place for the milk, and my husband had this planned for me. See the water, our greatest luxury; piped from an artesian well to the tank above, and then down through these cooling pipes around the shelves. After such use supplying the garden, for whatever else may be wasted here it is never a drop of water. Will you taste the buttermilk? I can’t give you ice, but we cool it in earthen crocks sunk in the floor.”
More and more did the lawyer’s admiration for his hostess increase. She displayed the prosaic details of her dairy with the same ease and pride with which she would have exhibited the choicest bric-a-brac of a sumptuous drawing-room, and her manner impelled him to an interest in the place which he would have found impossible under other circumstances. But above all he wondered at the unselfishness with which she set aside her own anxieties and gave herself wholly to the entertainment of her guest.
“The loss of that title deed means ruin for her and her family–even if I were not also compelled to bring distress upon her. But she does not whine nor complain, and that’s going to make my task all the harder. Well, first to see this ranch, and then–I wish I’d never come upon this business! Better suffer nervous dyspepsia all the rest of my life than break such a woman’s heart. Her husband may have been a scamp of the first water, but she’s a lady and a Christian. So is that beautiful little girl, and it’s from her I mean to get all my needed information.”
Absorbed in thoughts that were far from pleasant, the gentleman walked beside Mrs. Trent to the horseblock, and mounted the horse which a gray-haired stable “boy” was holding for him, all without rousing from the preoccupation that held him. It was not till he heard Jessica’s excited call coming over the space between the cottage and the “quarters” that he realized where he was and looked up, expectant.
The little girl who had left them for a few moments, was galloping toward them on the back of a rough-coated broncho, waving a paper in her hand and with distressed indignation, crying out as she came:
“‘Forty-niner’ has gone. Dear old ‘Forty-niner!’ I found this letter in his room and it’s forever–forever! Oh, mother! And he says you discharged him–or it means that–without show of chance! Mother, mother, how could you? That dear old man that everybody loved!”