CHAPTER III. The Golden Fleece | ||
3. CHAPTER III.
GENERAL TREDNOKE'S house was built by Spanish missionaries in the sixteenth century; and in its main features it was little altered in three hundred years. In a climate where there is no frost, walls of adobe last as long as granite. The house consisted, practically, of but one story; for although there were rooms under the roof, they were used only for storage; no one slept in them. The plan of the building was not unlike that of a train of railway-cars,— or, it might be more appropriate to say, of emigrant-wagons. There was a series of rooms, ranged in a line, access to them being had from a narrow corridor, which opened on the rear veranda. Several of the rooms
Logically, there can be nothing uglier than a Spanish-American dwelling of this type. But, as a matter of fact, they appear seductively beautiful. The thick white walls acquire a certain softness of tone; the surface scales off here and there, and cracks and crevices appear. In a damp country, like England, they would soon become covered with moss; but moss is not to be had in this region, though one were to offer for it the price of the silk velvet, triple ply, which so much resembles it. Nevertheless, there are compensations. The soil is inexhaustibly fertile, and its fertility expresses itself in the most inveterate beauty. Such colors and varieties of flowers exist nowhere else, and they continue all the year round. Climbing
Everything that is not an animal or a mineral seems to be a flower. There are too many flowers,—or, rather, there is not enough of anything else. The faculty of appreciation wearies, and at last ceases to take note. It is like conversing with a person whose every word is an epigram. The senses have their limitations, and imagination
Monotony is the ruling characteristic,— monotony of beauty, monotony of desolation, monotony even of variety. The glorious blue overhead is monotonous: as for the thermometer, it paces up and down within the narrowest limits, like a prisoner in his cell, or a meadow-lark hopping to and fro in a seven-inch cage. The plan and aspect of the buildings are monotonous, and so is the way of life of those who inhabit them. Fortunately, the sun does rise and set in Southern California: otherwise life there would be at an absolute stand-still, with no past and no future. But, as it is, one can look forward to morning, and remember the evening.
Then, there are the not infrequent but
General Trednoke's ranch was very near the borders of these two mighty forces. An hour's easy ride would carry him to a region as barren and apparently as irreclaimable as that through which Childe Roland journeyed
Hideous black lizards and horned toads crawl and hop amid this desolation; and the deadly little sidewinder rattlesnake lies basking in the blaze of sunshine, which it distils into venom. Sometimes the level plain is broken up into savage ridges and awful cañons, along whose arid bottoms no
At right angles to the main body of the house extend two wings, thus forming three sides of a square, the interior of which is the court-yard. Here the business of the
Most of the rooms in the wings are used for the kitchens and other servants' quarters; but one large chamber is devoted to a special purpose of the general's own: it is a museum; the Curiosity-Room, he calls it. It is lighted by two windows opening on opposite sides, one on the court-yard, the other on an orange grove at the south end of the house. Besides being, in itself, a cool and pleasant spot, it is full of interest to any one who cares about the relics and antiquities of an ancient and vanishing race, concerning whom little is or ever will be known. There are two students in it at this moment; though whether they are studying antiquities is another matter. Let us give ear to their discourse and be instructed.
“But this was made for you to wear, Miss Trednoke. Try it. It fits you perfectly,
“I sometimes feel it,—here!” she said, putting her hand on her bosom. She was looking at him as she said it, but her eyes, instead of any longer meeting his, seemed to turn their regard inward, and to traverse strange regions, not of this world. “I see some one who is myself, though I can never have been she: she is surrounded with brightness, and people not like ours; she thinks of things that I have never known. It is the memory of a dream, I suppose,” she added, in another tone.
“Heredity is a queer thing. You may be Aztecan over again, in mind and temperament; and every one knows how impressions are transmitted. If features and traits of character, why not particular thoughts and feelings?”
“I think it is better not to try to explain these things,” said she, with the unconscious haughtiness which maidens acquire who have not seen the world and are adored by their
“I hope the time will come when you will feel that you may trust me.”
“You seem easy to know, Mr. Freeman,” she replied, looking at him contemplatively as she spoke, “and yet you are not. There is one of you that thinks, and another that speaks. And you are not the same to my father, or to Professor Meschines, that you are to me.”
“What is the use of human beings except to take one out of one's self?”
“But it is not your real self that comes out,” said Miriam, after a little pause. She never spoke hurriedly, or until after
Freeman laughed. “Well,” he said, “if I'm a hypocrite, I'm one of those who are made and not born. As a boy, I was frank enough. But a good part of my life has been spent with people who couldn't be trusted; and perhaps the habit of protecting myself against them has grown upon me. If I could only live here for a while it would be different.—Here's an odd-looking thing. What do you call that?”
“We call it the Golden Fleece.”
“The Golden Fleece! I can imagine a Medea; but where is the Dragon?”
“If Jason came, the Dragon might appear.”
“I remember reading somewhere that the Dragon was less to be feared than Medea's eyes. But this fleece seems to have lost most of its gold. There is only a little gold embroidery.”
“It shows where the gold is hidden.”
“It's you that are concealing something
“The secret might be woven into it, perhaps,” replied Miriam, passing her fingers caressingly over the soft tunic. “Then, when the right person puts it on, it would— But you don't believe in these things.”
“I don't know: you don't give me a chance. But who is the right person? The thing seems rather small. I'm sure I couldn't get it on.”
“It can fit only the one it was made for,” said Miriam, gravely. “And if you wanted to find the gold, you would trust to your science, rather than to this.”
“Well, gold-hunting is not in my line, at present. Every nugget has been paid for more than once, before it is found. Besides, there is something better than gold in Southern California,—something worth any labor to get.”
“What is it?” asked Miriam, turning her tranquil regard upon him.
Harvey Freeman had never been deficient
In Miriam's company, Freeman forgot every one save her,—even himself,—though she certainly made no effort to attract him or [beyond the commonplaces of courtesy] to interest him. Consequently he had become entirely oblivious of the existence of such a person as Grace Parsloe, when, much to his irritation, he heard the voice of that young lady, mingled with others, approaching
But the past was beyond remedy: it was his concern to deal with the present. In a few seconds, Grace entered the curiosity-room, followed by Professor Meschines, and by a dashing young Mexican señor, whom Freeman had met the previous evening, and who was called Don Miguel de Mendoza. The señor, to judge from his manner, had already fallen violently in love with Grace, and was almost dislocating his organs of speech in the effort to pay her romantic compliments in English. Freeman observed this with unalloyed satisfaction. But the look which Grace bent upon him and Miriam, on entering, and the ominous change which passed over her mobile countenance, went far to counteract this agreeable impression.
One story is good until another is told. Freeman had really thought Grace a fascinating girl, until he saw Miriam. There was no harm in that: the trouble was, he had allowed Grace to perceive his admiration. He had already remarked that she was a creature of violent extremes, tempered, but not improved, by a thin polish of subtlety. She was now about to give an illustration of the passion of jealousy. But it was not her jealousy that Freeman minded: it was the prospect of Miriam's scorn when she should surmise that he had given Grace cause to be jealous. Miriam was not the sort of character to enter into a competition with any other woman about a lover. He would lose her before he had a chance to try to win her.
But fortune proved rather more favorable than Freeman expected, or, perhaps, than he deserved. Grace's attack was too impetuous. She stopped just inside the threshold, and said, in an imperious tone, “Come here, Mr. Freeman: I wish to speak to you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, resolving at once to widen the breach to the utmost extent possible, “I am otherwise engaged.”
“Upon my word,” observed the professor, with a chuckle, “you're no diplomatist, Harvey! What are you two about here? Investigating antiquities?”
“The remains of ancient Mexico are more interesting than some of her recent products,” returned Freeman, who wished to quarrel with somebody, and had promptly decided that Señor Don Miguel de Mendoza was the most available person. He bowed to the latter as he spoke.
“You—a—spoken to me?” said the señor, stepping forward with a polite grimace. “I no to quite comprehend—”
“Pray don't exert yourself to converse with me out of your own language, señor,” interrupted Freeman, in Spanish. “I was just remarking that the Spaniards seem to have degenerated greatly since they colonized Mexico.”
“Señor!” exclaimed Don Miguel, stiffening and staring.
“Of course,” added Freeman, smiling benevolently upon him, “I judge only from such specimens of the modern Mexican as I happen to meet with.”
Don Miguel's sallow countenance turned greenish white. But, before he could make a reply, Meschines, who scented mischief in the air, and divined that the gentler sex must somehow be at the bottom of it, struck in.
“You may consider yourself lucky, Harvey, in making the acquaintance of a gentleman like Señor de Mendoza, who exemplifies the undimmed virtues of Cortez and Torquemada. For my part, I brought him here in the hope that he might be able to throw some light on the mystery of this embroidered garment, which I see you've been examining. What do you say, Don Miguel? Have these designs any significance beyond mere ornament? Anything in the nature of hieroglyphics?”
The señor was obliged to examine, and to enter into a discussion, though, of course, his ignorance of the subject in dispute was as the depths of that abyss which has no bottom. Miriam, who was not fond of Don Miguel, but who felt constrained to exceptional courtesy in view of Freeman's unwarrantable attack upon him, stood beside him and the Professor; and Freeman and Grace were thus left to fight it out with each other.
But Grace had drawn her own conclusions from what had passed. Freeman had insulted Don Miguel. Wherefore? Obviously, it could only be because he thought that she was flirting with him. In other words, Freeman was jealous; and to be jealous is to love. Now, Grace was so constituted that, though she did not like to play second fiddle herself, yet she had no objection to monopolizing all the members of the male species who might happen, at a given moment, to be in sight.
She had, consequently, already forgiven
“I had no idea you were so savage,” she said, softly.
“I'm not savage,” replied Freeman. “I am bored.”
“Well, I don't know as I can blame you,” said Grace, still more softly: she fancied he was referring to Miriam. “I don't much like Spanish mixtures myself.”
“One has to take what one can get,” said Freeman, referring to Don Miguel.
“But it's all right now,” rejoined she, meaning that Freeman and herself were reconciled after their quarrel.
“If you are satisfied, I am,” observed Freeman, too indifferent to care what she meant.
“Only, you mustn't take that poor young
“He won't, if he values his skin,” said Freeman, meaning that if Don Miguel attempted to interfere between himself and Miriam he would wring his neck.
“He won't, I promise you,” said Grace, sparkling with pleasure.
“I don't quite see how you can help it,” returned Freeman.
“I should hope I could manage a creature like that!” murmured she, smiling.
“Well,” said Freeman, after a pause,— for Grace's seeming change of attitude puzzled him a little,—“I'm glad you look at it that way. I don't wish to be meddled with; that's all.”
“You shan't be,” she whispered; and then, just when they were approaching the point where their eyes might have been opened, in came General Trednoke. The group round the Golden Fleece broke up.
The general wore his riding-dress, and his bearing was animated, though he was covered with dust.
“I was wondering what had become of you all,” he said, as the others gathered about him. “I have been taking a canter to the eastward. Kamaiakan said this morning that one of the boys had brought news of a cloud-burst in that direction. I rode far enough to ascertain that there has really been something of the kind, and I think it has affected the arroyo on the farther side of the little sierra. Now, I don't know how you gentlemen feel, but it occurred to me that it might be interesting to make up a little party of exploration to-morrow. Would you like to try it, Meschines?”
“To be sure I should!” the professor replied. “I imagine I can stand as much of the desert as you can! And I want to catch a sidewinder.”
“Good! And you, Mr. Freeman?”
“It would suit me exactly,” said the latter. “In fact, I had been intending to
“Ah!” said the general, eying him with some intentness. “Well, we may be able to show you something more curious than you anticipate.—And now, Señor de Mendoza, there is only you left. May we count on your company into the desert?”
But the Mexican, with a bow and a grimace, excused himself. Scientific curiosity was an unknown emotion to him; but he foresaw an opportunity to have Grace all to himself, and he meant to improve it. He also wished leisure to think over some plan for getting rid of Señor Freeman, in whom he scented a rival, and who, whether a rival or not, had behaved to him with a lack of consideration in the presence of ladies.
CHAPTER III. The Golden Fleece | ||