The Gringos: A Story Of The Old California Days In 1849Bower, B. M.
General
The Gringos: A Story Of The Old California Days In 1849
Bower, B. M.
California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
Behind Jack came the click of slipper-heels upon the hardwood; and he
turned from staring, puzzled, after the stiff-necked Manuel, and gave
the girl a smile such as a man reserves for the woman who has entered
into his dreams.
"Santa Maria, what elegance! Now will the señor ride in splendor
that will dazzle the eyes to look upon!" Teresita bantered, poking a
slipper-toe tentatively towards the saddle, and clasping her hands in
mock rapture. "On every corner, silver crescents; on the tapideros,
silver stars bigger than Venus; riding behind the cantle, a whole
milky way; José will surely go mad with rage when he sees. Stars has
José, but no moon to bear him company when he rides. Surely the cattle
will fall upon their knees when the señor draws near!"
"Shall we ride out and put them to the test?" he asked wishfully,
shaking out the bridle to show the beautiful design of silver inlaid
upon the leather cheek-piece, and stooping to adjust a big-roweled,
silver-incrusted spur upon his boot-heel. "Manuel does exactly as he
is told. I said he was to get the best he could find--"
"And so no vaquero in the valley will be so gorgeous--" She broke off
suddenly to sing in lilting Spanish a fragment of some old song that
told of the lilies of the field that "Toil not, neither do they spin."
"That is not kind. I may not spin, but I toil--I leave it to Dade if I
don't." This last, because he caught sight of Dade coming across from
the row of huts, which was a short cut up from the corrals. "And I can
show you the remains of blisters--" He held out a very nice appearing
palm towards her, and looked his fill at her pretty face, while she
bent her brows and inspected the hand with the gravity that threatened
to break at any instant into laughter.
That sickening grip in the chest which is a real, physical pain,
though the hurt be given to the soul of a man, slowed Dade's steps to
a lagging advance towards the tableau the two made on the steps. So
had the señorita sent him dizzy with desire (and with hope to brighten
it) in the two weeks and more that he had been the honored guest. So
had she laughed and teased him and mocked him; and he had believed
that to him alone would she show the sweet whimsies of her nature. But
from the moment when he laid her gold thimble in her waiting hand and
got no reward save an absent little nod of thanks, the dull ache had
been growing in his heart. He knew what it was that had sent José off
in that headlong rage against all gringos; though two days before
he would have said that José's jealousy was for him, and with good
reason. There had been glances between those two who stood now so
close together--swift measuring of the weapons which sex uses against
sex, with quick smiles when the glances chanced to meet. José also had
seen the byplay; and the fire had smoldered in his eyes until at last
it kindled into flame and drove him cursing from the place. In his
heart Dade could not blame José.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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