“The gentleman whom you met, as you came in, is a lawyer. A New York lawyer. I–I would like to consult him about our–this business you mention. I was born and reared in New York and have a feeling that anything which comes from there must be all right. Even a lawyer, though I’m not fond of the profession usually.
“The senor is not wont to waste so many words upon her most humble servant, no. And as for the lawyers, have I not this day been to the consulting of the most eminent, the wisest of his kind, no? But yes; and the truth is, senora–believe me, it breaks my heart so to inform you, but this barren rancho of Sobrante belongs not to the Dona Gabriella and her children, but to one Antonio Bernal, even I, myself.”
“To you! Belongs–to–you?” gasped the astonished woman.
The manager shrugged his shoulders and tossed another Spanish proverb toward her: “What I have said, I have said.”
Mrs. Trent felt her strength leaving her and sank into a chair, still gazing incredulously at the other, who now lounged back in his own chair and began to leisurely pick his teeth. It was a trivial action, but one wholly disgusting to the gentlewoman’s fastidious sense, and it angered her, which was a good thing, for her anger banished her momentary faintness and gave her boldness to demand:
“The proof!”
“It will be forthcoming, senora, at the right time. Yes. Meanwhile, I am content you shall remain, you and your little ones, until–well, say a month. By that date all things should have been arranged and the senora will have found herself another home less lonely than Sobrante. One so beautiful as the Dona Gabriella must have hosts of friends who–”
Senor Bernal paused. There were footsteps approaching, and the merry voices of children, and an instant later Samson was in the room, still carrying the little lads in his arms, and with Jessica clinging affectionately to his ragged sleeve.
One glance showed the faithful ranchman that something was amiss. There was fresh sorrow, even consternation, in the beloved face of Sobrante’s mistress, fresh insolence in that of her chief assistant. He was not one to hesitate when his friends were in trouble, and turned to Antonio with an angry demand:
“What have you been worrying your betters with now, senor?”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, rascal.”
“Returnin’ the compliment, if you please. All the same, don’t you know that a man–a man– doesn’t go around worrying women as you worry Mrs. Trent? You, that hadn’t a shirt to your back when the boss took you in and made you what you are! I’m anticipatin’ a mite, and I don’t know just how some of the boys’ll take it, but we’d laid out this very night at moon-up–if there’d been a moon sensible enough to get up, which there isn’t–to haul you and a few other matters over the coals and stir up a fresh sort of blaze. Now, I warn you, just you let matters slide, peaceable, and you–just you, yourself, keep that civil tongue you recommend, or you’ll light out of here so quick ye won’t see your heels for dust, dry season though it is. Hear?”
“Hear? Yes, I hear. Now, ’tis your turn. You go tell those malcontents you call ‘the boys’ to take their packs and foot it. Times have changed. Things have changed. There’s another master here now, and not a weak-willed mistress. That is me–I–Antonio Bernal, owner of Sobrante rancho and all that appertains thereto. Now, go. Vamos. Depart. Clear out. Get!”
Samson went–as far as the long, open window, and stepped out upon the porch. He did not see Mr. Hale, who had seated himself in a rocker, an unintentional witness of a scene he would gladly have missed, and putting a whistle to his lips blew a summons which was understood by every fellow-workman on the ranch. Then he quietly re-entered the house, folded his arms, and leaned carelessly against the door frame.
Senor Bernal started up as if he would forcibly eject the herder, but thought better of this and sank back nonchalantly in his great chair. Jessica had placed herself behind her mother, and clasped Mrs. Trent’s shoulders with the protecting tenderness habitual to her. Ned had sprung to his mother’s lap and Luis continued his nap at her feet; while all seemed waiting for some fresh development of the affair.
This came and speedily; for, in answer to Samson’s whistle, there filed over the porch and into the room, Joe, the smith; Marty, the gardener; and Carpenter John. There was missing old “Forty-niner,” commonly the dominant fifth of this odd quintet, but nobody wondered much at that. Doubtless he was polishing his darling’s rifle and making ready for some astonishing display of her skill wherewith to dazzle the stranger upon the morrow. In any case he rarely disagreed with the opinions of his cronies and was sure to be one with them in the matter of that hour.
With a respectful salute to Mrs. Trent, a grin toward the children, and a scowl for Antonio, these stalwart ranchmen lined up against the wall and stood at attention. Mr. Hale, observant through the doorway, again noticed that each of these was well along in years, that each had some slight physical infirmity, and that, despite these facts, each looked a man of unusual strength and most entire devotion. Indeed, the gaze fixed upon the little lady, was one of adoration, and the situation boded ill for anybody who meant harm to her.
“Ahem. What say, mates? Has the hour struck?”
“The hour has struck,” answered John Benton, solemnly, shifting his weight from his lame leg to his sound one.
Samson strode a mighty step forward and pulled his forelock.
“Then I state, madam, that we here, on behalf of ourselves and our whole crew, now, and hereby do, throw off all ’legiance to that there Spanish skunk, a-settin’ in your easiest chair, and appoint Our Lady Jess, captain of the good ship Sobrante. Allowin’ you to be the admiral of that same, madam, but takin’ no more orders from anybody save and excepting her–under you, of course–from this time forth, so help us.”
Then there burst from the trio of throats a cheer that shook the windows, and called a contemptuous laugh from the superintendent so valiantly defied.
The cheer died in an ominous silence which Senor Bernal improved.
“Highly dramatic and most edifying, en verdad. Senor, I kiss your hands in even greater devotion. But the play has one little drawback. To I, me, myself, belongs Sobrante. Already I have had the law of which you spoke. My claim I have proved. From the long back generations the good title from the Mission Padres to my own fathers, yes. Sobrante? Si. More and better. Wide lies the valley of Paraiso d’Oro. Mine, Mine. All–all mine. No?”
He rose to his feet and pompously paced up and down the room, insolently handsome and proud of the fact, while out on the darkened porch Mr. Hale had heard a word which set his own pulses beating faster and the row of ranchmen started forward as if minded to throw the braggart out of the house.
But Jessica stepped forth and cried, triumphantly, though still with an effort toward that courtesy she desired.
“Beg pardon, Senor Antonio Bernal, but surely you are quite mistaken. My father taught me some things. He said I was not too young to learn them. He–he only–has the title deed to dear Sobrante, and I–I only–know the safe place where it is kept!”
Antonio halted in his strutting march and for a moment his face grew pale. The next instant he had regained more than his former confidence, and with a sneering laugh, exclaimed:
“Seeing is believing, no? To the satisfaction of the assembled most honorable company,” here he bowed with mock politeness, “let this most interesting document be produced. Si.”
Jessica flew from the room and in an intolerable anxiety the whole “honorable company” awaited her long-delayed return.
CHAPTER VI
NIGHT VISIONS
When the tension of waiting was becoming