USA > California > Sonoma County > Casa Grande : a California pastoral > Part 7
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15
147
.
THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FLOCK
Miller caught the defensive note in her voice, and kindly urged her to keep away from the bulls. It was too late to interfere; the only thing now was to give each a fair field and let them fight to the end.
"But he'll kill Mad Anthony!" protested the girl.
"He'll be the first to conquer the old fellow," re- plied his owner, with a touch of vanity.
"Look at his horns," urged Belle. "It'll be like a man with a sword fighting a man with a knife!"
"Yes; Anthony's horns aren't much, but see that neck; isn't it magnificent !"
"Come and get on my horse," she said, lightly jumping down, with a hope that he would do some- thing when mounted.
"No, Belle; stay in your saddle. If we interfere now, it may cost the life of the bull we bother. There they go, anyway."
The antagonists were facing each other, the roan massive, short-legged and furious, the black wild, bony and alert, with the advantage of being up the hill. What the roan gained in power the black made up in activity. The one, with short, strong horns,
148
CASA GRANDE
depended on striking force; the other, with long, slender horns, depended on quickness of thrust. If their natural weapons had been equally formidable, the black could not match the roan. As it was, the match was not unequal.
The black bull, which had made most of the noise, grew silent. He intently watched the roan and cau- tiously prepared for the attack. The ranchero's heart throbbed, for the invader was a proved warrior, fighting his way down the ranges, from miles to the north, and conquering all antagonists. Mad An- thony always had been protected from fights with his kind, as he was too valuable to risk against neighbouring scrubs.
But the roan proved quite as watchful as the black, and as the antagonists paused their aspects typified animal hatred. The black slowly lowered his head till his horns stood straight forward, his small eyes glittering like gems. He pawed the dust into the air with long sweeps of sinewy legs; it fell in a fine cloud, turning his coat tawny. He snorted defiance, and as the other bull threw up his head the black arched his supple back and twisted his body
149
THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FLOCK
sidewise, his eyes rolling, foam on his lips, ready for a savage lunge.
Mad Anthony paid no heed to these threats. He saw only the hated intruder, he heard only the de- fiant challenge, and he knew that his rights had been invaded. One alternative only was possible: he , must continue master of the range, or leave his bones to whiten on the hills.
The roan did not paw the dust. He did not even snort. He walked straight at his foe, the flash of his glance lurid and terrible. He stopped as if to measure the distance separating them, lowered his head and, whipping his slender tail like a lash, shot forward and struck the black full in the forehead, with a noise like the crackling of a sapling. They paused a moment with locked horns, then the black cavorted sidewise as he backed away, unable to with- stand the drive of the roan's mighty sinews.
In the fierce scramble to separate, the bulls had moved round the oak, so that Mad Anthony now was up the hill, the black slightly below him, and they stood glaring at each other. Again the intruder pawed the dust; again he snorted and twisted his
150
CASA GRANDE
body, his stout black tail lashing ribs on which the sweat of battle was beginning to glisten. He moved uneasily before his opponent; he had met a foe that would try him to the death. He wanted to avoid a charge head on; the enemy was too powerful a striker. He must play for the other's ribs; the long, slender horns must decide the battle. If he could dodge the roan sufficiently to catch his flank, then would be the opportunity to strike the blow that more than once had left him master, the crimson insignia of victory on his tapering horns.
Mad Anthony likewise was a diplomat, and knew a thing or two about fighting, never turning his eyes from his antagonist. He appreciated that this battle hung on striking force. He knew the uselessness of his short horns, watched for an opening, and more cautiously than before he faced the black.
The other bull, step by step, had backed down the hill until he could feel the oak behind him with his switching tail, and there he stood. Both heads were lowered again; again Mad Anthony's tail shot out; again he hurled himself at the black and struck him full between the horns. The sable mass recoiled
151
THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FLOCK
against the tree, and above the crash of meeting skulls could be heard the sharper crack of breaking bones. When the dust lifted, Mad Anthony proudly shook his head above the enemy, which, limp and motionless, lay dead, his ebon head upturned, his neck broken.
Miller cautiously approached the bulls and Belle rode nearer. There was a fire in Mad Anthony's eyes, a nervous switching of the tail, that showed him still unsafe.
"Old man," said the ranchero, glancing at his favourite, "you slaughtered him like the warrior you are, but the devil will be to pay for this with the squatters !"
The bull only tossed his head, and walked from under the shadow of the tree. He looked down into the valley of the Casa Grande, and, raising his voice in three mellow bugle notes of victory, strode back to his own.
The young cattle had been curiously gathering about the fighters, and when the monarch of them all turned away some walked up and sniffed at the dead warrior. They could not know of death, yet
152
CASA GRANDE
a wild frenzy seized them, and they fell to bellowing and pawing the earth and leaping and hooking at one another.
Miller and Belle were still under the tree, and to remain longer would be dangerous. The man turned to the girl and kindly said : "Now, go while it's safe. These brutes are growing frantic."
"What will you do?" she asked, sitting quite im- movable.
"Climb back into the tree. Go quick."
She moved her horse close, withdrew a foot from the near stirrup and said, as frankly as if a man: "Climb up; Buck will carry double."
He shook his head half-doubtfully, something swelling in his throat. She was a comrade to be trusted in any emergency, without a thought of her own danger. A more frantic commotion than usual among the cattle rapidly gathering decided him, and he vaulted to the seat behind her.
They galloped in silence to the crest of the ravine of the Aguas Frias. Her supple, boyish figure op- pressed him as she lightly swayed to the horse's mo- tion. Loose strands of hair floated in his face, and
153
THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FLOCK
her breath carried a nameless perfume. The lump in his throat filled tighter as he thought of her rest- less soul, her tireless humanity, her unfaltering cour- age. What might she not make of herself with op- portunity ! As she drew rein and glanced happily at him, he felt that, after all, she could become as fine as the woman of her own ideals.
He dismounted and stood beside her, a hand on the horn of her saddle. The curves in her lips told that she expected no thanks other than comradeship. It was not sufficient for him, however, and he quietly said :
"I'm beginning to consider you my protecting angel."
"You mustn't," she hurriedly replied. "I'd do for any man what I've done for you. Good-bye."
She wheeled and sped away to Dry Creek. He watched her to the crest of the hill. As she plunged out of sight, she cast a swift glance backward.
CHAPTER XI
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE AWAY
N OT many days after the black bull of the squat- ters had fought his last fight one of Miller's vaqueros, riding leisurely along the trail in the direc- tion of Dry Creek, noticed the circling flight of buz- zards. He knew what their presence meant, and soon found Mad Anthony's dead body, a bullet wound behind the shoulder.
The man spurred back to the dwelling, a fleet mes- senger of death. With an echoing clatter of hoofs, he galloped into the stone-paved courtyard and rang an alarm from the watch tower. A dog ran out of the kitchen and howled.
It was the first time the old bell had sounded an alarm for them, but the beat of the fluttering tongue re-echoed a dirge from the sloping hills. The men galloped up with sombre faces and eyes aglow, their ponies snorting in fear.
154
155
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
A sled and team bore the dead hero to the shadow of the fig-trees that grew between the house and the creek. The leafy grove had been his accustomed protection from noontide heat; henceforth it would be the eternal resting-place of his dust.
They did not realise what a dominant life he had led until death rode him down. They did not know what space in human regard a dumb brute can fill until his going had left the void. They would not admit their pride in him until he was driven in for the final rodeo.
He could have been no more sincerely mourned had he been one of their kind, and for days the old house was desperately gloomy. Miller forgave the treachery that had killed their favourite, but his vaqueros were less impersonal, and he feared they might forget that the injunction, a life for a life, applies only to men. He took the precaution, there- fore, to have them leave their weapons behind when they rode the range.
It was a welcome relief when Bailey came to dine with them a week after Mad Anthony's funeral. He had heard of the bull's death, and he feared the re-
156
CASA GRANDE
sult. He needed to ask few questions when the sub- ject was discussed, and by the time the meal was , over no doubt remained in his mind how the inmates of Casa Grande felt.
The guest lingered at the table to hear what Miller would say. The master of the range was less com- municative than his men, and an air of oppression kept him unusually silent.
"I hope," said Bailey, "that you're not going to retaliate."
"Oh, no. I'm too busy restraining my men. You'll notice that they ride without arms."
"It's curious that the squatters should have held your bull answerable for killing theirs."
Miller gloomily replied that it was not the bull they were after, but his master.
Bailey asked if the master had been doing any- thing worse than usual.
Miller reluctantly admitted that he had pre- vented their exchanging calves on one of his best cowS.
Bailey was alert at once, and wanted to know how Miller had prevented the exchange.
157
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
"I came on the man as he was about to brand my calf, and I warned him not to."
"Warned him! Pull a gun on him?"
"No. I told him it was my calf."
"What did he say?"
Miller smiled a little. "He told me I lied."
"Pull your gun then?"
"It would have been one against twenty if I had." "What did you do, then?"
"I urged him to think about it-to wait till next day."
"A hell of a proposition !" exclaimed Bailey, nois- ily laughing.
Miller did not smile. He said, however, that the calf came back, unbranded, to the range. But he would rather have lost a hundred calves than Mad Anthony.
"Was their bull on your range when he got killed ?"
"Yes. He came hunting trouble."
"Did any of them see the fight?"
Miller hesitated. He regretted to drag Belle into the discussion, but it was better that Bailey should
158
CASA GRANDE
have the story at first hand, and the ranchero evenly answered :
"Belle Clark was there."
Bailey keenly regarded his host. The answer had been given frankly, yet this was his first intimation of the girl's presence on the scene. "What was she doing there?" The sheriff asked the question curtly.
Just as evenly as before came the answer : "She was after the black bull."
Bailey rose and paced the floor a turn or two. "Do you think it's fair, Miller? Here she is watch- ing bull-fights with you. The other day she shot a grizzly chasing you and got your horse off your leg. Where will it end ?"
The master of Aguas Frias felt his pulse quicken at the insinuation, but he looked charitably at Belle's self-constituted champion, and asked, with a twinkle in his eye:
"Shall I forbid her the range?"
Bailey threw himself on the bench beside the table, and rather moodily answered : "I suppose I'm inter- fering." He remained silently studying the floor, and at length observed: "She's a good girl."
159
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
Miller did not answer. His guest's remark im- plied that the ranchero's influence might be question- able. It was a matter too personal for present dis- cussion, and especially since his own conscience was clear. Bailey, exasperated by the host's poise, rose to go, and asked, as he reached for his hat: "Was Belle at the rodeo when you warned the squatter not to brand your calf?"
"No. But I saw her that day. I'm always glad to see her."
"I'm sure of that without your telling."
"You mustn't grudge the few enjoyments of my range life, Bailey ; especially as your own visits to her have been rather far between of late."
The sheriff looked hard at the ranchero. He was disposed to resent this criticism, but he quickly re- membered that he had spoken quite frankly of Miller's doings, and his host had set him an example in courtesy. The visitor replied, therefore, without irritation :
"Perhaps I have been negligent. I'll go over to Dry Creek on my way back to town."
"And, Bailey," called Miller, in friendly tones,
160
CASA GRANDE
"don't take too much for granted. Don't take any- thing for granted."
"Not even what I see?" demanded Bailey, with the suspicion of a smile on his face.
"That depends on how well you can see. Good- bye."
Late that afternoon Bailey returned to Casa Grande, and asked Miller to ride a little way with him on the road to town.
When the friends were jogging easily side by side, Bailey told his companion that he just had given Belle quite a lecture. "I think I made her un- derstand she must stop chasing round after you."
"You expressed yourself somewhat forcefully, I judge."
Bailey laughed with amusement. "I didn't use just those words. But you must admit, old man, that things can't go on as they have been."
"Are you thinking of the girl, or of yourself, or of me?"
"The girl, of course," replied Bailey, nettled. He was catching a more impersonal glimpse of his own actions.
161
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
Miller smiled. "I didn't know that disinterested- ness is so prominent a trait in your character."
"The devil you didn't !"
Miller checked Peggy and quizzically regarded his companion. "I understood that you invited me to ride, not to lecture me."
Bailey's jaw relaxed an instant, then his face lighted. "Come on. What's the use of getting mad ? You know, all's fair in love and war."
"Now that I know what you consider fair," re- joined Miller, riding along again, "I'll not be so greatly shocked."
The sheriff insisted, however, that his long friend- ship for the family gave him a right to explain to Belle what the proprieties demand of a young girl, and he had taken no unfair advantage.
"Your purpose is kindly enough, but I mistrust your methods-to say nothing of the reflection on my motives."
"What are your motives?" Bailey asked the ques- tion rather guiltily.
Miller smiled at his companion's insistence, and answered: "As I said the other day, quite friendly."
162
CASA GRANDE
"I've blundered again," said Bailey, and held out his hand.
"No, Sam, you've been their good friend. But don't force the girl to do consciously what so far has been prompted by merely her native impulsiveness."
The men parted, and Miller rode lightly home- ward. The last whistling of larks, the mourning of doves, the quidado of quails, with the soft air and the breath of the meadows, soon brought forgetful- ness of his irritation at Bailey. When he reached his own range he turned aside to the line of stone wall to see if any trespassers had come in. The sun had set and shadows were deepening as he neared the brow of the hill overlooking Dry Creek.
He had not proceeded far when he detected some animals running swiftly from the direction of the floodgate. They at first appeared like three gallop- ing horsemen, but as he drew nearer he saw that one was his bull Cinnabar, the other two chasing the bull at top speed and flogging him with the loops of their riatas. The young animal ran as if terrified, and the skilful riders hung to his flanks and be- laboured him.
163
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
The recollection of Mad Anthony was yet too sen- sitive to tolerate the persecution of this other favour- ite, and the ranchero forgot his resolution of self- control and gave chase. Peggy knew what was wanted, and never had she run freer. The two herders separated as soon as aware of pursuit, and Miller followed the nearer one.
The ranchero was dimly conscious of something familiar in the motion of the fleeing horse and the swaying rider, but he was blinded to every impulse but resentment. He leaned to his own mount, urg- ing her still faster, and when the fugitive fell to whipping his own steed the man in pursuit smiled grimly. It was a splendid race. Peggy clung to the stirrup of the trespasser; with ears laid back, she reached the horse's shoulder, then ran even with him, nose to nose.
Miller bent over and gathered the man beside him in his arm, and braced himself to lift the slight figure clear of the saddle. Something soft and yielding in the form made him hesitate, set his heart to pounding, and he suddenly reached with his other hand and checked his captive's horse.
164
CASA GRANDE
They were standing at last. The quick, hard breathing of their mounts was the only sound, save the throb of Miller's heart, and it vexed him to think that the captive in his arm must feel it, too. He tried to speak evenly, but his voice quivered as he exclaimed : "What do you mean?"
The figure he clasped rested with averted face, and did not answer, except the trembling of the body shrinking closer to him. As he twisted the tres- passer's face, he caught the perfume of her breath, and felt, rather than heard, her long-drawn sigh. "Belle !" he said. "How could you?"
She neither moved nor answered, but unfalter- ingly met his gaze.
"I wouldn't have believed it," he unhappily re- marked, then loosened his hold on her and straight- ened in his seat.
She caught the distress in his manner and roused at last. "I meant no harm. Mr. Miller, I didn't! I didn't!" Her breath was drawn quickly.
He leaned on his hands, crossed over the pommel, his eyes downcast.
"Cinnabar has been coming to our side every day
165
UNTIL THE SHADOWS FLEE
since the black bull was killed." She spoke impet- uously, eager to justify herself. "We've driven him back regularly. To-night we were trying to scare him so he wouldn't come again. Ask Tom."
Miller turned his glance to the approaching figure, and he recognised the other horseman-her brother.
The ranchero laughed a relieved laugh and straightened his drooping shoulders. "I'm glad, Belle. Hate me, if you must; fight me, if you will. -but like a man, as you've always done, not like a sneak !"
Her head bent down, and in the dim light he could tell by the movement of her shoulders that she was sobbing in spite of her effort not to. It was an unexpected thrust, and proved his undoing. He removed his hat, wiped the sweat of discomfiture from his brow, and quickly said :
"I'm ashamed of what I've just done. When you judge me, however, remember the stress I've been under the past two weeks."
She looked up shyly at him, her emotion con- trolled, and irrelevantly remarked, "You frightened me."
I66
CASA GRANDE
"I frightened myself when I found it was you. What shall I do with you?" They both sat musing, and then he continued: "I told Bailey that perhaps I would better forbid you the range. What do you think?"
She took up her bridle lines and settled firmly in her seat. "Sam Bailey isn't my father confessor."
The answer was not what Miller had expected, but something in her manner, a slight toss of resent- ment, made him laugh happily. She caught the in- fection and laughed with him.
"Clear out, now, both of you. If my cattle stray on you again, send me word-if you want to help. me."
All the way home he could feel the pressure of her body against his arm, and he resented it. He was growing to look for her, even to seek her, and it was time to halt. He had been too long on the ranch, had thought too much of his own per- plexities. It would be well to get back a little while among his own people, and that night he took down his travelling case and overhauled his wardrobe.
CHAPTER XII
A VERY FLAME OF THE LORD
M OUNTAIN streams were rising again, and among sunburnt boulders of their lately arid beds shallow waters eddied with rippling music. The murmur of the Aguas Frias droned faintly in the old house, and the reservoir behind the barn overflowed once more, after weeks of scant supply. Through the pipes that led to the courtyard it seemed as if the melody of singing eddies were hurrying to be played in the splash of the fountain with its brim- ming stone basin, where water lilies were putting out new shoots, goldfish, confined through the drought in a barrel, were flashing in and out of the shadows, and birds fluttered and cooled their wings in the rainbow sprays.
The thick haze of October obscured the distant mountains. The spangled carpet of spring, now
167
I68
CASA GRANDE
faded to honey-colour, covered the earth with inflam- mable stubble. The chaparral on the hills and the growth along waterways were shedding their leaves, which the wind swept into heaps ready for ignition. The midday sun boded forest fires ; a pungent odour of smoke was everywhere, and the drowsy air was haunted by a presentiment that behind the purple haze a conflagration might be smouldering.
Miller, refreshed and resolute, was back again from a two weeks' visit to San Francisco. The long drought disturbed him, and he anxiously watched the heavily timbered eastern hills. A fleecy cloud, a blue film hanging over their crests, filled his imagi- nation with a fear that the forest might be breeding another fire, as in years past, to sweep down and destroy. Every morning he eyed the rising sun to find some sign from the rain clouds. Every night he watched the sun go down to see if the shadow of a storm might hasten the departing light. The only shadow on the sun was purple haze; the only har- binger of a storm was the wind that rushed fitfully down the hills, scattered dead leaves, and as fitfully died away.
169
A VERY FLAME OF THE LORD
The anxious month had worn but half through when the dreaded summons came. A party of rev- ellers, on their way to Santa Rosa, stopped in front of the old house an hour before midnight, and, find- ing their only welcome the barking of dogs, joined unsteady voices in a drinking song so persistently repeated that the sleepy inmates were forced to show themselves. When all had come outside, the real purpose of the visit was evident, for above the eastern hills flames glowed steadily, as if the big, yellow moon were climbing the wooded crests.
This beginning of the conflagration was not a for- midable sight. To those who never before had watched these forest fires it seemed as if a few pails of water might extinguish it. But to the men al- ready at the top of the hills, who were fighting to keep the flames from the woods, the battle was hope- less, and one by one they drew away, to save what they could of their homes that these forests sur- rounded. The blaze, like the headlight of a distant locomotive, appeared to creep on its course toward the valley-in another hour to plunge swiftly down- ward, with the hiss and roar of numberless trains.
170
CASA GRANDE
Some of the men who had roused the sleepers at Casa Grande remained to help; some rode to waken other sleepers; and some continued to town and told belated stragglers of the danger that threatened the valley of the Aguas Frias. Many of these hastened to the scene of the conflagration, among them the sheriff, who was leaving the jail as the couriers arrived.
While the fire swept downward, the knot of men at Casa Grande grew larger as volunteers rode in. They fastened their horses in secure places and gath- ered in quiet groups to discuss former fires and how they had been fought. All knew that nothing could be done till the flames came close except watch the fiery brands that drifted down from the furnace above. It was these noiseless, blazing meteors that must be guarded against, light branches snapped from a burning giant, to float, like toy balloons, away to the fields below, and wherever they fell the tinder carpet of the earth became a river of flame running swiftly toward the valley.
The old house was fireproof. Tile roof and adobe walls gave nothing to ignite, and the dwelling was
171
A VERY FLAME OF THE LORD
left by itself. The barn had been protected by plac- ing barrels filled with water along the ridge of the roof. The great stacks at the feeding-sheds, too, had been surrounded by wide furrows, to save them from the stubble fires that might be started. Had one good shower fallen during the past two weeks these precautions would have been unnecessary.
The hot, still air of the valley lay like a stifling vapour. The fragrant breath of the night wind had expired. The echoing voices of darkness were hushed in expectancy. Slowly, stealthily, the booming flames were gathering for a mighty effort; a mo- ment more, with a rush and a roar and a bound, they would hurl themselves into the valley.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.