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II · Conquistador

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  Section two of Conquiste d'Or. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings
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  are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
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  LibriVox dot org. Conquistador by Catharine Fullerton Gerald two. To understand, perhaps
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  to like Don Fernando Gutierrez, you would have to begin with Cortes. There
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  is no time here and now for such far flung reminiscence, even for biography
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  of Don Fernando. Moreover, he was, while intensely typical, intensely rare,
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  and to explain him would mean a discourse on Mexican conditions that should both
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  provide a frame for him and make him stand out sharply. Therefrom the vast
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  and noble Hacienda of Santa Euleia was his by prime inheritance. He was himself
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  pure Creole. The persistence of Santa Euleia, though shrunk by many thousands of
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  acres, as an entity created by and for the Gutiera's family in the time
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  of the Viceroys, was due no doubt to the purity of the Spanish strain.
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  There were plenty of mestizo Gutieras within the domain, but the Hassendado had
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  always been of unmixed blood. Diaz had cherished Don Fernando, but needless to
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  say, he was now unpopular. Yet, though Santa Julelia had known pillage
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  and attack, the heart of the Hacienda had always been saved to that inflexible
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  family. If Don Fernando paid secret tribute to the particular general who infested the
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  state of Chihuahua most inveterately, that was no one's affair but his own.
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  The Indians, a very different breed from the Yaquis, were faithful, and
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  the head of the house kept things in his own hands. The ranch was
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  fortified after a fashion, and he could muster a small army for defense.
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  Cattle stealing must be expected, but the House of Gutieras, built by Don
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  Fernando's grandfather, had withstood so far all the evil desires of patriots. The
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  Santa Eullelia peons were more completely subjugated than most, and revolutionary armies knew them,
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  not any half or quarter. Gutiras with political aspirations had always been properly
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  subsidized and invited to exercise his gifts. Elsewhere, the government of the Hacienda
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  was archaic, even for Mexico, supple and progressive practically, but founded on
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  the bedrock of peonage as best evolved by the Spanish and best adapted to the
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  Indian temperament. So much for Don Fernando gutieras a widower of long standing,
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  unprovided with legitimate issue, perplexed and hesitant as among his bastards, sensible of
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  having done well by Santa Eulalia in the golden days of Porfirio Diaz, and
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  more more contemptuous now than fearful of patriots. He was conscious most of all
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  during these lean and troubled years, that Santa Ulalia was entering upon its twilight,
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  since he himself was its declining sun. After him at best the evening
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  star wan or another. The whole hacienda was feeling the influence of nightfall.
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  As the sun set, crimson drowsiness departed from the vast patio, upspringing chatter,
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  scurrying activities, tinkle of guitars and clashing of pots spoke of relaxation and
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  refreshment. Don Fernando prepared for the evening meal as he stalked through the patio
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  on his way to the patriarchal board, idlers turned to watch the master.
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  A bold infant carmed against his leg in greeting, and was well slapped by
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  a laughing mother, proudly conscious that the baby was In truth. Don Fernando's
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  grandson, sons, and daughter were all well grown by this time, For
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  the Hassendado had not prolonged his promiscuities beyond late middle age. His paramours had
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  all taken their places in the scheme of things, and at the heart of
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  all that clamor and business, he was a lonely man. The banquet board
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  fed fifty the scraps thereof a hundred. There was excellent wine ceremoniously poured for
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  Don Fernando. Below the salt they swam in mescal. Don Fernando sat at
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  the head of the table, a lonely man. As we have said,
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  above the salt, there was no signora to share rulership of the feast.
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  The women who had been his were dead or scattered about the big hacienda.
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  In towns things are different. But a hassendado, isolated by the very extent
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  of his possessions, cannot well have two establishments in his own domain. He
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  may take what he pleases, but ladies of the opera do not come his
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  way. Don Fernando, unlike many, had never been the town haunting aristocrat.
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  As for his remarrying Santa Juleelia, a country in itself enclosed him from
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  his kind, and he had greatly loved the childless wife of his youth.
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  Dusk deepened and lamps were lighted. Don Fernando dreamed over his coffee and cognac,
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  while the lesser folk, having fed, scattered. A few Indian girls
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  stood by to fill his cup or fetch tobacco. The routine was so familiar
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  to him that he almost sank, hypnotized into sleep where he sat, though
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  presently he would rouse and address himself to accounts at a huge desk of mahogany
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  trimmed with tarnished brass. There was a stir, a sudden, pulsive sound
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  in the diminishing clatter of the courtyard, and Vicente, the Majordomo, entered
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  the room with him came orton, cameron his face and figure, giving the
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  lie to his half breed clothes. Vicente faded away without explanations, indeed he
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  had none to give. Don Fernando rose. The two men faced each other.
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  The quick Spanish wove a pattern between them. Then Cameron ate and drank
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  quickly, for his host was in obvious haste to be rid of servitors.
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  Within an hour from the time when Cameron had crossed the patio, he stood
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  in the Hassandato's office beside the vast mahogany desk, and took the thin wallet
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  out of his inner pocket. He laid the papers on the desk under the
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  lamp, enumerating them as he did so. My mother's birth certificate, her
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  marriage lines, my birth certificate, my father's will, her will, her
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  photograph, A letter from old Yez to you, which I have never before
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  had the opportunity to deliver. He folded his arms and looked down at his
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  wares. What do you want of me? Senor? The Mexican accent was
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  there, but the ring of it was pure Castilian Wharton. Cameron smiled austerely
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  as befitted his features. Shelter for a day or two, if you are
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  not too prejudiced against an American citizen, especially at the moment, a place
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  to sleep tomorrow or next day, if you would permit a good view of
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  Santa Juleelia to fix it in the memory as evidence of good faith. Here,
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  Wharton Cameron achieved an American grin. Here is my pistol. Also,
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  with a quick rippling movement, he stripped off his belt, my cartridges.
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  He lifted his arms as if Don Fernando had uttered the familiar hands up defenseless,
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  he murmured still in Spanish. Don Fernando, ignoring the papers, stared
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  at Cameron intently. You are very sure of something, he said of you.
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  Senor, the young man replied quietly, I have heard a great deal
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  about you all my life to neither apparently did it occur to sit down and
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  discuss the matter. Then I will take you to your room. Don Fernando
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  said, you must, by your own account, need rest. I will
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  keep these things overnight. His hand indicated all the objects that lay on the
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  desk. Wharton Cameron nodded, the pistol, on the cartridges, Yes,
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  the papers, no signor. Don Fernando's eyes glinted. You said that you
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  had heard much talk about me. True, but since I was eighteen years
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  old, those papers have never left my person for a day or a night.
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  If I relinquish the papers, I relinquish also the hospitality of Santa Julia
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  calm. The older man strode out of the room ahead of him and called
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  to Vicente. Cameron pocketed his wallet, leaving his weapon on the desk.
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  Don Fernando did not even turn his head to see. Across the patio diagonally
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  rose a youth huge masonry tower roughly adapted to defense. There were musket holes
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  in the staircase that wound up within it. Hither Don Fernando and the steward
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  preceded Cameron. High up at the top of the staircase, a heavy door
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  gave access to a large chamber, stone walled, stone floored. There was
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  musty furniture, a giant bed with dark hangings, a clothes press, a
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  chair or two, a carved prie dieux, small unglazed windows, deeply embrasured
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  and heavily bord to boot let. In the night air, an Indian girl
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  in a blue Ribozo pattered in with candles, then pattered out again. Good
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  night, said Don Fernando formally, I commend you to our lady of Guadalupe.
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  He pointed within the bed hangings to an image above the head board.
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  When he had left the chamber, Cameron heard with grim amusement a bolt shot
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  on the other side of the door. Sataye Lelia, he whispered to himself,
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  Santa Eulilia at last, Rather a jolly old boy too, Don Fernando,
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  they always said. So he paced the room as he went through his
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  makeshift preparations for the night. He went on talking to himself for several minutes
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  in good American. But as he blew out the candles and started to climb
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  into the great, high pillared bed, another mood passed. His comprehension took
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  him. He knelt down with his face turned towards our Lady of Guadalupe,
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  and murmured a prayer in Spanish. Overlaid with so much, who could have
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  guessed it would come suddenly and imperiously back to his lips, But so it
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  was. Then he slept deeply, without dreams. The next days were more
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  like a minuet than a week of life. Something in Wharton Cameron was able
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  to recognize the music and improvise the steps alone at night in his stone chamber,
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  never locked on the outside again. He reverted in saltiloquy to his father's
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  language and the humor of his period. He remembered ironically how hard he tried
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  in the long daylight hours not to stumble in the archaic dance, to show,
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  by every considered phrase and all the detail of punctilio, that the Spanish
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  half of him was pure. He was a brave figure, now inclose furnished
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  him by Don Fernando, his khaki clothing miraculously cleaned and pressed, hung in
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  the great wardrobe forgotten. The clothes helped him to play the game. Youth
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  helped him too, for it was impossible not to be impressed by Don Fernando,
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  that great gentleman of a by gone day, provincial and unacquainted with capitals,
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  but moving futilely in a feudal world without a misstep. The elder man's
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  reticence on main issues was complete. Their conversations lay in Wharton's memory like strange
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  scraps of embroidery, unpieced, unpeaceable. Perhaps Don Fernando was watching, but
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  for what Cameron did not know, impossible to tell. Meanwhile, the great
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  domain of Santa Julelia worked its way into Cameron's inmost soul. One day,
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  riding for a field, he permitted himself enthusiastic comments, you'll know cattle.
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  Don Fernando asked, I was brought up in cattle country. Your father was
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  ranchero. He did not say, hassandato, and the fact bit Cameron,
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  but he answered quietly. His health forced him to renounce his profession. He
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  went west and bought a ranch to be in the open air. Duberculous Cameron,
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  for some unknown reason went red all over no signor a nervous breakdown,
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  and he took the liberty of changing the subject. Who is the lad who
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  rides always with us? He had learned to identify those features, but had
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  never made out the young man's occupation. Don Fernando's face grew somber lawn your
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  enemy, and he not. Cameron changed the subject. Your father was of
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  good birth. This time Cameron felt no insult. Excellent the younger son of
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  a younger son, but good stock. You will admit that he did not
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  contract an unworthy marriage. Don Fernando, however, admitted nothing. He had
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  inspected the papers carefully and given them back without comment. Cameron dominated more than
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  he quite cared to admit. By The older man had offered to leave his
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  mother's picture with him for a time, but it was handed back to him
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  with a courtly bow. She married without her parent's consent signor. There was
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  no condemnation in her elder brother's tongue, only cold repetition of a law.
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  Not once in speech to Cameron did Don Fernando confess to considering himself his uncle.
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  Another day you half no name, but that strange one which I cannot
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  pronounce, only another English one, Paul. My father named me from his
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  own relatives. My mother, appreciating his pride of family, made no attempt
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  to christen me from her side. As you so truly said Don Fernando,
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  she married without her parents consent. She was the soul of delicacy, Paul,
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  Pablo. Don Fernando spoke the names quietly. Then he spurred his horse,
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  and they rode into a huge corral again a few days later, in
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  the shade of the patio, Why is one my enemy? His mother was
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  castiza, not like the rest less Indian blood. There no other reply was
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  forthcoming. It seemed that Don Fernando held it sufficient. So for a week
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  Orton Cameron found himself playing the part of an uninvited but not unwelcome guest.
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  If as he became accustomed to the cacienda, he moved among its inhabitants,
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  with the half insolent grace of an acknowledged master. It was not because he
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  expected Don Fernando to claim kinship. It was because he felt, for the
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  first time in his life all the subtle significances of being white. In that
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  whiteness, he did not even count the Cameron's strain. He called himself,
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  in his own mind a creole. His carved mirror gave him corroboration daily.
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  Santa Eulalia was indeed working upon him. If the hacienda were molding itself another
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  lord, he did not know it. The talk of the patio and the
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  outlying villages Cameron did not hear. At the end of ten days, Cameron
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  thanked Don Fernando for his hospitality, expressed with emotion his admiration for Santa Eulalia,
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  and asked, with frank deference, the older man's advice as to his
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  next move. They sat by the lamp light in the Hassendado's place of business.
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  That Rasco Villa is very busy still between here and the Rio Grande,
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  said Don Fernando. But there are ways. One detail irks me, Don
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  Pablo. He drew silently at his cigar for a moment, sitting motionless,
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  his silver buttons winking in the light. Cameron waited the pay roll, said
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  the Spaniard. After a time you buried it. I understand what is the
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  probability of some of that scumbs having found it? Very slight? I think
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  they were damnably afraid of Lucca. But Luca has been in Durango for more
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  than three weeks. My information is, I think reliable. With time enough
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  to hunt, they might well find it. But who would disturb the sand?
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  The railway, you can be sure is quite abandoned. They might consider
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  that you had removed it. Cameron laughed in the shadow. They might,
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  But since I did not, I should not like to have it said of
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  my guest, Don Pablo. Cameron rose and stood very straight before his host.
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  A guest is easily disowned in these times. But if you have any
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  question, Don Fernando, I shall be glad to remove beforehand any stigma that
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  might rest on Sante Ulalia. Don Fernando smiled. To whom properly should the
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  money be returned? The mayor of Pharmacio is a director of the company.
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  He would be a proper person to receive it. I cannot say that I
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  think if he ever received it, that he would ever pay it out again.
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  That does not concern me. Don Fernando waved away the mayor's private character
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  your suggestion. Cameron was breathing hard. He seemed just then to be wholly
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  knit to the elder man, with bonds unbreakable and personal. He did not
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  resent the tone of authority which crept for the first time into Don Fernando's speech
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  to him. It can be done, the Hussendaro murmured, All things can
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  be done if you know the way and the country. You will go to
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  Rmacillo, Don Pablo and privately inform the mayor of the whereabouts of the pay
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  roll. You will accompany him on his search, and if some one else
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  has found it first, you will inform the mayor privately. As I said,
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  he will be quite willing to go with you, the more anxious to
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  go quietly, if, as you think, he would prefer to keep the
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  money for himself. If the money is still there, he can return and
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  fetch it at his leisure. If it is not you, and one can
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  protect yourself from his disappointment. You will of course arrange that as there are
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  only two of you, there shall be only two of them. Then you
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  will return to Santa Ulelia. Why is one to go with me? Don
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  Fernando eyes did not meet his, but brooded on the distance. Wan is
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  the one who can best guide you. Wan is clever and is known where
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  it would be advantageous to you to be known to the Auquies and the little
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  rancheros in eastern Sonora. I should doubt your getting to Armocio safely alone.
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  I got here safely alone by a slow and difficult rout with Wan. It
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  will be easy in Armacio. You will yourself be known. When do I
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  start? There was a faint flicker of humor in Cameron's tone, but underneath
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  the American jauntiness was solid submission to the head of the house. He had
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  never thought of Wharton Cameron Senior in those archaic terms, but so he thought
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  of Don Fernando. Santa Hulalia had not been idle. He wanted, honestly,
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  nothing from Don Fernando but verbal acknowledgment of what his papers attested. But
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  to get that he would prove himself in any way demanded. Then he could
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  say farewell tomorrow, Hysante shall bring you other clothes. Why not these?
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  You must look like Juan's dependant. It is one. It was to be
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  fine on this occasion. Cameron flushed, I am not quite sure, Don
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  Fernando, that I like this. I can go alone, as I came
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  in my own clothes Lassandani shook his head RISKI slow, I am impatient.
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  It struck Cameron that he was about as impatient as Bronze. I am anxious
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  for their return when debts were have been paid. The young man tossed his
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  head. One servant, No, give me back my khaki, he spoke,
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  as if it were not hanging in his own room, ready to his
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  hand. I appreciate, but it is best I know the dangerous better than
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  you. You go, Don Pablo, for the honor of Santo Leliait me
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  to know at every point what is due to that honor. He stepped forward
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  and laid his hands on Cameron's shoulders. Black eyes look deep into black eyes.
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  It is only the clothes, Don Pablo, for your safety. In
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  more census than one, you and one will have horses perfectly muched. You
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  would prefer probably your own pistol. You shall have it. One will carry
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  inevitably, is Machette, his eyes clouded for an instant. A machete would
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  be of no use to you, for you would not know how to handle
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  it. Remember one thing, Don Pablo, A man in your position,
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  if threatened with a machete, as he write to youusi's pistol. If any
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  one you meet upon your travels draws his hand, so into the folds of
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  his serpei and shut unless one is free to deal with him machete to machete.
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  But if you might look to yourself, shoot at once. The land
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  is full of outlaws. Never turn your back to any one. He dropped
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  his hands. I have been in wild country before, Don Fernando, the
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  older man sighed, never so wild as this, Don Pablo, will you
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  leave the papers with me? Cameron shook his head. I regret, Senor,
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  But as they have never left me, so they never shall. Don
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  Fernando lighted a cigarette. So pause for the sake of argument. That you
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  are killed on the way to Armosio, they cannot profit you, Senor,
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  or for that matter, the man who killed me, Their virtue dies with
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  me. But he took out the wallet and extracted the photograph of his mother.
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  This I will leave behind not for you, Don Fernando, since you
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  could hardly desire it, but with your permission, I will leave it in
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  the room where her son has slept these last nightsights. I cannot risk my
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  mother's portrait being ground into the dust or dabbled over with blood. The other
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  papers go with me. I shur say, Don Pablo, the portrait shall
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  be cared for. Does one know of your plan yet? Notch yet?
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  I will shun for him presently. When you are tired, Vicente is arranging
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  all that is necessary. You will find your close ready to put on in
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  the morning. The start must be early. I shall look for you and
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  wan back in ten days at most. Do not keep me waiting. Cameron
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  stood at dawn just outside the cool door tunnel of the entrance arch. An
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  Indian held his and Wand's horses, both cleverly packed and saddled by Viscente's own
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  hands. Dressed like a voccaro of the meaner sort, Cameron gave the lie
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  to his own equipment. Chin and mouth were covered in that chill air by
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  his chiep serape, but the creole eyes burned visibly. Don Fernando and Juan
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  emerged through the archway. Don Fernando Sternedjuan sulky. As the two young men
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  stood ready to mount, Don Fernando lifted his hand. I commend you to
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  God, my children. Cameron suddenly threw back his head and laughed. When
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  shall we three meet again? He quoted in English, And when Don Fernando
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  questioned him with a shade of irritation, he translated with laughter. The Hassandaro
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  rebuked him, It is not well to ask that question, even in jest,
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  for always the answer of Heaven may be never. I command you equally
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  to God. The young men mounted, and the two faces were turned from
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  him. Wan's sulky still and camerons still lit with laughter. And of section
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  two, Zo