"But this would require time," said Poindexter, with a smile of compassionate explanation; "you could not sell now, nobody would buy.You are safe to hold this property while you are in actual possession, but you are not strong enough to guarantee it to another.There may still be litigation; your husband has other creditors than these people you have talked with.But while nobody could oust you--the wife who would have the sympathies of judge and jury--it might be a different case with any one who derived title from you.Any purchaser would know that you could not sell, or if you did, it would be at a ridiculous sacrifice."She listened to him abstractedly, walked to the end of the corridor, returned, and without looking up, said,--"I suppose you know her?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"This woman.You have seen her?"
"Never, to my knowledge."
"And you are his friend! That's strange." She raised her eyes to his."Well," she continued impatiently, "who is she? and what is she? You know that surely?""I know no more of her than what I have said," said Poindexter.
"She is a notorious woman."
The swift color came to Mrs.Tucker's face as if the epithet had been applied to herself."I suppose," she said in a dry voice, as if she were asking a business question, but with an eye that showed her rising anger,--"I suppose there is some law by which creatures of this kind can be followed and brought to justice--some law that would keep innocent people from suffering for their crimes?""I am afraid," said Poindexter, "that arresting her would hardly help these people over in the tienda.""I am not speaking of them," responded Mrs.Tucker, with a sudden sublime contempt for the people whose cause she had espoused: "I am talking of my husband."Poindexter bit his lip."You'd hardly think of bringing back the strongest witness against him," he said bluntly.
Mrs.Tucker dropped her eyes and was silent.A sudden shame suffused Poindexter's cheek; he felt as if he had struck that woman a blow."I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I am talking like a lawyer to a lawyer." He would have taken any other woman by the hand in the honest fullness of his apology, but something restrained him here.He only looked down gently on her lowered lashes, and repeated his question if he should remain during the coming interview with Don Jose: "I must beg you to determine quickly," he added, "for I already hear him entering the gate.""Stay," said Mrs.Tucker, as the ringing of spurs and clatter of hoofs came from the corral."One moment." She looked up suddenly, and said, "How long had he known her?" But before he could reply there was a step in the doorway, and the figure of Don Jose Santierra emerged from the archway.
He was a man slightly past middle age, fair and well shaven, wearing a black broadcloth serape, the deeply embroidered opening of which formed a collar of silver rays around his neck, while a row of silver buttons down the side seams of his riding trousers, and silver spurs, completed his singular equipment.Mrs.Tucker's swift feminine glance took in these details, as well as the deep salutation, more formal than the exuberant frontier politeness she was accustomed to, with which he greeted her.It was enough to arrest her first impulse to retreat.She hesitated and stopped as Poindexter stepped forward, partly interposing between them, acknowledging Don Jose's distant recognition of himself with an ironical accession of his usual humorous tolerance.The Spaniard did not seem to notice it, but remained gravely silent before Mrs.
Tucker, gazing at her with an expression of intent and unconscious absorption.
"You are quite right, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with ironical concern, "it is Mrs.Tucker.Your eyes do NOT deceive you.She will be glad to do the honors of her house," he continued, with a simulation of appealing to her, "unless you visit her on business, when I need not say I shall be only too happy, to attend you, as before."Don Jose, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows, allowed himself to become conscious of the lawyer's meaning."It is not of business that I come to kiss the Senora's hand to-day," he replied, with a melancholy softness; "it is as her neighbor, to put myself at her disposition.Ah! the what have we here for a lady?" he continued, raising his eyes in deprecation of the surroundings; "a house of nothing, a place of winds and dry bones, without refreshments, or satisfaction, or delicacy.The Senora will not refuse to make us proud this day to send her of that which we have in our poor home at Los Gatos, to make her more complete.Of what shall it be? Let her make choice.Or if she would commemorate this day by accepting of our hospitality at Los Gatos, until she shall arrange herself the more to receive us here, we shall have too much honor.""The Senora would only find it the more difficult to return to this humble roof again, after once leaving it for Don Jose's hospitality,"said Poindexter, with a demure glance at Mrs.Tucker.But the innuendo seemed to lapse equally unheeded by his fair client and the stranger.Raising her eyes with a certain timid dignity which Don Jose's presence seemed to have called out, she addressed herself to him.
"You are very kind and considerate, Mister Santierra, and I thank you.I know that my husband"--she let the clear beauty of her translucent eyes rest full on both men--"would thank you too.But I shall not be here long enough to accept your kindness in this house or in your own.I have but one desire and object now.It is to dispose of this property, and indeed all I possess, to pay the debt of my husband.It is in your power, perhaps, to help me.Iam told that you wish to possess Los Cuervos," she went on, equally oblivious of the consciousness that appeared in Don Jose's face, and a humorous perplexity on the brow of Poindexter."If you can arrange it with Mr.Poindexter, you will find me a liberal vendor.
