"Does he play? Will he buy it?" cried Alessandro, "I don't know; I'll call Jim," she said; and running out she looked in at the other door, saying, "Jim! Jim!"
Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises, "Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night.
Wait till morning."
"Till morning!" A groan escaped from Alessandro, in spite of himself. "I can't!" he cried. "I must go on to-night."
"Why, what for?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much astonished. For one brief second Alessandro revolved in his mind the idea of confiding everything to her; only for a second, however. No; the fewer knew his secret and Ramona's, the better.
"I must be in San Diego to-morrow," he said.
"Got work there?" she said.
"Yes; that is, in San Pasquale," he said; "and I ought to have been there three days ago."
Mrs. Hartsel mused. "Jim can't do anything to-night," she said;
"that's certain. You might see the man yourself, and ask him if he'd buy it,"
Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repugnance withheld him. He could not face one of these Americans who were "coming in" to his valley. Mrs. Hartsel understood.
"I'll tell you, Alessandro," said the kindly woman, "I'll give you what money you need to-night, and then, if you say so, Jim'll sell the violin to-morrow, if the man wants it, and you can pay me back out of that, and when you're along this way again you can have the rest. Jim'll make as good a trade for you's he can. He's a real good friend to all of you, Alessandro, when he's himself."
"I know it, Mrs. Hartsel. I'd trust Mr. Hartsel more than any other man in this country," said Alessandro. "He's about the only white man I do trust!"
Mrs. Hartsel was fumbling in a deep pocket in her under-petticoat.
Gold-piece after gold-piece she drew out. "Humph! Got more'n I thought I had," she said. "I've kept all that's been paid in here to-day, for I knew Jim'd be drunk before night."
Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold. How he longed for an abundance of those little shining pieces for his Majella! He sighed as Mrs. Hartsel counted them out on the table,-- one, two, three, four, bright five-dollar pieces.
"That is as much as I dare take," said Alessandro, when she put down the fourth. "Will you trust me for so much?" he added sadly.
"You know I have nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, till I get some work to do."
The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel's eyes. "It's a shame!" she said,--
"a shame, Alessandro! Jim and I haven't thought of anything else, since it happened. Jim says they'll never prosper, never. Trust you?
Yes, indeed. Jim and I'd trust you, or your father, the last day of our lives."
"I'm glad he is dead," said Alessandro, as he knotted the gold into his handkerchief and put it into his bosom. "But he was murdered, Mrs. Hartsel,-- murdered, just as much as if they had fired a bullet into him."
"That's true." she exclaimed vehemently. "I say so too; and so was Jose. That's just what I said at the time,-- that bullets would not be half so inhuman!"
The words had hardly left her lips, when the door from the dining-room burst open, and a dozen men, headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laughing, reeling into the kitchen.
"Where's supper! Give us our supper! What are you about with your Indian here? I'll teach you how to cook ham!" stammered Jim, making a lurch towards the stove. The men behind caught him and saved him. Eyeing the group with scorn, Mrs. Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in her body, said: "Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the table, I will bring in your supper immediately. It is all ready."
One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone, led the rest back into the dining-room, where, seating themselves, they began to pound the table and swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs.
"Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro," whispered Mrs. Hartsel, as she passed by him, standing like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred and contempt, fixed on the tipsy group. "You'd better go. There's no knowing what they'll do next."
"Are you not afraid?" he said in a low tone.
"No!" she said. "I'm used to it. I can always manage Jim. And Ramon's round somewhere,-- he and the bull-pups; if worse comes to worse, I can call the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are always the worst to get drunk. But you'd better get out of the way!"
"And these are the men that have stolen our lands, and killed my father, and Jose, and Carmena's baby!" thought Alessandro, as he ran swiftly back towards the graveyard. "And Father Salvierderra says, God is good. It must be the saints no longer pray to Him for us!"
But Alessandro's heart was too full of other thoughts, now, to dwell long on past wrongs, however bitter. The present called him too loudly. Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, knotted handkerchief, he thought: "Twenty dollars! It is not much!
But it will buy food for many days for my Majella and for Baba!"
