FullReads

“But, my dear Richards,” said the editor warmly, “this is no longer a matter of mere reporting, but of business for the police. You must see the deputy sheriff at once, and bring your complaint–or shall I? It’s no joking matter.”

“Hol’ on, Mr. Grey,” replied Richards slowly. “I’ve told this to nobody but you–nor am I goin’ to–sabe? It’s an affair of my own–and I reckon I kin take care of it without goin’ to the Revised Statutes of the State of California, or callin’ out the sheriff’s posse.”

His humorous blue eyes just then had certain steely points in them like glittering facets as he turned them away, which the editor had seen before on momentous occasions, and he was speaking slowly and composedly, which the editor also knew boded no good to an adversary.

“Don’t be a fool, Richards,” he said quietly. “Don’t take as a personal affront what was a common, vulgar crime. You would undoubtedly have been robbed by that rascal had not the others come along.”

Richards shook his head. “I might hev bin robbed a dozen times afore THEY came along–ef that was the little game. No, Mr. Grey,–it warn’t no robbery.”

“Had you been paying court to the Senora Ramierez, like Colonel Starbottle?” asked the editor, with a smile.

“Not much,” returned Richards scornfully; “she ain’t my style. But”–he hesitated, and then added, “thar was a mighty purty gal thar–and her darter, I reckon–a reg’lar pink fairy! She kem in only a minute, and they sorter hustled her out ag’in–for darn my skin ef she didn’t look as much out o’ place in that smoky old garlic-smellin’ room as an angel at a bull-fight. And what got me–she was ez white ez you or me, with blue eyes, and a lot o’ dark reddish hair in a long braid down her back. Why, only for her purty sing-song voice and her ‘Gracias, senor,’ you’d hev reckoned she was a Blue Grass girl jest fresh from across the plains.”

A little amused at his foreman’s enthusiasm, Mr. Grey gave an ostentatious whistle and said, “Come, now, Richards, look here! Really!”

“Only a little girl–a mere child, Mr. Grey–not more’n fourteen if a day,” responded Richards, in embarrassed depreciation.

“Yes, but those people marry at twelve,” said the editor, with a laugh. “Look out! Your appreciation may have been noticed by some other admirer.”

He half regretted this speech the next moment in the quick flush–the male instinct of rivalry–that brought back the glitter of Richards’s eyes. “I reckon I kin take care of that, sir,” he said slowly, “and I kalkilate that the next time I meet that chap–whoever he may be–he won’t see so much of my back as he did.”

The editor knew there was little doubt of this, and for an instant believed it his duty to put the matter in the hands of the police. Richards was too good and brave a man to be risked in a bar-room fight. But reflecting that this might precipitate the scandal he wished to avoid, he concluded to make some personal investigation. A stronger curiosity than he had felt before was possessing him. It was singular, too, that Richards’s description of the girl was that of a different and superior type–the hidalgo, or fair-skinned Spanish settler. If this was true, what was she doing there–and what were her relations to the Ramierez?

PART II

The next afternoon he went to the fonda. Situated on the outskirts of the town which had long outgrown it, it still bore traces of its former importance as a hacienda, or smaller farm, of one of the old Spanish landholders. The patio, or central courtyard, still existed as a stable-yard for carts, and even one or two horses were tethered to the railings of the inner corridor, which now served as an open veranda to the fonda or inn. The opposite wing was utilized as a tienda, or general shop,–a magazine for such goods as were used by the Mexican inhabitants,–and belonged also to Ramierez.