susy, a story of the plains-第18部分

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that　one　of　his　own　tenants；　namely；　Jim　Hooker；　in　his　secret　heart

inclined　to　that　belief；　and　looked　upon　Clarence's　speculation　as

an　act　of　far…seeing　and　inordinate　vanity。



Indeed；　the　belligerent　Jim　had　partlyand　of　course　darkly

intimated　something　of　this　to　Susy　in　their　brief　reunion　at　the

casa　during　the　few　days　that　followed　its　successful　reoccupation。

And　Clarence；　remembering　her　older　caprices；　and　her　remark　on　her

first　recognition　of　him；　was　quite　surprised　at　the　easy

familiarity　of　her　reception　of　this　forgotten　companion　of　their

childhood。　　But　he　was　still　more　concerned　in　noticing；　for　the

first　time；　a　singular　sympathetic　understanding　of　each　other；　and

an　odd　similarity　of　occasional　action　and　expression　between　them。

It　was　a　part　of　this　monstrous　peculiarity　that　neither　the

sympathy　nor　the　likeness　suggested　any　particular　friendship　or

amity　in　the　pair；　but　rather　a　mutual　antagonism　and　suspicion。

Mrs。　Peyton；　coldly　polite　to　Clarence's　former　COMPANION；　but

condescendingly　gracious　to　his　present　TENANT　and　retainer；　did　not

notice　it；　preoccupied　with　the　annoyance　and　pain　of　Susy's

frequent　references　to　the　old　days　of　their　democratic　equality。



〃You　don't　remember；　Jim；　the　time　that　you　painted　my　face　in　the

wagon；　and　got　me　up　as　an　Indian　papoose？〃　she　said　mischievously。



But　Jim；　who　had　no　desire　to　recall　his　previous　humble　position

before　Mrs。　Peyton　or　Clarence；　was　only　vaguely　responsive。

Clarence；　although　joyfully　touched　at　this　seeming　evidence　of

Susy's　loyalty　to　the　past；　nevertheless　found　himself　even　more

acutely　pained　at　the　distress　it　caused　Mrs。　Peyton；　and　was　as

relieved　as　she　was　by　Hooker's　reticence。　　For　he　had　seen　little

of　Susy　since　Peyton's　death；　and　there　had　been　no　repetition　of

their　secret　interviews。　　Neither　had　he；　nor　she　as　far　as　he　could

judge；　noticed　the　omission。　　He　had　been　more　than　usually　kind；

gentle；　and　protecting　in　his　manner　towards　her；　with　little

reference；　however；　to　any　response　from　her；　yet　he　was　vaguely

conscious　of　some　change　in　his　feelings。　　He　attributed　it；　when　he

thought　of　it　at　all；　to　the　exciting　experiences　through　which　he

had　passed；　to　some　sentiment　of　responsibility　to　his　dead　friend；

and　to　another　secret　preoccupation　that　was　always　in　his　mind。　　He

believed　it　would　pass　in　time。　　Yet　he　felt　a　certain　satisfaction

that　she　was　no　longer　able　to　trouble　him；　except；　of　course；　when

she　pained　Mrs。　Peyton；　and　then　he　was　half　conscious　of　taking　the

old　attitude　of　the　dead　husband　in　mediating　between　them。　　Yet　so

great　was　his　inexperience　that　he　believed；　with　pathetic

simplicity　of　perception；　that　all　this　was　due　to　the　slow　maturing

of　his　love　for　her；　and　that　he　was　still　able　to　make　her　happy。

But　this　was　something　to　be　thought　of　later。　　Just　now　Providence

seemed　to　have　offered　him　a　vocation　and　a　purpose　that　his　idle

adolescence　had　never　known。　　He　did　not　dream　that　his　capacity　for

patience　was　only　the　slow　wasting　of　his　love。



Meantime　that　more　wonderful　change　and　recreation　of　the　Californian

landscape；　so　familiar；　yet　always　so　young；　had　come　to　the　rancho。

The　league…long　terrace　that　had　yellowed；　whitened；　and　wasted　for

half　a　year　beneath　a　staring；　monotonous　sky；　now　under　sailing

clouds；　flying　and　broken　shafts　of　light；　and　sharply　defined　lines

of　rain；　had　taken　a　faint　hue　of　resurrection。　　The　dust　that　had

muffled　the　roads　and　byways；　and　choked　the　low　oaks　that　fringed

the　sunken　canada；　had　long　since　been　laid。　　The　warm；　moist　breath

of　the　southwest　trades　had　softened　the　hard；　dry　lines　of　the

landscape；　and　restored　its　color　as　of　a　picture　over　which　a　damp

sponge　had　been　passed。　　The　broad　expanse　of　plateau　before　the

casa　glistened　and　grew　dark。　　The　hidden　woods　of　the　canada；

cleared　and　strengthened　in　their　solitude；　dripped　along　the　trails

and　hollows　that　were　now　transformed　into　running　streams。　　The

distinguishing　madrono　near　the　entrance　to　the　rancho　had　changed

its　crimson　summer　suit　and　masqueraded　in　buff　and　green。



Yet　there　were　leaden　days；　when　half　the　prospect　seemed　to　be　seen

through　palisades　of　rain；　when　the　slight　incline　between　the

terraces　became　a　tumultuous　cascade；　and　the　surest　hoofs　slipped

on　trails　of　unctuous　mud；　when　cattle　were　bogged　a　few　yards　from

the　highway；　and　the　crossing　of　the　turnpike　road　was　a　dangerous

ford。　　There　were　days　of　gale　and　tempest；　when　the　shriveled

stalks　of　giant　oats　were　stricken　like　trees；　and　lay　across　each

other　in　rigid　angles；　and　a　roar　as　of　the　sea　came　up　from　the

writhing　treetops　in　the　sunken　valley。　　There　were　long　weary

nights　of　steady　downpour；　hammering　on　the　red　tiles　of　the　casa；

and　drumming　on　the　shingles　of　the　new　veranda；　which　was　more

terrible　to　be　borne。　　Alone；　but　for　the　servants；　and　an

occasional　storm…stayed　tenant　from　Fair　Plains；　Clarence　might

have；　at　such　times；　questioned　the　effect　of　this　seclusion　upon

his　impassioned　nature。　　But　he　had　already　been　accustomed　to

monastic　seclusion　in　his　boyish　life　at　El　Refugio；　and　he　did　not

reflect　that；　for　that　very　reason；　its　indulgences　might　have　been

dangerous。　　From　time　to　time　letters　reached　him　from　the　outer

world　of　San　Francisco；a　few　pleasant　lines　from　Mrs。　Peyton；　in

answer　to　his　own　chronicle　of　his　half　stewardship；　giving　the　news

of　the　family；　and　briefly　recounting　their　movements。　　She　was

afraid　that　Susy's　sensitive　nature　chafed　under　the　restriction　of

mourning　in　the　gay　city；　but　she　trusted　to　bring　her　back　for　a

change　to　Robles　when　the　rains　were　over。　　This　was　a　poor

substitute　for　those　brief；　happy　glimpses　of　the　home　circle　which

had　so　charmed　him；　but　he　accepted　it　stoically。　　He　wandered　over

the　old　house；　from　which　the　perfume　of　domesticity　seemed　to　have

evaporated；　yet；　notwithstanding　Mrs。　Peyton's　playful　permission；

he　never　intruded　upon　the　sanctity　of　the　boudoir；　and　kept　it

jealously　locked。



He　was　sitting　in　Peyton's　business　room　one　morning；　when

Incarnacion　entered。　　Clarence　had　taken　a　fancy　to　this　Indian；

half　steward；　half　vacquero；　who　had　reciprocated　it　with　a　certain

dog…like　fidelity；　but　also　a　feline　indirectness　that　was　part　of

his　nature。　　He　had　been　early　prepossessed　with　Clarence　through　a

kinsman　at　El　Refugio；　where　the　young　American's　generosity　had

left　a　romantic　record　among　the　common　people。　　He　had　been　pleased

to　approve　of　his　follies　before　the　knowledge　of　his　profitless　and

lordly　land　purchase　had　commended　itself　to　him　as　corroborative

testimony。　　〃Of　true　hidalgo　blood；　mark　you；〃　he　had　said

oracularly。　　〃Wherefore　was　his　father　sacrificed　by　mongrels！　　As

to　the　others；　believe　me；bah！〃



He　stood　there；　sombrero　in　hand；　murky　and　confidential；　steaming

through　his　soaked　serape　and　exhaling　a　blended　odor　of　equine

perspiration　and　cigarette　smoke。



〃It　was；　perhaps；　as　the　master　had　noticed；　a　brigand's　own　day！

Bullying；　treacherous；　and　wicked！　　It　blew　you　off　your　horse　if

you　so　much　as　lifted　your　arms　and　let　the　wind　get　inside　your

serape；　and　as　for　the　mud；caramba！　in　fifty　varas　your　forelegs

were　like　bears；　and　your　hoofs　were　earthen　plasters！〃



Clarence　knew　that　Incarnacion　had　not　sought　him　with　mere

meteorological　information；　and　patiently　awaited　further

developments。　　The　vacquero　went　on：



〃But　one　of　the　things　this　beast　of　a　weather　did　was　to　wash　down

the　stalks　of　the　grain；　and　to　clear　out　the　trough　and　hollows

between；　and　to　make　level　the　fields；　andlook　you！　to　uncover　the

stones　and　rubbish　and　whatever　the　summer　dust　had　buried。　　Indeed；

it　was　even　as　a　miracle　that　Jose　Mendez　one　day；　after　the　first

showers；　came　upon　a　silver　button　from　his　calzas；　which　he　had

lost　in　the　early　summer。　　And　it　was　only　that　morning　that；

remembering　how　much　and　with　what　fire　Don　Clarencio　had　sought　the

missing　boot　from　the　foot　of　the　Senor　Peyton　when　his　body　was

found；　he；　Incarnacion；　had　thought　he　would　look　for　it　on　the

falda　of　the　second　terrace。　　And　behold；　Mother　of　God　it　was

there！　　Soaked　with　mud　and　rain；　but　the　same　as　when　the　senor　was

alive。　　To　the　very　spur！〃



He　drew　the　boot　from　beneath　his　serape　and　laid　it　before

Clarence。　　The　young　man　instantly　recognized　it；　in　spite　of　its

weather…beaten　condition　and　its　air　of　grotesque　and　drunken

inconsistency　to　the　usually　trim　and　correct　appearance　of　Peyton

when　alive。　　〃It　is　the　same；〃　he　said；　in　a　low　voice。



〃Good！〃　said　Incarnacion。　　〃Now；　if　Don　Clarencio　will　examine　the

American　spur；　he　will　seewhat？　　A　few　horse…hairs　twisted　and

caught　in　the　sharp　points　of　the　rowel。　　Good！　　Is　it　the　hair　of

the　horse　that　Senor　rode？　　Clearly　not；　and　in　truth　not。　　It　is

too　long　for　the　flanks　and　belly　of　the　horse；　it　is　not　the　same

color　as　the　tail　and　the　mane。　　How　comes　it　there？　　It　comes　from

the　twisted　horsehair　rope　of　a　riata；　and　not　from　the　braided

cowhide　thongs　of　the　regular　lasso　of　a　vacquero。　　The　lasso　slips

not　much；　but　holds；　the　riata　slips　much　and　strangles。〃



〃But　Mr。　Peyton　was　not　strangled；〃　said　Clarence　quickly。



〃No；　for　the　noose　of　the　riata　was　perhaps　large；who　knows？　　It

might　have　slipped　down　his　arms；　pinioned　him；　and　pulled　him　off。

Truly！such　has　been　known　before。　　Then　on　the　ground　it　slipped

again；　or　he　perhaps　worked　it　off　to　his　feet　where　it　caught　on

his　spur；　and　then　he　was　dragged　until　the　boot　came　off；　and

behold！　he　was　dead。〃



This　had　been　Clarence's　own　theory　of　the　murder；　but　he　had　only

half　confided　it　to　Incarnacion。　　He　silently　examined　the　spur　with

the　accusing　horse…hair；　and　placed　it　in　his　desk。　　Incarnacion

continued：



〃There　is　not　a　vacquero　in　the　whole