Suzanna (5 page)

“No,—of course not,” the attorney answered with a rather forced smile. “But the boy does his own thinking. It is the way of our young men. Ramon had no hand in the Republican coup that sent Victoria out of the state; but from what Miguel tells me, I can see that the boy is Republican; and it is the doctrine of that element to tear down all of our old institutions.”

“And small wonder,” Don Fernando exclaimed. “If my son is a Republican it is because Mexico administers things so badly, and not because he has turned against the traditions we brought here from Spain. He is nearer right in his beliefs than I would care to have him suspect. But it matters not, Alvarez. He shall not be told until I am ready to speak to the girl. When I announce myself, she will do as I order.”

CHAPTER IV

A
S
they talked, a slip of a girl,—small-limbed, small-waisted; but full breasted and muscular for all her size, rode across the servants' patio. Even though she sat astride a sleepy-eyed, flea-bitten burro, her attire the ragged clothes of a peon boy, she was beautiful.

From the crown of her head—partially hidden from view by a gaudy bandanna handkerchief—to the soles of her moccasin-clad feet she was bizarre, unusual. Her raven-black curls framing a face so entrancing that one could only wonder at the beauty of it. It was small, regular, perfectly formed, as was her body, which was as lithe as a boy's.

The suns of California had tanned her skin a dark, olive-bronze. In colorful contrast were her lips, as red as pomegranates. But what held one longest were her eyes,—large, dark, lustrous and filled with undimmed fire.

Don Fernando stiffened as he caught sight of her. The señora and Alvarez, following his eyes, saw her a moment later. The attorney adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly after his first look at the girl.

“A beauty, if ever there was one,” he admitted. “Peon or not, she is a flower.”

“And accordingly—dangerous,” Guiterrez declared. “And those clothes—the girl seems to prefer them to better garments. To my knowledge, she is continually receiving presents of one sort or another. Every vaquero on the place has made eyes at her; but she will have none of them. And as for independence, humph! She is stealing away right now for the afternoon. She knows that Ruiz is not here to forbid it.”

As they watched her, Suzanna rode out of sight, blissfully unconscious that she was the subject of conversation of the trio seated upon the veranda. In her hands she held a crude fishing rod. Using it as a gad, she urged her burro toward the distant hills where the placid San Carmelo River wound along between moss covered banks. She hummed a song as she thumped the burro,—a bit of an endless sentimental strain:

Allowing for the loss of rhythm and idiom which translation imposes, Suzanna's song said:

It is doubtful, though, if the song conjured in her brain any picture of dashing
caballero
upon his knees before her repeating those identical words. Suzanna's dominating thought, at present, being to put as much distance between herself and the
Caserio de Gutierrez
as she possibly could, and during the shortest space of time, for intuitively, and by past performances, too, Suzanna sensed work should her father catch sight of her. That the next half-hour would find him back at the hacienda she did not doubt.

There was work in plenty to be done this afternoon; but grinding grain, carrying water, cooking and baking had long since palled on her. Let the old crones, who had a heart for such things, bestir themselves! On account of her dictatorial airs they called her a no-good, anyway. It mattered but little to the girl. The men about the rancho paid her homage of an ardor only limited by her own pleasure, and Suzanna, for all her lack of education and culture, had long since digested the fact that it was the men who mattered.

Suzanna had often stolen away for an afternoon along the San Carmelo, and once she was within the protecting hills which bordered the stream, she allowed her burro to make his own pace. It was an afternoon well suited for day dreaming, and she had an endless number of air-castles to build.

A week gone she had met a stranger in these very hills,—a knightly man, for all that he had proven overly bold. Suzanna had scorned him, but the thought that she might meet him again intruded on her revery more than once as she rode along.

Pico, her burro, was in perfect accord with the lazy day, and he dragged himself and his burden over the hot trail. Eventually, however, he brought Suzanna to the river's edge, where he stood lackadaisically switching his tail. Suzanna prodded him, but he refused to move. With darkening eyes, she brought her pole into play. Pico only flicked an indifferent ear in answer.

Where the burro had stopped, it was intolerably hot. Across the river was a cool, shady, moss-covered bank, agreeable to the eye and inviting to the body. Remained but to ford the stream to attain it. The water was delightfully cool and the fording shallow; but Pico had no liking for it.

The girl's temper rose as she sought to drive the stubborn beast across.
“Madre de Dios, Pico,”
she stormed, “I'll put this rod into your vitals if you don't make haste.”

Pico silently dared her to do her worst. Suzanna found his hide an excellent barrier against her efforts. Ten minutes must have elapsed as the struggle went on. Suddenly the roar of a gun in the burro's immediate rear broke the stillness of the river bottom. Pico bounded for the opposite bank in punishing leaps, Suzanna clinging to him as best she could.

A laugh, and the sound of someone fording the stream, reached her as she slipped from the burro's back. With pounding heart and eyes wide with fear she turned to protect herself. Before her, hat in hand as he bowed to the ground, stood the stranger whom she had met before, Benito Pérez!

“Buenas tardes, querida mia,”
he murmured unctiously. “You are a ravishing surprise for so hot a day.”

CHAPTER V

S
UZANNA
'
S
eyes flashed as she saw who addressed her, even though she did not by any chance suspect him to be the outlaw Pérez. As has been said, the man had a way with him which caught the fancy. Suzanna had not escaped it, neither had she failed to recognize the unbroken spirit of him. She had trimmed her sails accordingly, for, to a certainty, the man was little likely to pay heed once he was out of hand.

Seeing in him but an over-ripe
caballero
, Suzanna felt no great fear at his discovery of her so far from the
casério
. The manner of his approach and his terms of endearment deserved a rebuke however, and she was not slow in acquainting him with as much.

“ ‘Querida mia?' ”
she echoed sarcastically. “Since when? Do you lie in hiding like a wolf, ready to pounce upon me the minute I stir from the
casério?
Answer me!” she snapped. “You are more presumptuous than ever.”

Pérez gazed at her good-naturedly, if Impudently, delighting in her show of temper.

“Come little one,” he said chidingly, “why scold me for being presumptuous when it is the very quality a woman most admires in a man? You would do well not to turn those flashing eyes on me, for they but match your lips, and steal away my senses.”

“Pretty words,” Suzanna answered with fine contempt. “I shall know how you found me here.”

“That's easily told,” Pérez grinned; “from the top of that brown hill in back of us. I had but stopped in the shade of those live-oaks to breathe my horse when I caught sight of you. But those clothes,—they are no fit garb for one of your surpassing beauty.”

“Madre de Dios!”
Suzanna exclaimed. “And now you are to tell me what I shall wear, eh?” Stepping close to Pérez, she snapped her fingers within an inch of his face. “Suppose you go back to your hill and your own business,” she cried. “I have busybodies enough watching me already.”

“Oh, you are adorable when you frown,” Pérez whispered. “Come, see what I have here for you,—a marvelous silk, a true mogador! I—ah—acquired it but to-day. Can you resist it, Suzanna?”

Suzanna's frown disappeared as she regarded the silk held so temptingly in the bandit's hands. She dropped her head and glanced up coquettishly at Pérez. The man's eyes held hers as a smile parted her lips.

“It's yours,
niña mia,”
he said softly. “I asked the gentleman from whom I secured it for something of surpassing beauty because it was for one I held surpassingly fair. The silk is beautiful, but not more so than you.”

Suzanna reached out her hands and ran her fingers over the gay mogador. As she did, Pérez tossed the piece of goods into her arms and caught her around the waist.

“Come,” he murmured passionately, “is there no pay for poor me?”

Suzanna sunk her nails into his flesh as he held his mouth so provokingly close to hers. “So, that's the way you give, eh?” she screamed. “Before the gift is cold you are asking for pay!”

“Truly it is a coarse word,
niña mia,”
Pérez said with a great show of penitence. “Let's call it reward; and since you withhold it, poor me must collect for himself.”

Suzanna struggled and clawed, but the robber chief crushed her in his arms and planted a kiss upon her lips.

“Hast no one told you that stolen fruit is sweetest?” he asked boldly.

“Yes; but even the sweetest fruit turns sour!” Suzanna cried menacingly. “Do you feel that gun boring into your thick skin, señor?” The fact that Pérez' smile froze upon his lips was proof enough that he did. “It is your own pistol,” she warned. “You unhand me or we'll see how well it shoots!”

He continued to hold her for a second, daring her to fire, and then, with courtly air he released her. “You make me love you, little one,” he murmured, as he stepped back. “I'll treasure those scratches you have put upon my face.”

“You make great haste with your love, don't you?” Suzanna said bitingly. “You must have great success with it.”

“No measure but what I'd trade for a smile from you.”

“The words fly too easily to your lips,” Suzanna taunted him. “I've not even the name of you yet.”

“And does the name matter?” Pérez asked seriously. “Is it not enough that you see I am no belted friar? I am a free-man—the while, at least—is not that enough for you, pretty one?”

“Well you know that it is not,” Suzanna answered coldly. “And now that I see it is by design and not accident that you withhold it, I am doubly warned. When free-man bows his head to peon girl the reason is not far to seek. Take your precious silk, and begone.”

Pérez shook his head as she held out his gift.

“Very well,” Suzana exclaimed angrily. “Since you will have it no other way, take it from the ground!” And she tossed the goods at his feet.

“There are other pieces,
querida
, even finer than that one, which I shall bring to you,” he said evenly. “Another time I shall please you better.”

Pérez had dropped his boasting tone, and as he turned to his horse and mounted, Suzanna sighed uneasily. This man understood the art of love! She called to him as he reached the middle of the stream. Pérez wheeled his horse at sound of her voice.

“Your pistol, señor,” Suzanna cried. With a muscular toss she hurled it through the air to him. Pérez caught it deftly, and bowing, rode off without backward glance.

The man had his audience, as he half-suspected. Suzanna had not been prepared for his manner of leave-taking, and her eyes followed him as he rode away. Even when he was well across the stream, she believed that he would turn back, for a word at least. In this she was disappointed, for Pérez surmised her thought, and he was well enough versed in the ways of women to know that the unusual always succeeds with them.

Suzanna drew a deep breath as he passed out of sight.
“Madre de Dios,”
she murmured, “There goes a real
caballero!”