|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 19
"John," interposed Mrs. Engle, "aren't you giving Virginia rather a
sombre side of things?"
"Maybe I am," he agreed. "But this killing of the Las Palmas man in
broad daylight has come pretty close to filling my mind. Who's going
to be next?" His eyes went swiftly toward the patio, taking stock of
the two figures there. Then he shrugged, went to the table for a cigar
and returned smiling to inform Virginia of life on the desert and in
the valleys beyond the mountains, of scattering attempts at reclamation
and irrigation, of how one made towns of sun-dried mud, of where the
adobe soil itself was found, drifted over with sand in the shade of the
cottonwoods.
But Mrs. Engle's sigh, while her husband spoke of black mud and straw,
testified that her thoughts still clung about those events and
possibilities which she herself had asked him to avoid; her eyes
wandered to the tall, rudely garbed figure dimly seen in the patio.
Virginia, recalling Jim Galloway as she had seen him on the stage,
heavy-bodied, narrow-hipped, masterful alike in carriage and the look
of the prominent eyes, glanced with Mrs. Engle toward Rod Norton. He
was laughing at something passing between him and Florence, and for the
moment appeared utterly boyish. Were it not for the grim reminder of
the forty-five-caliber revolver which the nature of his sworn duties
did not allow of his laying aside even upon a night like this, it would
have been easy to forget that he was all that which the one word
sheriff connotes in a land like that about San Juan.
"Can't get away from it, can we?" Engle having caught the look in the
two women's eyes, broke off abruptly in what he was saying, and now sat
studying his cigar with frowning eyes. "Man against man, and the whole
county knows it, one employing whatever criminal's tools slip into his
hands, the other fighting fair and in the open. Man against man and in
a death grapple just because they are the men they are, with one backed
up by a hang-dog crowd like Kid Rickard and Antone, and the other
playing virtually a lone hand. What's the end going to be?"
Virginia thought of Ignacio Chavez. He, had he been here, would have
answered:
"In the end there will be the ringing of the bells for a man dead. You
will see! Which one? _Quien sabe_! The bells will ring."
CHAPTER V
IN THE DARKNESS OF THE PATIO
Through the silence of the outer night, as though actually Ignacio
Chavez were prophesying, came billowing the slow beating of the deep
mourning bell. Mrs. Engle sighed; Engle frowned; Virginia sat rigid,
at once disturbed and oppressed.
"How can you stand that terrible bell?" she cried softly. "I should
think that it would drive you mad! How long does he ring it?"
"Once every hour until midnight," answered Engle, his face once more
placid as he withdrew his look from the patio and transferred it to his
cigar. And then, with a half smile: "There are many San Juans; there
is, in all the wide world, but one San Juan of the Bells. You would
not take our distinction from us? Now that you are to become of San
Juan you must, like the rest of us, take a pride in San Juan's bells.
Which you will do soon or late; perhaps just as soon as you come to
know something of their separate and collective histories."
"Tell her, John," suggested Mrs. Engle, again obviously anxious to
dispel the more lugubrious and tragic atmospheres of the evening with
any chance talk which might offer itself.
"Let her wait until Ignacio can tell her," laughed Engle. "No one else
can tell it so well, and certainly no one else has an equal pride or
even an equal right in the matter."
But, though he refused to take up the colorful theme of the biographies
of the Captain, the Dancer, Lolita, and the rest, John Engle began to
speak lightly upon an associated topic, first asking the girl if she
knew with what ceremony the old Western bells had been cast; when she
shook her head and while the slow throbbing beat of the Captain still
insisted through the night's silences, he explained that doubtless all
six of Ignacio Chavez's bells had taken form under the calm gaze of
high priests of old Spain. For legend had it that all six were from
their beginnings destined for the new missions to be scattered
broadcast throughout a new land, to ring out word of God to heathen
ears. Bells meant for such high service were never cast without grave
religious service and sacrifice. Through the darkness of long-dead
centuries the girl's stimulated fancies followed the man's words; she
visualized the great glowing caldrons in which the fusing metals grew
red and an intolerable white; saw men and women draw near, proud
blue-blooded grandees on one hand, and the lowly on the other, with one
thought; saw the maidens and ladies from the courtyards of the King's
palace as they removed golden bracelets and necklaces from white arms
and throats, so that the red and yellow gold might go with their
prayers into the molten metals, enriching them, while those whose
poverty was great, but whose devotion was greater, offered what little
silver ornaments they could. Carved silver vases, golden cups, minted
coins and cherished ornaments, all were offered generously and devoutly
until the blazing caldrons had mingled the Queen's girdle-clasps with a
bauble from the beggar girl.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|