A TALE OF YORE
As they sat there in the dusk of the verandah, Jim would have liked to ask his host to relate some of his experiences in southern California for he felt sure that the Senor Valdez had known something of adventure not only because those early days were full of marvels of interest, but there was something in the bearing of the old Spaniard that spoke of former days of romance and of stirring incidents.
Then, too, there was something in the after-dinner content and quiet, following the perilous adventure which they had been through that predisposed the boys to listen to a good story of adventure. Their friend, the Senor Sebastian, seemed to divine what was passing through Jim's mind, for he suddenly spoke, breaking the meditative spell that had fallen upon the group on the piazza.
"It just occurred to me, Senor Valdez, that our friends here might like to hear something of the early days in this part of the country, for you of all men know it thoroughly and I am sure it would interest them."
"Indeed, it would, Senor," cried Jim enthusiastically, "it was in my mind to ask Senor Valdez to tell us of the early days but I was afraid to impose upon him."
"I feel greatly honored to think that you young men would care to hear anything my poor tongue could relate. It would hardly be worth your distinguished attention." Jim made due allowance for the courteous exaggeration characteristic of the Spaniard.
"Try us, Senor," he said briefly, "we would want nothing better."
"I will have the coffee brought first," replied the Senor, "that may serve to stimulate my dull imagination."
In a short time a softly moving servant brought out a tray of coffee cups, and placed one before each guest on a small wicker table. Jim noticed these cups with immediate interest. They were certainly beautiful and he had never seen anything like them before. They were of a wonderful blue, each one, and had a coat of arms in gold with raised figures on it; a scroll above with a Latin motto, and beneath the representation of a wild animal couchant. The Senor Valdez was quick to see Jim's interest and respond to it. "That is the coat of arms of my family," he explained.
"I am not a scholar, Senor," said Jim, "and all I can make of the motto is that it has something to do with a lion."
"You are quite right," the ghost of a smile hovered around the white-fringed lips of the Spaniard, at Jim's innate boyishness.
"That figure does not look exactly like a lion," remarked Jo frankly.
"Not like an African lion certainly," replied the Spaniard, "but a lion nevertheless, such as one finds yet in the mountain fastnesses of Spain, something like a panther only larger and much more fierce."
"The lion seems to have a rope or chain around his neck," commented Jim, "and fastened to a collar."
"Quite so," responded the Spaniard, "likewise the motto translated reads, 'Gentle as a Lion.'"
"Rather strange way of putting it," said Jim curiously.
"I will explain, for you would naturally be puzzled by the phrase, 'Gentle as a Lion,' as it seems to contradict common knowledge," said Senor Valdez. "You see my family has the distinction, if such it can be called, in these modern days, the distinction of being old. This coat-of-arms dates back to the eleventh century."
Jo was about to give a prolonged whistle of surprise when Jim gripped his knee to enforce silence, for though Jo might mean all right, the Spaniard might not understand.
"The founder of the family who flourished at that time was a rather rugged character, and I am afraid would regard the family representatives of this day as very puny and unworthy specimens. This Rodriquez de Valdez had his castle in a rugged mountainous part of Spain, where there were plenty of wild animals and of wilder and fiercer men, bandits and free-booters without number.
"His castle was a very powerful one, not only in construction but likewise in location, as it was built on a shelf of rock above a deep chasm, with precipitous cliffs behind it. However, Rodriquez de Valdez spent but very little time behind the protection of its powerful walls. It would take the forces of some strong Duke from the lowland to cause him to seek the shelter of his castle and to raise his war banner of crimson with a blue cross upon it, above the turret.
"He spent his days hunting among the mountains for wild beasts or for marauding bands of lawless men. Rodriquez was a man of wonderful strength, even for those days, when there were giants in the land. In stature six feet five and powerful in proportion and likewise very fleet of foot. If I should tell you of some of the legends of his strength and swiftness, you would probably laugh.
"But the one that has to do with the coat-of-arms of my family I will tell you. It chanced one day that he was out in the wilds of the mountains and quite alone. Intent upon the trail of a deer that he was following along a shelving mountain side, he did not see a lion half grown, but nevertheless very dangerous, which was crouching on the branch of a tree ready to spring upon him when he got beneath it.
"When he had passed by under the tree a pace or two, the lion sprang with distended claws. Some instinct of danger made Rodriquez turn and he was just in time to grapple with the brute, clutching it by the throat. The lion had some advantage in weight but not a great deal, for my brave ancestor was probably three hundred pounds of sinew, bone and muscle. So that the struggle was not such an unequal one, but it was terrific while it did last. Finally, though torn and bleeding, the man subdued the beast, and had it in abject fear of him.
"Then instead of killing the lion as one would naturally expect, Rodriquez took a strange humorous notion into his head. He would make a pet of this same lion and it should be his dog to follow obediently at its master's heels wherever he went. This idea he carried out and he even had a heavy brass collar placed upon its neck, and it followed him on all his trips, slouching with padded tread at his heel, or behind his war horse as he rode abroad, like a powerful yellow dog.
"I do not imagine that the beast ever had any great amount of affection for his master, but he no doubt was in great fear of him, which seemed to answer the purpose quite as well. So, my friends, you have a full and complete explanation of the coat-of-arms of my family. My only fear is that I have wearied you with what could not have the same interest for you as it does for me."
"Indeed, you have not wearied us, Senor," exclaimed Jo enthusiastically.
"That is one of the most interesting accounts that I have ever listened to," said Jim. "I only wish I could have lived in those days when there was plenty of adventure."
"I do not think that you have any reason to complain," remarked the Spaniard laughingly. "Perhaps your descendants in future years will be pointing out your daring deeds as emblazoned on their coat-of-arms."
"No danger of that, I guess," laughed Jim, "though they might have a picture of Jo and me tied to a mule. That was the way old Captain Broom treated us." The Spaniard joined in the merriment at this unheroic representation of Jo and Jim.
"Now, Senor Valdez, you have told us a tale of old Spain, tell us something of new Spain here in California," urged Jo.
"It seems to me that it is now someone else's turn," said the Senor. "I would not do all the talking. A host should sometimes listen. Perhaps Senor Darlington will tell us of some of his experiences. They will be much more stirring than any musty tales of mine." But Jim shook his head firmly, not to say obstinately.
"I would not think of telling our adventures," he replied. "Perhaps after we have travelled more, we will have something worth while relating."
"That's right," said Jo, "we would much rather listen to you, Senor."
The Senor Valdez sipped slowly at his coffee, looking out into the semi-darkness beyond the verandah, where over the plain below stretched the gray blanket of the fog-clouds. Then he rolled another cigarette, lit it and took a few meditative puffs. The Senor now began his next story at a peculiar angle, and did not commence with the stereotyped form of "once upon a time," so dear to the days of one's childhood.
"I see you do not take cream in your coffee," he said addressing Jim.
"No, but I like some sugar, not too much."
"It has seemed to me," said the Spaniard, "that the seasoning of coffee is in a way an indication of character."
"Where the party uses milk in his coffee that indicates weakness, does it not, Senor?" inquired Jim with a sly look at Jo, but the subtle Spaniard was not to be trapped.
"Not necessarily," he replied, "only mildness."
"And when it is taken straight and black that means a strong character," remarked Jo.
"You have stated it," replied the Spaniard.
"But I would like to know how I would be sized up?" questioned Jim, "you see I use a little sugar."
"My friend," said the Spaniard with playful earnestness, putting his hand lightly on Jim's knee, "that shows a character of great strength, tempered with mercy and human kindness. All of which leads one to speak of a man who was once famous in this part of the country, but not popular. He always had the reputation for taking a strong liquor in his coffee, Fernet, if I remember right. His name was Alverado, but I judge that you are not acquainted with it."
"No," replied Jim, "but I should say that he was a very fierce character."
"He was. He was a bandit."
"I thought so," agreed Jim.
"This Don Alverado came from a well known Spanish family, of ancient lineage, but impoverished fortune. He was such a wild and unruly blade that his family were decidedly relieved when he left Spain and came to the new world to mend his fortune, if not his ways. He landed first in Mexico, and after a series of more or less remarkable adventures, he came to this part of California. I knew him, or rather I knew of his family in Spain, and for their sake I made him welcome here at my home.
"He was really a charming fellow in manner and appearance, tall, slight, with dark eyes and hair, a typical cavalier. But the graces of his manner did not reach down to his heart, and after a disagreeable episode which I need not revive here, he left my rancho never to return except as an enemy. I heard nothing further of him after his departure for some six months. My next introduction to him was an unpleasant one.
"It consisted in the loss of a band of horses and a herd of cattle which were driven off by a gang of raiders, thirteen in number, at the head of which was this fellow Alverado. His depredations went on for years among the ranchmen in this part of California. So resourceful and crafty was this desperado that he evaded trap after trap laid for his capture.
"He had several very close calls and there were numerous battles between the outlaws and the ranch owners, but though some of his men were shot, he seemed to bear a charmed life. I remember one running fight over the plain yonder, when, believing me to be absent from home, as I had been, but returned unexpectedly from the north, this Alverado and his gang made a bold dash to capture some horses from a field directly below the house.
"It did not take long to get my men together and I gave the bandits a surprise indeed. Nothing but the speed of Alverado's horse, a splendid black stallion, saved him from capture. We got several of his men however. At last there came the turning of the lane. Through the treachery of one of the band we found that their rendezvous was at the head of a small canyon in a range of foot-hills several miles south of here.
"You will go through it tomorrow on your way south, if you carry out your speed schedule, which with your remarkable horses you ought to be able to. We came upon the gang about noon, where they were resting after a long chase. In a corral near by were a number of stolen stock. They were not expecting trouble of any kind. Some were playing cards, a few cooking, most, however, were enjoying the siesta, their leader among the number lay under the shadow of a tree, his head resting on a saddle, sound asleep.
"There were fifty of us, and we had them surrounded, so that there was no chance of escape. Alverado himself made a desperate dash, but the cordon was too strong. The rest surrendered. That afternoon we took the bunch to the lower end of the canyon, where there was a giant sycamore tree. There we hanged the whole thirteen, and by them no more were troubled not even by their ghosts."
Jim and Jo expressed their appreciation of their host's kindness in entertaining them as he truly had done in relating his tales. Then they said good night and went to their room.
That night the boys slept in a comfortable bed in a quaint old bedroom with roses nodding in at the half open casement windows. By the light of the candles they could see the strange old and carved furniture and tired as they were how they did sleep.
The next morning they started hours before daylight. "I will be prepared to welcome more of you in a few days," said the Senor Valdez, and the boys thanked him heartily. Promising to return soon they galloped away through the darkness.
All day they rode, hardly drawing rein at all. At first through the foot-hills and then over the wide plains. Jo had a fresh horse, a powerful black, as his other mount could not stand the strain of the long trip that meant three score and ten of miles before evening.
Early in the afternoon they left the plain and rode into the deep and rugged gorges of a mountain chain, running East and West. Thence into a broad valley leading South-easterly, and about four p. m. they turned directly South entering a Pass in the Southern side of the valley, from which they emerged on a plain. Where the trail left the Pass stood a large sycamore tree, when they reached it, the Indian messenger rose from its shelter.