Judge Courtenay’s interest increased; but, at that moment, it centred less in the bequest than in the beneficiary. “I agree with you, Señor Vives, that there is something ‘not-to-be-resisted’ about this ‘Little Lady of the Horse,’ as you say you Westerners call her; but still I cannot help wondering how she has gained your devotion so entirely.”
“How? Listen and thou shalt learn. When the good Dios sent her into this world Sutro Vives was a miserable old man,—even then. He had been wronged—wronged—wronged—till his heart was hard and bitter. He had lost faith in everything, below and above; and he kept Santa Trinidad in spite of everybody,—because its serpent-infested rocks were a menace to the world. From them he meant to take his revenge. He used to carry them, the snakes, down to the hacienda, and place them where they would do the most harm. It was the only joy left.”
“One day—the day they buried the poor Señora Calthorp—he carried a creature bigger, more venomous than any other. He turned it loose on the threshold of Santa Felisa, and sat down to watch. By-and-by, a little thing, all soft and white, came creeping, creeping through the doorway, and spied the serpent, yes. It was pretty, too, and soft; but it was not white nor good. The wicked Sutro watched. Santa Maria watched also. The little fingers went out and touched the reptile, and the Mother of God touched a wicked heart. In a second—before the beautiful head of the serpent could rear itself—la criaturita [the baby girl] was in the old man’s arms. Did she hate him, no? Gracias a Dios [Thanks be to God]!—she folded her own little arms about his neck and buried her rose-leaf face against his ugly face; and the demon of hate and murder left him. Si! That is the tale.”
It was a moving one. Judge Courtenay was not the man to resist its influence; nor did he ever thereafter doubt one assertion of Sutro Vives where Steenie was concerned. The love that is rooted in superstition is love that lasts.
“Well, I will draw up the document for you as carefully as possible. But the inheritor is a minor. She must have some one appointed to act for her until lawfully able to act for herself; in case your demise occurs prior to that time.”
This suggestion had a legal sound about it that captivated Sutro’s ears; and he gathered enough of its meaning to reply: “I understand. If I die, it is the Señor Calthorp and Kentucky Bob who will carry out my desires, no? But I do not wish to die first. I wish to live, I myself.”
“Yes—yes! We all wish that.”
“And must I die that my little one may get the good of Santa Trinidad?”
“There is nothing to prevent your giving it to her now, while you are still alive; but a ‘last will and testament’ implies the death of the testator before action is taken upon it.” Then Judge Courtenay went on to explain, as simply and briefly as he could, the various methods by which Sutro Vives could benefit his favorite; and the old Spaniard did the best he could to comprehend.
But gradually a belief came into Sutro’s mind, and fixed itself there, that if he died she would be better off. Because while he lived nobody would care to spend the necessary money to investigate the discovery he claimed,—mining being a most expensive business; but if he were dead, Steenie’s guardians or trustees might do so for her benefit in justice to their ward.