XII
Beltran rode down to the coast to meet his young uncle and the child. He started early in the morning, riding the black. The groom led the roan for Uncle Noé's use, Pablo rode the spotted bull, and those peons who could be spared from the cacao planting walked over the two miles to the boat landing, to be ready to carry the luggage that the strange Señor and the little girl would bring.
As Dulgado's fin-keel neared the shore, Beltran could not distinguish the occupants, for the sail hid them from view; but when the boat rounded to alongside the company's landing, and a sprightly old gentleman got out and turned to assist a young girl to climb up to the flooring of the wharf, Beltran discovered that Time had not broken his rule by standing still. On the contrary, he had broken his record by outstripping in the race all nature's winners, for the young uncle had become a thin little old man, and the child a charming girl in a very pronounced stage of young ladyhood.
"I should have known that my cousin could not be a little child," thought Beltran, as he removed his old panama, wishing that he had worn the new one. His dress was careless, if picturesque, and he regretted that he had paid so little attention to it.
Notwithstanding his somewhat rough appearance, Beltran raised the perfumed mass of ruffles and lace in his strong arms. He seated the girl in the chair, fastened firmly to the straw aparejo on the back of the great bull. At Agueda's suggestion, he had provided a safe and comfortable seat for the little one, to whose coming Agueda was looking forward with such unalloyed pleasure.
The girl filled it no more completely than Beltran's vision of her younger self would have done, though her billowy laces overlapped the high arms of her chair. Her feet, scarce larger than those of a child, rested upon the broad, safe footboard which Beltran had swung at the side of the straw saddle. Her delicate face was framed in masses of fair hair—pale hair, with glints here and there like spun glass.
Beltran could hardly see her eyes, so shaded was her face by the broad hat, weighted down by its wealth of vari-colored roses. To many a Northern man, to whom style in a woman is a desideratum, Felisa would have looked like a garden-escape. She had a redundant sort of prettiness, but Beltran was not critical. What if her eyes were small, her nose the veriest tilted tip, her nostrils and mouth large? The fluffy hair overhung the dark eyebrows, the red lips parted to show white little squirrel teeth, the delicate shell-like bloom on cheek and chin was adorable. It brought to Beltran's memory the old farm in Vermont where he had passed some summers as a lad, and the peach trees in the orchard. His environment had not provided him with a strictly critical taste. How fair she was! What a contrast to all the women to whom he had been accustomed! There was nothing like her in that swarthy land of dingy beauties. Her light and airy apparel was a revelation. Unconsciously Beltran compared it with the plain, straight skirts and blouse waists which he saw daily, and to its sudden and undeniable advantage. He was expecting to greet a little child, and all at once there appeared upon his near horizon a goddess full-blown. He had seen nothing in his experience by which he could gauge her. She passed as the purest of coin in this land of debased currency.
Her father, Uncle Noé, bestrode the roan which Eduardo Juan had brought over for him. When Don Noé was seated, Eduardo Juan gave him the bridle, and took his own place among the carriers of the luggage, which was greater in quantity than Don Beltran had expected. Eduardo Juan disappeared with a sulky scowl in answer to Pablo's contented grin, which said, "I have only to walk home, guide the bull, and see that the Señorita does not slip, while you—"
Pablo waited with patient servility, rope in hand, until the Señorita was safely seated in her chair. There was a good deal of sprightly conversation among the Señores. There was more tightening of girths and questions as to the comfort of his guests by Don Beltran. Then the cavalcade started, Pablo leading the bull, which followed him docilely, with long strides. The animal, ignorant as are the creatures of the four-footed race, with regard to his power over its enemy, man, was obedient to the slightest twitch of the rope, to which his better judgment made him amenable. The long rope was fastened to the ring in his pink and dripping nostrils. He stretched his thick legs in long and steady strides, avoiding knowingly the deeper pools which he had heretofore aided his kind to fashion in the plastic clay of the forest path.
Beltran rode as near his cousin as the path would allow. It was seldom, however, that they could ride abreast.