Don Felipe Ramirez was young and handsome—the handsomest and wealthiest man in all Chihuahua. One who measured his lands not by acres, but by hundreds of square miles, over which roamed vast herds of horses, cattle and sheep, and of which Chiquita might have been mistress had she so chosen. Within this vast domain were situated numerous villages of Mexican and Indian populations, subject in a measure to his command. His word, where it did not conflict with the central Government, was law; but Don Felipe, selfish and unprincipled though he was by nature, was too easy going ever to think of making unscrupulous use of such power. So long as things went smoothly, he was the last man to exercise his almost unlimited authority for the mere pleasure of dominating others as many men might were they placed in his position.
His leniency in governing, his lavish manner of living, and a way he had of fraternizing with his people on occasions—the latter prompted not from motives of generosity, but purely from those of vanity and a love of popularity—made him fairly popular among his subjects. It was when Don Felipe wanted something in particular that he became dangerous, especially if that something lay within his jurisdiction. Then indeed, was he one to be feared.
His appearance was striking; a swarthy complexion, thick, shiny, black curly hair and mustache, lustrous black eyes and delicate features, and a lithe sinewy body, every movement of which was cat-like and expressive of treachery.
His high-crowned, broad-brimmed sombrero of gray felt was richly embroidered with gold and silver. A slender, pale yellow satin tie adorned his soft white, heavily frilled shirt front. His soft gray jacket and leggins of goat skin, also ornamented with gold and silver buttons and embroidery, were slashed at the sleeves below the elbow and knee and interlaced with filmy gold cords from beneath which shone a pale yellow satin facing embroidered with tiny red flowers. A gay scarlet silken banda from beneath which peeped the silver hilt of a knife, encircled his slender waist, while his feet were encased in russet tanned boots adorned with spurs inlaid with gold and silver and which tinkled like fairy bells with every step he took. The trappings of his horse were also heavily inlaid with silver. Theatrical though his costume was, it became him well and harmonized perfectly with his surroundings, completing the picture of a Spanish Don, the representative of a past era. A costume that was only to be seen in the remoter parts of the country—one which was becoming rarer each day.
Four years had elapsed since he had last looked upon the familiar scenes about him. Nothing appeared to have changed during that time as his gaze wandered from the old Posada to the garden beyond. He sighed, and a momentary expression of pain and weariness passed across his countenance as he silently surveyed the scene which recalled memories whose bitterness was enough to overwhelm a man of maturer character and years.
In the Indian pueblo, La Jara, had lived the beautiful mestiza girl, Pepita Delaguerra, with whom he had fallen in love in early youth.
The gentle, confiding nature of Pepita was ill suited to that of the passionate, impulsive Felipe, and proved her undoing. For, when old Don Juan, Felipe's father, heard of his son's infatuation, he immediately packed him off to the City of Mexico with the injunction not to return under a year. An obscure half-caste for a daughter-in-law! Holy Maria! the thought was enough to cause his hair to stand on end. No, the old Don had other plans for his son. Maria Dolores, Felipe's cousin, was the woman he had picked out for his wife, and marry her he should if he wished to inherit his father's vast estates. In case he disregarded the latter's wish and married Pepita, the estates were to go to the Church, so it was stipulated in Don Juan's will. But neither the Church nor old Don Juan, as it afterwards proved, were a match for the clever Felipe. The handsome scapegrace had already secretly married Pepita.
The strangest of all things is perhaps the irony of fate. Before the year was up during which Felipe was charged to remain in the City of Mexico, both his father, Don Juan, and the priest who had performed the marriage ceremony for Felipe and Pepita, died. During his absence from home, the observant and quick-witted Felipe had learned not only many new things, but had made the acquaintance of other women as well. At its best, the love of the passionate, hot-blooded Felipe and the gentle Pepita could have endured only for a time. The attractions and fascinations of the Capitol opened his eyes to many things which he had hitherto overlooked, especially, that there are many beautiful women in the world, and always one who is just a little more beautiful than the others if one took the trouble to look for her. And so it happened that he forgot not only his honor, but his obligations to Pepita, and destroying the record of their marriage which he managed to secure with the assistance of a confederate, he turned a deaf ear to her pleadings and went his way.
What had he, Don Felipe Ramirez, who lived and ruled like a prince on his vast estates, to fear from a pretty little half-caste Indian girl?
But Don Felipe was young and still had much to learn in the world. The avenging angel that inevitably awaits us all at some turn or other in the lane, stood nearer to him than he realized, and the vengeance which followed was swift and complete.