The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

With dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon Los Quervos.  But at twelve gay voices and laughter came through every window.  The family and guests were taking their cold bath, ready for another eighteen hours of pleasure.

Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates of the corral were thrown open and a band of horses, golden bronze in colour, with silvern mane and tail, silken embroidered saddles on their slender backs, trotted up to the door.  The beautiful creatures shone in the sun like burnished armour; they arched their haughty necks and lifted their small feet as if they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son.

The girls wore short riding-skirts, gay sashes, and little round hats.  The men wore thin jackets of brightly coloured silk, gold-laced knee-breeches, and silver spurs.  They tossed the girls upon their saddles, vaulted into their own, and all started on a wild gallop for the races.

Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride by Elena’s side.  It was impossible to exchange a word with her, for keen and mischievous ears were about them; but they were close together, and a kind of ecstasy possessed them both.  The sunshine was so golden, the quivering visible air so full of soft intoxication!  They were filled with a reckless animal joy of living—­the divine right of youth to exist and be happy.  The bars of Elena’s cage sank into the warm resounding earth; she wanted to cry aloud her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as it passed.  Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full.  She looked at Dario, and he dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks.

The representatives of many ranchos, their wives and daughters, awaited the party from Los Quervos.  But none pushed his way between Dario and Elena that day.  And they both enjoyed the races; they were in a mood to enjoy anything.  They became excited and shouted with the rest as the vaqueros flew down the field.  Dario bet and lost a ranchita, then bet and won another.  He won a herd of cattle, a band of horses, a saddle-bag of golden slugs.  Surely, fortune smiled on him from the eyes of Elena.  When the races were over they galloped down to the ocean and over the cliffs and sands, watching the ponderous waves fling themselves on the rocks, then retreat and rear their crests, to thunder on again.

“The fog!” cried some one.  “The fog!” And with shrieks of mock terror they turned their horses’ heads and raced down the valley, the fog after them like a phantom tidal wave; but they outstripped it, and sprang from their horses at the corridor of Los Quervos with shouts of triumph and lightly blown kisses to the enemy.

After supper they found eggs piled upon silver dishes in the sala, and with cries of “Cascaron!  Cascaron!” they flung them at each other, the cologne and flour and tinsel with which the shells were filled deluging and decorating them.

Doña Jacoba again was in a most gracious mood, and leaned against the wall, an amused smile on her strong serene face.  Her husband stood by her, and she indicated Elena by a motion of her fan.

“Is she not beautiful to-night, our little one?” she asked proudly.  “See how pink her cheeks are!  Her eyes shine like stars.  She is the handsomest of all our children, viejo.”

“Yes,” he said, something like tenderness in his cold blue eyes, “there is no prettier girl on twenty ranchos.  She shall marry the finest Englishman of them all.”

Elena threw a cascaron directly into Dario’s mouth, and although the cologne scalded his throat, he heroically swallowed it, and revenged himself by covering her black locks with flour.  The guests, like the children they were, chased each other all over the house, up and down the stairs; the men hid under tables, only to have a sly hand break a cascaron on the back of their heads, and to receive a deluge down the spinal column.  The bride chased her dignified groom out into the yard, and a dozen followed.  Then Dario found his chance.

Elena was after him, and as they passed beneath a tree he turned like a flash and caught her in his arms and kissed her.  For a second she tried to free herself, mindful that her sisters had not kissed their lovers until they stood with them in the chapel; but she was made for love, and in a moment her white arms were clinging about his neck.  People were shouting around them; there was time for but few of the words Dario wished to say.

“Thou must write me a little note every day,” he commanded.  “Thy brother’s coat, one that he does not wear, hangs behind the door in my room.  To-morrow morning thou wilt find a letter from me in the pocket.  Let me find one there, too.  Kiss me again, consuelo de mi alma!” and they separated suddenly, to speak no more that night.