Heart of the Sunset, Rex Beach [best fiction books of all time txt] 📗

He checked her denial with a gesture. "Wait until I tell you the vision I have seen during these days of my despair. I see Mexico made whole by my hands; a land of peace and plenty; a people with one name upon their lips—the name of Longorio the Deliverer; and you as the first lady of them all. You know me for a man of tremendous ability in every line. Well, I know myself, too. I have measured myself carefully, and I have no weakness. There is no other like me. Pancho Gomez? Bah! He is a red-handed bandit of no culture. Candeleria, his chief? The idol of the ignorant and a dreamer of no force. Potosi? He is President today, but what of tomorrow? Those who surround him are weaklings, and he stumbles toward oblivion. Who will succeed him? Who will issue from the coming struggle as the dominant figure of Mexico? Who but that military genius who checks the Yankee hordes and saves the fatherland? I am he. Fate points the path of glory and I am her man of destiny. You see, then, what I bring you—power, position, riches. Riches? Caramba! Wait until my hands are in the treasury. I will load you with gold and jewels, and I will make you the richest woman in the world. Señora, I offer you dominion. I offer you the President's palace and Chapultepec. And with all that I offer you such passionate love as no woman of history ever possessed."

He paused, spent by the force of his own intensity; it was plain that he expected an immediate surrender.

Alaire's lips parted in the faintest of mocking smiles. "You have great confidence in yourself," she said.

"Yes. I know myself as no one knows me."

"Why do you think I care for you?"

Longorio's eyes opened. His expression plainly showed that he could not imagine any woman in her senses failing to adore him.

"Don't you take much for granted?" Alaire insisted.

The Mexican shook his head. Then his face lightened. "Ah! Now I see. Your modesty forbids you to acknowledge your love—is that it? Well, I know that you admire me, for I can see it. All women admire me, and they all end by loving me." His chest arched imperceptibly; with a slender finger he delicately smoothed his black eyebrows. Alaire felt a wild impulse to laugh, but was glad she had subdued it when he continued: "I am impetuous, but impetuosity has made me what I am. I act, and then mold fate to suit my own ends. Opportunity has delivered to me my heart's desire, and I will not be cheated out of it. Among the men I brought with me to La Feria is a priest. He is dirty, for I caught him as he was fleeing toward the border; but he is a priest, and he will marry us tonight."

Alaire managed to gasp, "Surely you are not in earnest."

"Indeed I am! That is why I insisted that you dine with me this evening. I cannot waste more time here, for necessity calls me away. You shall go as my wife."

"Do you think I would remarry on the very day I find myself a widow?"

"The world will never know."

"You dare to say that!" Her tone was one of disgust, of finality. "I wonder how I have listened to so much. It is horrible."

"You are still a little hysterical, and you exaggerate. If I had more time I could afford to wait." He ogled her with his luminous gaze. "I would let you play with me to your heart's content and exercise your power until you tired and were ready to surrender."

Alaire raised her head proudly, her nostrils dilated, her eyes ablaze with hostility. "This is very humiliating, but you force me to tell you that I hate you."

Longorio was incredulous rather than offended. He drew himself up to his full height and smiled, saying, "That is impossible." Then, ignoring her impatience: "Come! You cannot deceive me. The priest is waiting."

When Alaire spoke next it was with an expression and with a tone of such loathing that his yellow face paled "Your conceit is insufferable," she breathed.

After a brief struggle with himself, the Mexican cried, hoarsely: "I will not be refused. You wish me to tame you, eh? Good! You have found your master. Make your choice, then. Which shall it be, surrender or—compulsion?"

"So! You have been lying, as I thought. Compulsion! Now the real
Longorio speaks."

He flung up his hands as if to ward off her fury. "No? Have I not made myself clear? I shall embrace you only with the arms of a husband, for this is not the passion of a moment, but of a lifetime, and I have myself to consider. The wife of Mexico's next President must be above reproach; there must be no scandal, no secrets hidden away for enemies to unearth. She must stand before the people as a perfect woman; she must lend prestige to his name. When I speak of compulsion, then, I mean the right of a husband—"

Alaire uttered an exclamation of disgust and turned away, but he intercepted her, saying: "You cannot hold me at bay. It is destiny. You shall be mine tonight. Think a moment! We are alone in the heart of a country lacking in every law but mine. Your friends do not know where you are, and, even if they knew, they could not help you. Your nation's protest would avail nothing. Outside of these walls are enemies who will not let you leave this house except under the protection of my name."

"Then I shall never leave it," she told him.

For the first time Longorio spoke roughly: "I lose patience. In God's name have I not waited long enough? My strength is gone." Impulsively he half encircled her with his thin arms, but she seemed armored with ice, and he dropped them. She could hear him grind his teeth. "I dare not lay hands upon you," he chattered. "Angel of my dreams, I am faint with longing. To love you and yet to be denied; to feel myself aflame and yet to see you cold; to be halted at the very doors of Paradise! What torture!"

The fellow's self-control in the midst of his frenzy frightened Alaire more than did his wildest avowals; it was in something of a panic that she said:

"One moment you tell me I am safe, the next you threaten me. You say I am free, and yet you coerce me. Prove your love. Let me go—" "No! No! I shall call the priest."

Longorio turned toward the door, but halfway across the floor he was halted by a woman's shriek which issued from somewhere inside the house. It was repeated. There was an outburst in a masculine voice, then the patter of footsteps approaching down the tiled hallway. Dolores burst into her mistress's presence, her face blanched, her hair disordered. She flung herself into Alaire's arms, crying:

"Señora! Save me! God's curse on the ruffian. Oh—"

"Dolores!" Alaire exclaimed. "What has happened?"

Longorio demanded, irritably: "Yes. Why are you yelling like this:"'

"A man—See I One of those dirty peladors. Look where he tore my dress! I warned him, but he was like a tiger. Benito will kill me when he learns—"

"Calm yourself. Speak sensibly. Tell me what happened."

"One of those miserable soldiers who came today—pig!" Dolores was shaking, her voice was shrill. "He followed me. He has been drinking. He followed me about like a cat, purring and grinning and saying the most horrible things. Just now, when I went to your room, he was waiting in the darkness and he seized me. God! It was dreadful."

"A soldier? One of my men?" Longorio was incredulous.

Alaire turned upon him with a blazing anger in her face. "Is this more of your protection?" she stormed. "I give you and your men the freedom of my ranch, and you insult me while they assault my women."

He ignored her accusation, inquiring of the elder woman, "Who was the fellow?"

"How do I know," Dolores sobbed. "He is a—a thick, black fellow with a scar on his lip, like a snarl."

"Felipe!"

"Yes, Felipe! I believe they called him that."

Longorio strode to the end of the livingroom, flung open the wooden shutters of a window and, leaning far out, whistled sharply on his fingers.

"Oiga! Teniente! Ho, you fellows!" he shouted.

From the darkness a voice answered; a man, evidently on guard, came running.

"Call old Pancho," the general directed. "Tell him to bring me black
Felipe, the fellow with the torn lip. Quick!"

"Yes, general," came the voice; then the metallic rattle of spurs and accoutrements as the sentry trotted away.

Dolores had completely broken down now, and Alaire was trying to comfort her. Their guest remained by the window, frowning. After a time there sounded a murmur of voices, then a shuffling of feet in the hall; Alaire's friend, the old lieutenant, appeared in the doorway, saluting. Behind him were several others.

"Here is Felipe," he announced.

"Bring him in."

A sullen, frowning man in soiled uniform was pushed forward, and
Dolores hid her face against her mistress's shoulder.

"Is this the fellow?" Longorio inquired.

Dolores nodded.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself?" The general transfixed his trooper with a stare; then, as the latter seemed bereft of his voice, "Why did you enter this house?"

Felipe moistened his scarred lips. "That woman is—nice and clean. She's not so old, either, when you come to look at her." He grinned at his comrades, who had crowded in behind old Pancho.

"So! Let us go outside and learn more about this." Longorio waved his men before him and followed them out of the room and down the hall and into the night.

When a moment or two had dragged past, Dolores quavered. "What are they going to do with him?"

"I don't know. Anyhow, you need not fear—"

There sounded the report of a gunshot, deadened indeed by the thick adobe walls of the house, yet sudden and loud enough to startle the women.

When Longorio reappeared he found Alaire standing stiff and white against the wall, with Dolores kneeling, her face still buried in her mistress's gown.

"Give yourself no concern," he told them, quickly. "I beg a thousand pardons for Felipe. Henceforth no one will molest you."

"Was that a—shot?" Alaire inquired faintly.

"Yes. It is all settled."

"You killed him?"

The general nodded. "Purely for the sake of discipline—one has to be firm. Now your woman is badly frightened. Send her away so that we may reach an understanding."

"Oh-h! This is frightful," Alaire gasped. "I can't talk to you. Go—Let me go."

The man pondered for an instant. "Perhaps that would be better," he agreed, reluctantly, "for I see you, too, are unstrung. Very well! My affairs will have to wait. Take a few hours to think over what I have told you. When you have slept you will feel differently about me. You will meet me with a smile, eh?" He beamed hopefully.

"Sleep? You expect me to sleep?"

"Please," he begged. "Beauty is like a delicate flower, and sleep is the dew that freshens it. Believe me, you can rest in all security, for no one can come or go without my consent. You are cruel to postpone my delight; nevertheless, I yield to your feelings. But, star of my life, I shall dream of you, and of that little priest who waits with the key of Paradise in his hands."

He bowed over Alaire's cold fingers, then stood erect until she and
Dolores had gone.

XXIX THE PRIEST FROM MONCLOVA

That was a night of terror for the women. Although Longorio's discipline was in some ways strict, in others it was extremely lax. From some quarter his men had secured a supply of mescal, and, forgetful of Felipe's unhappy fate, they rendered the hours hideous. There were singing and quarreling, and a shot or two sounded from the direction of the outbuildings. Morning found both Alaire and Dolores sadly overwrought. But they felt some relief upon learning that the general had been unexpectedly summoned from his bed at daylight, and had ridden to the telegraph office.

Profiting by his absence, Alaire ventured from her room, racking her brain to devise some means of escape. But soldiers were everywhere; they lolled around the servants' quarters; they dozed in the shade of the ranch buildings, recovering from the night's debauch; and an armed sentinel who paced the hacienda road gave evidence