The Treasure of Pearls 27 – Wraxall · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Treasure of Pearls 27The True Caballero
18
Literature · Romance
The Treasure of Pearls 27
The True Caballero
WraxallEnglish
Four days after the defeat of the insurgents, in his own bedroom of the Hacienda of the Monte Tesoro, don Benito Vázquez de Bustamente lay extended on the couch, pale and weak. His dulled eyes were half shut, and only at long intervals did they let gleams of consciousness escape. Near him were kneeling his daughter and his wife; their daughter-in-law being too ill from her loss and the emotion of the conflict in which all dear to her were involved, to participate in this additional scene of sorrow.
Sad and silent, don Jorge, Oliver, and the English gentleman, the latter's arm in a sling, and both the paler from profuse bloodletting, stood by the bedside. At an altar reared in the room, Father Serafino was just finishing prayers, to which the servants of the estate, kneeling in the corridors, had fervently responded.
At length the prostrate don seemed to revive, for his cheeks were tinged with fugitive purple, and his opening eyes were clear.
"Weeping? Why do you weep?" he asked of his wife, who was sobbing, her head muffled in her black lace rebozo, "If my life has not been long, it comprises more years of unalloyed bliss than most men enjoy. This day, the Giver of all those boons calleth me unto Him. His will be done! Have I not been permitted to struggle against the poison which, twice menacing my life, only this time overcomes me, so slowly that my affairs are in order, I can thank those who contributed to the victory which has saved Sonora from a deluge of blood and fire, and I can bid you all farewell until we shall meet anew, never to part again, in the ever-during felicity above. Yea, truly," went on don Benito, with increased fervour, "heaven has been kinder and more merciful than I merited, since not only has it preserved all those who lie closest on my bosom, but my final farewells can be made them with a clear voice, and my latest hour is cheered with the presence of the friend so cherished of my early years. He came in time to save my darling--and, with his valorous companion, to save us all. Embrace me, my friend," he continued, to Gladsden, as he extended his arms with an effort, "to thee I owe all those long, long happy days which have been mine on this oft dolorous earth."
Gladsden ran his sound arm round him, and held him up against his bosom for a moment. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Then he lowered him gently back upon the pillow. For upwards of an hour still he spoke with them, encouraging, consoling, and preparing them as much as possible for the painful separation. Suddenly he sat up, with his eyes loftily directed, and in a clear voice they heard him call out--
"Lord God of my fathers, as I have borne myself like them, as a Christian gentleman of the pure strain, receive my soul!" and fell, like a log, dead.
All were kneeling now, and many a sob broke forth, with echoes, along the corridor, out to the very patio where the faithful peons mourned.
Two days afterwards, the American hunter, repulsing any reward but a watch from doña Perla, a silver mounted revolver from her brother, and an Indian scarf, enriched with pearls, inwrought by doña Dolores, the donor, for display on holidays, or "for a sweetheart" (at which he smiled), started, jauntily as ever, on the best horse on the farm of Treasure Hill to return to the American army posts.
"Not a mossle of fear," he replied to Gladsden at his stirrups to the last moment, "did you not hear that Apache, whom don Benito slashed, call me 'Comes-Whooping-with-Fire'--a good enough Injin name to keep this big chief clear of bruises till the next fall buffalo surround. You'll hev' a letter from me in the Frisco post office by the time you git round to Californy."
