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Updated: June 15, 2025
It was said by those who knew that the Don’s estate had once been at least twice that large, and there were some who irreverently remarked that he had been taken off none too soon for the best interests of his heirs. Shortly after the reading of the will, Ramon rode to the Archulera ranch, starting before daylight and returning after dark.
“I’m glad you came,” Archulera told him, “I haven’t seen a man in a month except one gringo that said he was a prospector and stole a kid from me.… How was the fair?”
He was following the same route that Diego Delcasar had followed on the day of his death, and he passed within a few miles of Archulera’s ranch; but no thought either of his uncle or of Archulera entered his mind. For in his pocket was a letter consisting of a single sentence hastily scrawled in a large round upright hand on lavender-scented note paper. The sentence was:
If he gave Archulera to understand that he would marry the girl, word of it might get to town. “He’ll never find her,” he said confidently. “I’ll do nothing unless he comes to me.” “I don’t know,” Cortez replied doubtfully. “Is he a penitente?” “Yes; I think he is,” Ramon admitted. “Then maybe he’ll find her pretty quick.
Cortez lived in a little square box of a brick cottage, which he had been buying slowly for the past ten years and would probably never own. In its parlour, gaudy with cheap, new furniture, Ramon confronted Catalina Archulera. She was clad in a dirty calico dress, and her shoes were covered with the dust of long tramping, as was the black shawl about her head and shoulders.
The skyward rocky waste of the mountain lifted behind the house, and the empty reach of the mesa lay before—an immense and arid loneliness, now softened and beautified by many shadows. Ramon could see old man Archulera far up the mountainside, rounding up his goats for evening milking, and he could faintly hear the bleating of the animals and the old man’s shouts and imprecations.
Afterward, when the girl had gone, there were many cigarettes and much talk, as before, Archulera telling over again the brave wild record of his youth. And, as always, he told, just as though he had never told it before, the story of how Diego Delcasar had cheated him out of his interest in a silver mine in the Guadelupe Mountains.
He knew many Mexican ranches in the valley where he could keep her in comfort for a small amount. That would serve a double purpose. The old man would be kept in ignorance as to what Ramon intended, and the girl would be saved from further punishment. Meantime, he could send Cortez to see Archulera and find out what money would do. The whole affair was big with potential damage to him.
He stood in the shadow of a spruce, stamping his feet and rubbing himself, acutely uncomfortable, waiting for daylight and wondering what this attack meant. He doubted whether MacDougall would have countenanced such tactics, but it might well have been an agent of MacDougall acting on his own responsibility. Or it might have been some one sent by old Archulera.
“Five thousand dollars!” Archulera replied with slow emphasis. He probably had no idea how much he had lost, but five thousand dollars was his conception of a great deal of money. Ramon again laughed and refused to commit himself.
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