The Doomswoman | Page 8

and cried
"Brava!" to the bull, who pranced about the plaza, dragging the carcass
of the bear after him, his head high, his big eyes red and rolling! The
women tore off their rebosos and waved them like banners, smashed
their fans, and stamped their little feet; the men whirled their sombreros
with supple wrists. But the bull was not satisfied; he pawed the ground
with demanding hoofs; and the vaqueros galloped into the ring with
another bear. Nor had they time to detach their reatas before the bull
was upon the second antagonist; and they were obliged to retire in
haste.
Estenega, who stood between Chonita and myself, watched The
Doomswoman attentively. Her lips were compressed fiercely: for a
moment they bore a strange resemblance to his own as I had seen them
at times. Her nostrils were expanded, her lids half covered her eyes.
"She has cruelty in her," he murmured to me as the first battle finished;
"and it was her imperious wish that the bull should win, because he is
the more lordly animal. She has no sympathy for the poor bundle of
hair and quivering flesh that bounded on the mountain yesterday. Has
she brutality in her?--just enough--"
"Brava! Brava!" The women were on their feet; even Chonita for the
moment forgot herself, and beat the railing with her small fist. Another
bear had been impaled and tossed and trampled. The bull, panting from
his exertions, dashed about the plaza, still dragging his first victim after
him. Suddenly he stopped; the blood gushed from his nostrils; he
shivered like a skeleton hanging in the wind, then fell in an
ignominious heap--dead.
"A warning, Diego," I said, rising and shaking my fan at him. "Be not
too ambitious, else wilt thou die of thy victories. And do not love the

polar star," I murmured in his ear, "lest thou set fire to it and fall to
ashes thyself."

III.
In the long dining-room, opening upon the large high-walled garden at
the back of the Governor's house, a feast was spread for fifty people.
Doña Martina sat for a little time at the head of the table, her yellow
gown almost hidden by the masses of hair which her small head could
not support. Castro was on one side of her, Estenega on the other,
Chonita by her arch-enemy. A large bunch of artificial flowers was at
each plate, and the table was loaded with yellowed chickens sitting
proudly in scarlet gravy, tongues covered with walnut sauce, grilled
meats, tamales, mounds of tortillas, and dulces.
Alvarado, at the lower end of the table, sat between Doña Modeste
Castro and myself; and between the extremes of the board were faces
glowing, beautiful, ugly, but without exception fresh and young. From
all, the mantilla and serape had been removed, jewels sparkled in the
lace shirts of the men, white throats were encircled by the invariable
necklace of Baja Californian pearls. Chonita alone wore a string of
black pearls. I never saw her without it.
Doña Martina took little part in the talk and laughter, and after a time
slipped away, motioning to Chonita to take her place. The conversation
turned upon war and politics, and in its course Estenega, looking from
Chonita to Castro with a smile of good-natured irony said,--
"Doña Chonita is of your opinion, coronel, that California was the
direct gift of heaven to the Spaniards, and that the Americans cannot
have us."
Castro raised his glass to the comadre. "Doña Chonita has the loyal
bosom of all Californian women. Our men love better the olive of
peace than the flavor of discord; but did the bandoleros dare to
approach our peaceful shores with dastardly intent to rob, then, thanks

be to God, I know that every man among them would fight for this
virgin land. Thou, too, Diego, thou wouldst unsheathe thy sword, in
spite of thy pretended admiration of the Americans."
Estenega raised his shoulders. "Possibly. But in American occupation
lies the hope of California. What have we done with it in our seventy
years of possession? Built a few missions, which are rotting, terrorized
or cajoled few thousand worthless Indians into civilized imbecility, and
raised a respectable number of horses and cattle. Our hide and tallow
trade is only good; the Russians have monopolized the fur trade; we
continue to raise cattle and horses because it would be an exertion to
suppress them; and meanwhile we dawdle away our lives very
pleasurably, whilst a magnificent territory, filled with gold and richer
still in soil, lies idle beneath our feet. Nature never works without a
plan. She compounded a wonderful country, and she created a
wonderful people to develop it. She has allowed us to drone on it for a
little time, but it was