will do so at San Luis Bautista.â
âSan Luis Bautista?â Ramon echoed incredulously.
âYes. I received word last evening from Padre Altado saying he would receive her.â
âWhy, San Luis Bautista is many leagues away,â the boy exclaimed. âShe will be gone from the hacienda for a matter of months. She is intensely happy here. Have you given any thought to the fact that she is going to be miserable and lonesome in San Luis Bautista?â
âIt is a means to an end, my boy. For it, she must be willing to suffer.â
A sadness which he could not explain had settled upon the boyâs heart. For the first time his eyes were open to the fact that Suzanna was very, very dear to him. In kaleidoscopic procession, his lifetime association with her passed across his mental mirror. In his boy and man world there had been no one to approach her in comradeship. He had grown to take her for granted. The sudden announcement that she was to be taken away from him for a period that might well be as long as two years, filled him with consternation. The loss of impudent, tomboyish Suzanna assumed the proportions of a calamity. And although pressed as he was for time, he asked himself why this should be so.
The lingering caress of her fingers upon his cheek, the sweet fragrance of her breath, memories of her unafraid eyes and the thrill which had suffused his body that very morning when he, in lifting her from her saddle, had held her close for a brief second, came back to smite him. The passive male in him disappeared in a twinkling as such pictures continued to flash in his brain. Long dormant primordial instincts took possession of him. Boyhood passed, and manhood gripped him. The sex impulse was in it, and the thirst to protect his own.
Suzanna was his mate, his woman. He saw it, oh, so clearly, now. What mattered it that she was a peon? This talk of blood strains had no place in California. Before God, the two of them stood together,âa man and a woman! The thought brought him to his feet.
His mother caught his agitation and she pressed her hands together nervously as he raised his voice.
âHave you told Suzanna that she goes so far as San Luis Bautista?â Ramon demanded.
Don Fernando winced at the thought that he should be expected to consult with his servants about a matter which pointed to their own welfare.
âCertainly not,â he cried. âI am the master of this hacienda! Do you, my son, suggest that I confer with one of my peons before I raise my hand to act?â
âPerhaps âtwere well you did, my father,â Ramon answered stoutly. âIt is nothing short of cruelty to take a girl, who has never been beyond the boundaries of this rancho, to a strange place, among strange faces, and where at best she will receive scant respect from those about her.â
The boyâs voice rang out so intensely that those at the table were not aware of Suzanna who had crept in from the kitchen in search of Timoteo and his quarry. Miguelâs rooster had taken refuge in a great wicker basket beside the door. Timoteo, missing him completely, was searching vainly beneath the table for him.
Suzanna had not caught the mention of her name, but she sensed immediately the strife between father and son. The distraught face of Doña Luz and the excited eyes of the attorney filled her with alarm. For all her trepidation, Suzanna knew that if Don Fernando caught her intruding at this unfortunate moment that no light punishment would be visited on her. So, consigning Timoteo to the tender mercies of the saints, she turned cautiously toward the kitchen. She had taken but one tiny step when the wrathful donâs voice boomed in her ears. With every muscle quivering nervously, Suzanna cowered where she stood.
Don Fernando had not seen her. His attention was riveted solely upon his son.
âYour saintly mother and I know what is best for Suzanna!â he thundered
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