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Authors: Giacomo Puccini, David Belasco
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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her
now that no such meeting-place would have been selected for any
undertaking other than a descent upon Cloudy Mountain Camp. Nor was
her intuition or reasoning at fault: Ramerrez had not given up his
intention of getting the miners' gold that he knew from her to be
packed away somewhere in The Polka Saloon; but what she did not
suspect, despite his peculiar behaviour, was that he had taken
advantage of the proximity of the two camps to sever his relation,
business and otherwise, with her. And yet, did he but know it, she
was destined to play no small part in his life for the next few
weeks!
Nina Micheltoreña had now decided upon her future course of
action: She would let him think that his desire to break off all
relations with her would not be opposed. Ever a keen judge of men
and their ways, she was well aware that any effort to reclaim him
to-night would meet with disaster. And so when Ramerrez, surprised
at her long silence, looked up, he was met with a smiling face and
the words:
"So be it, Ramerrez. But if anything happens, remember you have
only yourself to blame."
Ramerrez was astounded at her cool dismissal of the subject. To
judge by the expression on his face he had indeed obtained his
release far easier than he had deemed it possible. As a matter of
fact, her indifference so piqued him that before he was conscious
of his words he had asked somewhat lamely:
"You wish me well? We part as friends?"
Nina regarded him with well-simulated surprise, and replied:
"Why, of course—the best of friends. Good
luck,
amigo
!" And with that she rose and left
him.
And so it was that later that evening after assuring herself
that neither Ramerrez nor any of his band remained in the
dance-hall, Nina, her face set and pale, exchanged a few whispered
words with that same big man towards whom, earlier in the evening,
she had shown such animosity.
The effect of these words was magical; the man could not
suppress a grunt of intense satisfaction.
"She says I'm to meet her to-morrow night at the Palmetto
Restaurant," said Ashby to himself after the woman had lost herself
in a crowd of her own countrymen. "She will tell where I can put my
hands on this Ramerrez. Bah! It's too good to be true.
Nevertheless, I'll be on hand, my lady, for if anyone knows of this
fellow's movements I'll wager you do."
At that moment Ashby, the Wells Fargo Agent, was nearer than
ever before to the most brilliant capture of all his career.
Late the following afternoon, some five miles from the Mexican
settlement, on a small tableland high above a black ravine which
was thickly timbered with the giant trees of the Sierras, Ramerrez'
band was awaiting the coming of the
Maestro
. It was
not to be a long wait and they stood around smoking and talking in
low tones. Suddenly, the sound of horses climbing was heard, and
soon a horseman came in sight whose appearance had the effect of
throwing them instantly into a state of excitement, one and all
drawing their guns and making a dash for their horses, which were
tied to trees. A moment later, however, another horseman appeared,
and laughing boisterously at themselves they slid their guns back
into their belts and retied their horses, for the man whom they
recognised so quickly, the individual who saved the situation, as
it were, was none other than Jose Castro, an
ex-
padrona
of the bull-fights and the second in
command to Ramerrez. He was a wiry, hard-faced and shifty-eyed
Mexican, but was as thoroughly devoted to Ramerrez as he had been
to the young leader's father. On the other hand, the man who had
caused them to fear that a stranger had surprised them, and that
they had been trapped, was Ramerrez or Johnson—the name that he had
assumed for the dangerous work he was about to engage in—and they
had failed to know him, dressed as he was in the very latest
fashion prevailing among the Americans in Sacramento in '49. Nor
was it to be wondered at, for on his head was a soft, brown
hat—large,
now that no such meeting-place would have been selected for any
undertaking other than a descent upon Cloudy Mountain Camp. Nor was
her intuition or reasoning at fault: Ramerrez had not given up his
intention of getting the miners' gold that he knew from her to be
packed away somewhere in The Polka Saloon; but what she did not
suspect, despite his peculiar behaviour, was that he had taken
advantage of the proximity of the two camps to sever his relation,
business and otherwise, with her. And yet, did he but know it, she
was destined to play no small part in his life for the next few
weeks!
Nina Micheltoreña had now decided upon her future course of
action: She would let him think that his desire to break off all
relations with her would not be opposed. Ever a keen judge of men
and their ways, she was well aware that any effort to reclaim him
to-night would meet with disaster. And so when Ramerrez, surprised
at her long silence, looked up, he was met with a smiling face and
the words:
"So be it, Ramerrez. But if anything happens, remember you have
only yourself to blame."
Ramerrez was astounded at her cool dismissal of the subject. To
judge by the expression on his face he had indeed obtained his
release far easier than he had deemed it possible. As a matter of
fact, her indifference so piqued him that before he was conscious
of his words he had asked somewhat lamely:
"You wish me well? We part as friends?"
Nina regarded him with well-simulated surprise, and replied:
"Why, of course—the best of friends. Good
luck,
amigo
!" And with that she rose and left
him.
And so it was that later that evening after assuring herself
that neither Ramerrez nor any of his band remained in the
dance-hall, Nina, her face set and pale, exchanged a few whispered
words with that same big man towards whom, earlier in the evening,
she had shown such animosity.
The effect of these words was magical; the man could not
suppress a grunt of intense satisfaction.
"She says I'm to meet her to-morrow night at the Palmetto
Restaurant," said Ashby to himself after the woman had lost herself
in a crowd of her own countrymen. "She will tell where I can put my
hands on this Ramerrez. Bah! It's too good to be true.
Nevertheless, I'll be on hand, my lady, for if anyone knows of this
fellow's movements I'll wager you do."
At that moment Ashby, the Wells Fargo Agent, was nearer than
ever before to the most brilliant capture of all his career.
Late the following afternoon, some five miles from the Mexican
settlement, on a small tableland high above a black ravine which
was thickly timbered with the giant trees of the Sierras, Ramerrez'
band was awaiting the coming of the
Maestro
. It was
not to be a long wait and they stood around smoking and talking in
low tones. Suddenly, the sound of horses climbing was heard, and
soon a horseman came in sight whose appearance had the effect of
throwing them instantly into a state of excitement, one and all
drawing their guns and making a dash for their horses, which were
tied to trees. A moment later, however, another horseman appeared,
and laughing boisterously at themselves they slid their guns back
into their belts and retied their horses, for the man whom they
recognised so quickly, the individual who saved the situation, as
it were, was none other than Jose Castro, an
ex-
padrona
of the bull-fights and the second in
command to Ramerrez. He was a wiry, hard-faced and shifty-eyed
Mexican, but was as thoroughly devoted to Ramerrez as he had been
to the young leader's father. On the other hand, the man who had
caused them to fear that a stranger had surprised them, and that
they had been trapped, was Ramerrez or Johnson—the name that he had
assumed for the dangerous work he was about to engage in—and they
had failed to know him, dressed as he was in the very latest
fashion prevailing among the Americans in Sacramento in '49. Nor
was it to be wondered at, for on his head was a soft, brown
hat—large,
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