Indeed at this moment the prospect she gazed abstractedly upon seemed to justify that lugubrious description. The Santa Ana Valleya long monotonous levelwas dimly visible through moving curtains of rain or veils of mist, to the black mourning edge of the horizon, and had looked like that for months. The valleyin some remote epoch an arm of the San Francisco Bayevery rainy season seemed to be trying to revert to its original condition, and, long after the early spring had laid on its liberal color in strips, bands, and patches of blue and yellow, the blossoms of mustard and lupine glistened like wet paint. Nevertheless on that rich alluvial soil Natures tears seemed only to fatten the widows acres and increase her crops. Her neighbors, too, were equally prosperous. Yet for six months of the year the recognized expression of Santa Ana was one of sadness, and for the other six monthsof resignation. Mrs. Wade had yielded early to this influence, as she had to others, in the weakness of her gentle nature, and partly as it was more becoming the singular tragedy that had made her a widow.
The late Mr. Wade had been found dead with a bullet through his head in a secluded part of the road over Heavy Tree Hill in Sonora County. Near him lay two other bodies, one afterwards identified as John Stubbs, a resident of the Hill, and probably a traveling companion of Wades, and the other a noted desperado and highwayman, still masked, as at the moment of the attack. Wade and his companion had probably sold their lives dearly, and against odds, for another mask was found on the ground, indicating that the attack was not single-handed, and as Wades body had not yet been rifled, it was evident that the remaining highwayman had fled in haste. The hue and cry had been given by apparently the only one of the travelers who escaped, but as he was hastening to take the overland coach to the East at the time, his testimony could not be submitted to the coroners deliberation. The facts, however, were sufficiently plain for a verdict of willful murder against the highwayman, although it was believed that the absent witness had basely deserted his companion and left him to his fate, or, as was suggested by others, that he might even have been an accomplice. It was this circumstance which protracted comment on the incident, and the sufferings of the widow, far beyond that rapid obliteration which usually overtook such affairs in the feverish haste of the early days. It caused her to remove to Santa Ana, where her old father had feebly ranched a quarter section in the valley. He survived her husband only a few months, leaving her the property, and once more in mourning. Perhaps this continuity of woe endeared her to a neighborhood where distinctive ravages of diphtheria or scarlet fever gave a kind of social preeminence to any household, and she was so sympathetically assisted by her neighbors in the management of the ranch that, from an unkempt and wasteful wilderness, it became paying property. The slim, willowy figure, soft red-lidded eyes, and deep crape of Sister Wade at church or prayer-meeting was grateful to the soul of these gloomy worshipers, and in time she herself found that the arm of these dyspeptics of mind and body was nevertheless strong and sustaining. Small wonder that she should hesitate to-night about plunging into inconsistent, even though trifling, frivolities.
But apart from this superficial reason, there was another instinctive one deep down in the recesses of Mrs. Wades timid heart which she had kept to herself, and indeed would have tearfully resented had it been offered by another. The late Mr. Wade had been, in fact, a singular example of this kind of frivolous existence carried to a man-like excess. Besides being a patron of amusements, Mr. Wade gambled, raced, and drank. He was often home late, and sometimes not at all. Not that this conduct was exceptional in the roaring days of Heavy Tree Hill, but it had given Mrs. Wade perhaps an undue preference for a less certain, even if a more serious life. His tragic death was, of course, a kind of martyrdom, which exalted him in the feminine mind to a saintly memory; yet Mrs. Wade was not without a certain relief in that. It was voiced, perhaps crudely, by the widow of Abner Drake in a visit of condolence to the tearful Mrs. Wade a few days after Wades death. Its a vale o sorrow, Mrs. Wade, said the sympathizer, but it has its ups and downs, and I recken yell be feelin soon pretty much as I did about Abner when HE was took. It was mighty soothin and comfortin to feel that whatever might happen now, I always knew just whar Abner was passin his nights. Poor slim Mrs. Wade had no disquieting sense of humor to interfere with her reception of this large truth, and she accepted it with a burst of reminiscent tears.
A long volleying shower had just passed down the level landscape, and was followed by a rolling mist from the warm saturated soil like the smoke of the discharge. Through it she could see a faint lightening of the hidden sun, again darkening through a sudden onset of rain, and changing as with her conflicting doubts and resolutions. Thus gazing, she was vaguely conscious of an addition to the landscape in the shape of a man who was passing down the road with a pack on his back like the tramping prospectors she had often seen at Heavy Tree Hill. That memory apparently settled her vacillating mind; she determined she would NOT go to the dance. But as she was turning away from the window a second figure, a horseman, appeared in another direction by a cross-road, a shorter cut through her domain. This she had no difficulty in recognizing as one of the strangers who were getting up the dance. She had noticed him at church on the previous Sunday. As he passed the house he appeared to be gazing at it so earnestly that she drew back from the window lest she should be seen. And then, for no reason whatever, she changed her mind once more, and resolved to go to the dance. Gravely announcing this fact to the wife of her superintendent who kept house with her in her loneliness, she thought nothing more about it. She should go in her mourning, with perhaps the addition of a white collar and frill.
It was evident, however, that Santa Ana thought a good deal more than she did of this new idea, which seemed a part of the innovation already begun by the building up of the new hotel. It was argued by some that as the new church and new schoolhouse had been opened by prayer, it was only natural that a lighter festivity should inaugurate the opening of the hotel. I reckon that dancin is about the next thing to travelin for gettin up an appetite for refreshments, and thats what the landlord is kalkilatin to sarve, was the remark of a gloomy but practical citizen on the veranda of The Valley Emporium. Thats so, rejoined a bystander; and I notice on that last box o pills I got for chills the directions say that a little agreeable exercisenot too violentis a great assistance to the working o the pills.
I reckon that that Mr. Brooks whos down here lookin arter mill property, got up the dance. Hes bin round town canvassin all the women folks and drummin up likely gals for it. They say he actooally sent an invite to the Widder Wade, remarked another lounger. Gosh! hes got cheek!
Well, gentlemen, said the proprietor judicially, while we dont intend to hev any minin camp fandangos or Frisco falals round Santa Any(Santa Ana was proud of its simple agricultural virtues)I aint so hard-shelled as not to give new things a fair trial. And, after all, its the women folk that has the say about it. Why, theres old Miss Ford sez she hasnt kicked a fut sence she left Mizoori, but wouldnt mind trying it agin. Ez to Brooks takin that troublewell, I suppose its along o his bein HEALTHY! He heaved a deep dyspeptic sigh, which was faintly echoed by the others. Why, look at him now, ridin round on that black hoss o his, in the wet since daylight and not carin for blind chills or rhumatiz!
He was looking at a serape-draped horseman, the one the widow had seen on the previous night, who was now cantering slowly up the street. Seeing the group on the veranda, he rode up, threw himself lightly from his saddle, and joined them. He was an alert, determined, good-looking fellow of about thirty-five, whose smooth, smiling face hardly commended itself to Santa Ana, though his eyes were distinctly sympathetic. He glanced at the depressed group around him and became ominously serious.
When did it happen? he asked gravely.
What happen? said the nearest bystander.
The Funeral, Flood, Fight, or Fire. Which of the four Fs was it?
What are ye talkin about? said the proprietor stiffly, scenting some dangerous humor.
YOU, said Brooks promptly. Youre all standing here, croaking like crows, this fine morning. I passed YOUR farm, Johnson, not an hour ago; the wheat just climbing out of the black adobe mud as thick as rows of pins on paperwhat have YOU to grumble at? I saw YOUR stock, Briggs, over on Two-Mile Bottom, waddling along, fat as the adobe they were sticking in, their coats shining like fresh paintwhats the matter with YOU? And, turning to the proprietor, theres YOUR shed, Saunders, over on the creek, just bursting with last years grain that you know has gone up two hundred per cent. since you bought it at a bargainwhat are YOU growling at? Its enough to provoke a fire or a famine to hear you groaningand take care it dont, some day, as a lesson to you.
All this was so perfectly true of the prosperous burghers that they could not for a moment reply. But Briggs had recourse to what he believed to be a retaliatory taunt.
I heard youve been askin Widow Wade to come to your dance, he said, with a wink at the others. Of course she said Yes.
Of course she did, returned Brooks coolly. Ive just got her note.
What? ejaculated the three men together. Mrs. Wade comin?
Certainly! Why shouldnt she? And it would do YOU good to come too, and shake the limp dampness out o you, returned Brooks, as he quietly remounted his horse and cantered away.
Darned ef I dont think hes got his eye on the widder, said Johnson faintly.