The Squatter and the Don. María Amparo Ruiz de Burton

said he.

      “What a low, vulgar fellow this is, even too low for a squatter,” said Clarence, driving off.

      “Phew!” ejaculated the elder Darrell, “you speak like a Don. Your idea of a squatter is not flattering.”

      “It is flattering thus far, that I think Gasbang is too low for the settler, who means no wrong-doing—the average squatter. As for Mathews, I am sure he is a cut-throat by instinct.”

      “That may be; but I think their idea of your seeing Pittikin and Hughes is good. You can have more effect on them than Gasbang or Mathews.”

      “O, I am willing to go to speak to the old men, but why should I see the girls?”

      “You manage that part to suit yourself. And now stop. I'll drop here; you needn't go out of your way. I'll walk home. I want to see this piece of land near by. It has not been located. I might put a claim there for Everett and another for Webster.”

      Clarence sighed, and silently drove on. He had passed by the Pittikin and Hughes farms the day he arrived, as his father had taken him to see how nicely the settlers were doing in Southern California; all expecting their prosperity to increase by the building of the railroad. Clarence saw the two houses and began to feel like a mariner of old between Scylla and Charybdis. There might be a troop of ugly old girls in each house. If he could only see some men out in the fields. But the fields looked deserted. Where could the men be—this being no Sunday nor Fourth of July, that they should leave off work? On looking about for some human being to guide him, he saw in the distance, under a clump of dark trees, several wagons, and horses unhitched, standing harnessed near them.

      He was about to turn to the left, to take the road between two fields, when he heard voices, shouting loudly. He supposed they were calling some one. The shouts were followed by a man on horseback galloping towards him. Clarence stopped and waited. The rider was no other than Mr. Pittikin, who came in person to invite him to join their picnic, in honor of his daughter's wedding. The opportunity to see the men together would be excellent, but the girls would be there, too, thought Clarence, not over pleased.

      “Please excuse me, I am not dressed to appear in company. I came to see you on business,” said he.

      “The girls said I must bring you.” Clarence felt a qualm. “And even if I have to fight you I must obey; obey the ladies, you know. There ain't many there. Only our two families—Hughes and mine, and neighbor Hancock's and a few friends. Indeed, we will feel slighted if you don't join us. We will feel you think us too humble a class for you to associate with.”

      “Nothing of the kind. If I thought so, I would not hesitate to present myself before the ladies in this dress.”

      “Come along, anyhow. We'll make all the allowance you want. But you see, this is my daughter Fanny's birthday and her wedding day. She was married to Romeo Hancock this morning. So we wanted a room as big as all out doors to celebrate the occasion. We thought the best thing would be to have a picnic under those beautiful trees. Come, please. If you ain't with us, you are against us.”

      “I'll go home and put on other dress and come back immediately,” said Clarence.

      Pittikin laughed. “Just what Fanny said. I tell you she is an awfully smart girl. She said, ‘He'll tell you he is going home to change his clothes, but don't you let him, because he'll only give us the slip.’ So you see, I can't let you go. Besides, they are setting the table—I mean to say, spreading the eatables—so you have no time to go home now.”

      “But, look here, Mr. Pittikin, what is to become of my mission? I came to see you and Mr. Hughes on business, and not on a picnic.”

      “Can't the business wait till to-morrow?”

      “Not very well, as I promised Mr. Mechlin.”

      “Oh! I know; Hughes told me,” interrupted Pittikin. “The Don wants to make speeches to the settlers to fool us into a—into—some terms of his, so that we'll kick ourselves out of our farms.”

      “Nothing of the kind. He is not going to make any foolish propositions, but even if he were, you can lose nothing by being polite and listening to him.”

      “I don't know but what you are right. I like always to be polite; and as for Hughes, he is the politest man going, and no mistake. He never speaks loud, and he always listens to you. I think it will be the best thing, perhaps, to see Hughes, now. Then there is neighbor Hancock, and neighbor Miller and Jackson, and the boys. Come along, we'll collar them in a bunch.”

      “Then, I can count upon your help?”

      “Certainly you can; for when it is a question of politeness, I won't be left behind, and if I give you my word, you can bet on me.”

      Clarence was received with loud demonstrations of pleasure.

      “Here he is,” said Pittikin, on arriving at the picnic ground; “I got him; but as he has some business to talk to us about, I promised him we would attend to that too, and mix business with pleasure, as it were. So, you talk to them girls, Mr. Darrell, while we old men see what can be done and how, and we'll let you know.”

      Clarence was presented by Mr. Pittikin to Mrs. Pittikin, and this lady presented him to the company, saying that he must make himself at home, which Clarence did not see well how he could do.

      But the young ladies could not boast of having often the good fortune to entertain a young gentleman as elegant, handsome and rich as Clarence, and they made good use of their golden opportunity. Sweet glances and complimentary expressions of pleasure, because the Darrell family were to be their neighbors, showered upon him, until he was ready to laugh outright. But he was too kind to have done anything so discourteous, and took it all in good part, thinking it was all meant in kindness.

      “Come, let us show to Mr. Darrell our ice fountain; it is, I think, a great natural curiosity,” said Mrs. Romeo Hancock, the heroine of the day, being the lady in whose honor the hymeneal festivities took place. “Come girls and boys,” said she, and accompanied by Clarence, and followed by eight or ten others, she guided them to a little cave under a large oak, from which a muffled sound of tiny bells that seemed to tinkle and sigh and whisper, came forth. It seemed to Clarence as if the little fountain was in sympathy with the dispossessed owners, but did not dare to raise its timid voice in behalf of the vanquished, who no longer had rights in their patrimony, and must henceforth wander off disinherited, despoiled, forgotten.

      “This is a lovely place,” said Clarence.

      “Yes, and Mathews wanted to kill me for it,” said Romeo.

      “Why so?” asked Clarence.

      “Because he had just sold his place to Mr. Mechlin, intending to locate here. So when he went to town to sign his conveyance, I put some boards in a wagon and came here, and in two hours my father and myself had put up my cabin. Then we put up this fence around one acre, and by nightfall we had placed my boundary stakes. That night I brought my blankets and my rifle, to sleep in my cabin. Mother sent father to keep me company, and we slept soundly, in splendid style. I wasn't afraid of Mathews. Next morning, at daybreak, we heard the rumbling of a wagon, and soon after we spied old Mathews sitting on the top of his boards. He came smack against my fence.

      “What the devil is this?” said he, and began to swear a perfect blue streak. Then he took a hammer from his wagon, and began hammering.

      I jumped up, took my rifle and hallooed to him, as if I didn't know him, “Who is there, hammering my fence?”

      “Your fence?” said he; “your fence?”

      “Yes, sir, mine. I located here yesterday.”

      “You! you! Get a beard first,” said he, and with another streak of oaths, began hammering again.

      I came up nearer, holding my rifle in good position. I said, “Look here, Mr. Mathews, leave my fence alone, or you will get into trouble.” I leveled my rifle at him. “Will you stop? I give you just two minutes.”