The Squatter and the Don. María Amparo Ruiz de Burton
returned to the veranda.
Clarence made no delay in stating the object of his visit. He said:
“Since the meeting I have had several talks with the settlers, and the result has been my conviction, that they will not accept your generous offer. They, no doubt, wish to take up more land, and think it cannot be done if they bind themselves to put up fences by accepting your proposition. How short-sighted they are time alone will show, for at present they will not listen to reason.”
“I am very sorry. There is no alternative for me but to sell all my cattle as soon as possible, and in the meantime drive all I can to the mountains.”
“But that will be ruinous, father. How can we herd them in the mountains? They will all become wild and run away,” said Victoriano.
“I am afraid they will. I am sure of it, in fact. But there is no other way to save any at all.”
“I think this ‘no fence’ law the most scandalous, bare-faced outrage upon the rights of citizens that I ever heard of,” said Clarence, warmly. “It is like setting irresponsible trespassers loose upon a peaceable people, and then rewarding their outrage. To let any one take up your lands right before your eyes is outrage enough, but to cap the climax by authorizing people to plant crops without fences and then corral your cattle, which must be attracted to the green grass, I call positively disgraceful, in a community which is not of vandals. It is shameful to the American name. I am utterly disgusted with the whole business, and the only thing that will make matters a little tolerable to me will be for you to do me the favor of permitting me to pay for the land we have located.”
“Does your father wish to pay?”
“I do not know whether he would or not. I fear he would not. My father is a blind worshiper of the Congress of these United States, and consequently it is difficult to persuade him that our legislators might possibly do wrong. He believes that Congress has the right to declare all California open to pre-emption, and all American citizens free to choose any land not already patented. Thus, he thinks he has the right to locate on your land (according to law, mind you), because he believes your title has been rejected. But as my faith in our law-givers is not so blind, my belief is that Congress had no more right to pass any law which could give an excuse to trespass upon your property, than to pass a law inviting people to your table. I feel a sort of impatience to think that in our country could exist a law which is so outrageously unjust. My pride as an American is somewhat different from that of my father. He thinks it is a want of patriotism to criticise our legislation. Whereas, I think our theory of government is so lofty, so grand and exalted, that we must watch jealously that Congress may not misinterpret it; misrepresent the sentiments, the aspirations of the American people, and thus make a caricature of our beautiful ideal. It is our duty and privilege to criticise our laws, and criticise severely. As long as you, the native Californians, were to be despoiled of your lands, I think it would have been better to have passed a law of confiscation. Then we would have stood before the world with the responsibility of that barbarous act upon own shoulders. That would have been a national shame, but not so great as that of guaranteeing, by treaty, a protection which was not only withheld, but which was denied—snatched away, treacherously—making its denial legal by enactments of retroactive laws. This I call disgraceful to the American name. Therefore, in my humble way and limited sphere, if I cannot repeal, I will at least evade such unjust laws to the best of my ability, and make them ineffective as far as I am individually concerned. I only wish I could wipe out those stains on our national honor, by repealing at once laws so discreditable to us. Yes, the more so, as they bear directly upon the most defenseless, the most powerless of our citizens—the orphaned Spano-Americans. So, then, I hope you will help me to avoid this American shame, by permitting me to pay for our land whatever price you think just.”
“Very well,” said Don Mariano, pleased with Clarence's honest warmth, and to hear him express opinions and sentiments so very similar to his own. “You can pay whatever you wish, or we can make an agreement that I will sell to you when I get my patent. Such is my understanding with Mr. Mechlin and also with your father.”
“That is rather vague. I would prefer to pay to you now so much per acre. With the understanding that my father (or any one else) is not to know I have made this purchase. I mean not for the present.”
“Would your father object to it?”
“Perhaps not. And yet he might see in it a disclaimer from my part—a criticism. He is a settler—a ‘Squatter’—you know, and consequently very sensitive about (what they call) ‘rights of settlers under the law.’ He knows my sentiments, but one thing is my expressing them to him, and another is to pay money for land he thinks he has lawfully appropriated. It might seem to him, I imply that his locating perhaps was not altogether as honorable a transaction in my eyes, as it may be lawful in the eyes of the lawmakers.”
“You are certainly very honorable, and I am willing to abide by your wishes in the matter,” said Don Mariano. “You view this question exactly as I do.”
Clarence blushed with pleasure and bowed, saying:
“You are very kind, and that you, who are so generous, should be made to suffer as you have, it is, I assure you, so revolting to me (as an American and a civilized being) that I have felt great desire to go away rather than to live among these short-sighted and unappreciative people that have unfortunately fallen upon you.”
Don Mariano laughed and said, “No don't go away. Let me have one friend at least, among so many opponents. Pay whatever you wish, and take as much land as you desire to have, but don't go.”
“I thank you, indeed, but will you not name the price? I don't think it is right for me to put a price upon your property.”
“My dear sir, that would be so if my property was not going into—smoke of sulphur—but as it is, and growing fast so ‘beautifully less’ that I suppose even the $1.25 of government price ought to be a handsome figure to my weary eyes. So name any price you wish.”
It was agreed that Clarence would pay $10.00 per acre, and take up 640 acres where his father had already located. It was also understood that the purchase should not be mentioned to any one. Don Mariano excepted only his son Gabriel. Clarence said he would except his mother, inasmuch as she had told him to pay for the land or else she would not come to reside upon it.
Don Mariano said that he would like to mention it to his family and the Mechlins, but feared that if only some allusion was overheard by the servants, it would be repeated.
“I have no objection to Mr. Mechlin knowing it,” Clarence said.
“No, but they have for servants Hogsden and his wife, and they are very dishonorable. They would repeat it if by accident they heard it.”
“It is a pity that Mrs. Mechlin don't send those two thieves away,” Victoriano said.
“Yes, I hear that the woman Hogsden repeats things she hears at the Mechlins,” Clarence said.
“Of course she does, and steals too, and yet Mrs. Mechlin keeps them,” Victoriano said, impatiently.
“Perhaps it would be best to say nothing, and I will watch my chance to tell my father myself, that I paid for the land,” Clarence said. He then rose to go.
As he went down the veranda steps he met Milord returning, still dragging the skein of silk. But this was no longer of bright variegated hues, it was black with mud and sadly masticated by Milord's sharp teeth, which proudly held it as if challenging any one to take it.
“You wicked Milord. See what you have done with your poor mistress' silk. She will be distressed,” said Victoriano.
On hearing himself thus apostrophised, Milord ran off again with his plunder, and it was with difficulty that by the combined efforts of Victoriano and Clarence he was at last captured, but the bright colors of the silk had all disappeared, a blackened skein resembling a piece of wet rope was pulled from Milord's sharp teeth.
CHAPTER