Jubilee Trail (58 page)

B
UT THE CONQUEST
OF
Los Angeles did not prove to be as easy as they thought it was.

At first it looked simple. Commodore Stockton sent Frémont north to seek recruits among the Yankees there; and as Los Angeles was perfectly quiet, Stockton himself went to Yerba Buena, where the people had planned a celebration in his honor. He left Captain Gillespie of the Marine Corps in Los Angeles with a token garrison of about fifty marines.

Captain Gillespie could have asked advice of the Yankees who had been trading in Los Angeles for years. If he had done so, they would have told him that he need not expect the Angelenos to make any resistance to American rule. This was one of the least warlike neighborhoods on earth. Now and then wild Diggers raided an isolated dwelling and armed men went out to put them down. Sometimes two lads fought over a girl, or a man borrowed a saddle and forgot to bring it back. But these disputes could usually be settled by the alcalde, a local officer like a mayor.

There were no more than a thousand people who lived in the village all the year round. But it was a busy little place, the market for the southern ranchos, the end of the caravan trail from Santa Fe, and a center of supply for ships in the hide trade. Most of this business was in Yankee hands. Generally speaking, the native Angelenos went their way in a lazy good-humor. They had little to complain about. Fresh beef was so cheap that it was their staple food. There was no poverty. Most people did not even have locks on their doors. Life in Los Angeles consisted of a little work and a great deal of music, wine, and dancing, and the Angelenos took this as the natural state of things. The Yankees could have told Captain Gillespie—in fact, they did their best to tell him—that he had been set over a cheerful folk who would remain cheerful if only they were let alone.

But Gillespie did not ask advice and did not listen when they gave it. He began to issue orders that first astounded the people and then enraged them.

In this fun-loving town, Gillespie forbade social gatherings. He had private homes searched for firearms. He ordered that liquor be sold only when and where he gave permission. His countrymen warned him that guns were more necessary to California dignity than shoes. They told him the Californios would resent a curb on their red wine as much as the American colonists had resented the tax on tea. But he paid no heed. Gillespie was left in command on the last day of August; by the middle of September the people were muttering and turning their backs when an American passed them in the street. They went into the Yankee trading posts only when they had to. The native bar-boys stopped coming to work at Silky’s.

As for Silky himself, he had not escaped interference. His gambling room was closed, and the saloon was allowed to stay open only from noon till six. As the Angelenos slept through half the afternoon, this order cut off a large slice of income. Silky and Florinda were as angry as the Angelenos. But they obeyed, lest Gillespie lock up the place for good.

Garnet agreed that the captain was foolish. But she could not help being glad she was having a chance to get used to the bar by working in the daytime at first, instead of starting with those noisy evenings she used to hear from upstairs. She went to work as soon as she was well. During the bar-hours Isabel took care of Stephen. Isabel did not admire Gillespie, but Garnet and Florinda paid her well and Isabel said she would rather work for Yankees than get married.

Florinda had not exaggerated Garnet’s value to the bar. The marines had been stationed at Mazatlán and they were used to Mexican girls, but two real live Americans were something else again. The boys spent as much time in Silky’s Place as their captain would let them. They were a rowdy but good-natured bunch, and Garnet found her work less unpleasant than she had feared. But now and then she heard rumblings of rebellion that frightened her.

It was an afternoon late in September. From her place behind the bar, Garnet greeted two marines who had just come in. “May I serve you, gentlemen?” she asked.

They grinned at her with a yearning admiration. “You sure do look pretty today,” said the marine named Bill.

“Mighty pretty,” said the marine named Pete. “Them flowers on your dress, and your eyes—say, what color are your eyes?”

“Some people call them gray. Some say hazel. Don’t you want to order? It’s getting late.”

The two marines agreed that they’d better order. “That bottled earthquake the Mexes drink,” said Bill. “I never could say it.”

“You mean aguardiente?”

“Gee, listen to her, rattling it off like a native. How does it go? Aggadenty?”

Garnet poured the drinks. “Why don’t you just say Mexican brandy?” she asked smiling. “We’ll understand.”

“Now that’s what I call a smart girl,” Bill said to Pete. “She ain’t a Mex, we ain’t Mexes, how come we got to talk Mex? Talk United States, that’s good enough for me. Say, Garnet.”

“Yes?” she said. It still felt odd to have strange men call her by her first name, but she was getting used to it.

“You sure are pretty. Do you paint your cheeks?”

Garnet said she didn’t. She wiped up some drops of liquor on the bar and pretended not to hear their next few comments, which concerned her figure and not her face. When they asked her what she would be doing after the bar closed, she answered that she would be busy taking care of her baby. She tried not to make her reply too curt. But though she was doing her best, she had not yet acquired Florinda’s ability to keep them at bay while at the same time keeping them in good-humor. A little farther along the bar, a group of marines bantered with Florinda.

“… a girl like you, Florinda, away out here at the end of the world! How’d you get here anyway?”

“Why I’ve always been here. I was the first white child born in this settlement. No, that’s not quite enough, you still owe me seven cents. Oh, now what a shame!” she sympathized as he spilt the liquor down the front of his coat.

“You jiggled my elbow!” he accused her.

“Well, you shouldn’t have tried to pinch me. Behave yourself and you won’t get into trouble. Yes, sergeant? Whiskey, yes sir, right away.”

At Garnet’s end of the bar, Texas stood leaning on his elbow. Texas was sober again. His spree had been a rather bad one, but Garnet pretended she did not know it. Texas had said he was sorry for leaving her that day—he had meant to have just a couple with the boys, didn’t know how they happened to hit him so hard—but remembering Florinda’s advice, Garnet had taken his apology lightly. “Why Texas, everybody was drinking too much that day. Isabel came up to wait on me, and anyway, I was up very soon afterward.”

Though Texas had not been drinking lately, he often came and stood at the bar, watching Garnet like a bodyguard. She liked having him there. He asked her for a glass of water, and as she brought it he glanced along the bar and back at her, shaking his head.

“I hate to see you in here, Miss Garnet,” he said.

“I’m all right, Texas. Really I am.”

“Don’t they bother you?”

“Not too much. I’m learning to handle them.”

“Miss Garnet,” said Texas, “I wish you were clean out of town. We’re liable to have trouble. That damn fool Gillespie—”

“Please, Texas! Not here.”

Nobody was allowed to talk about Gillespie at the bar. If any of the marines chose to defend their captain with their fists, that was all right with Silky, but he didn’t want it happening in his saloon. The place was allowed to do business only on condition that it stayed orderly. Texas gave a shrug, but he ceased his comments. Mr. Bugs McLane came in with Mr. Collins, the clerk from Mr. Abbott’s store. Garnet poured drinks for them, and professed to admire the marines’ attempt to warble a Mexican song they had brought up from Mazatlán. Through the singing she heard a little sound from the kitchen.

“Stephen is awake,” she said to Florinda. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Florinda smiled and nodded, and Garnet went into the kitchen. The baby’s basket stood on the wall-bench. Isabel had just picked him up. While Garnet sat down to nurse him, Isabel went to the fireplace and helped herself to beans from the pot on the hearth-stove.

Garnet pressed Stephen’s soft little body to her bosom. She was so glad she had him. Sometimes, in spite of all she could do to keep cheerful, such a wave of loneliness swept over her that her heart felt as barren as the desert. Without her baby it would have been even worse. When Stephen had finished she cuddled him back into his basket, then went to the table to drink a cup of chocolate with Isabel. She and Florinda and Silky would eat their supper later, after they had closed the saloon. Garnet poured another cup of chocolate and took it out to Texas.

Silky was making an entry in the credit book and Florinda was pouring fresh drinks for Collins and McLane. As Garnet set the cup in front of Texas she heard a brush of elbows on the bar to her right, and turned her head. She started. Leaning on the bar, his hands clasped around a cup of whiskey, was Charles.

Charles was dressed in mourning. He had on a fine white shirt and a black coat and trousers, and he carried a tasseled black hat under his arm. Thrust under his belt were white leather gloves embroidered with black silk. He looked rich, but it was not possible for Charles to look imposing. His brown face had so many little lines that Garnet thought of a monkey she had once seen at Barnum’s Museum. His small brown hands, linked around the cup, were hard and knuckly, and the veins stood out on the backs. As on the first time she had seen him, Garnet was reminded of something creeping and unhealthy. Then again, as on the first time she had seen him, she saw his eyes.

His eyes, brilliant and deep-set, were fixed on her. His look slid over her with a slimy contempt. She had never known anybody who could put as much contempt into a look as he could; she almost felt it, like a worm crawling over her body. As his eyes held her, she saw that the drink he was holding was not the first he had had this evening. She was surprised, for she had never known him to drink much. Without even a formal greeting, Charles said,

“I want to talk to you.”

She did not want to talk to him, but she did not know how she could avoid it. “About what, Charles?” she asked.

“I should prefer,” said Charles, glancing around the room in disgust, “that we have less company. Where can we go?”

“The bar closes at six,” she answered. “After that I can take you into the kitchen.”

The marine named Bill, by now somewhat the worse for aguardiente, sidled along the bar and gazed at Charles. “Hi there, pizen-face,” he said.

Charles ignored him, but Texas put his hand on Bill’s arm. “I wouldn’t be disrespectful, son. The gentleman is a good friend of Captain Gillespie’s.”

Garnet had no idea whether or not this statement was true. But Bill subsided, leaning his head on his hand and grinning at nothing in particular. Charles finished his whiskey. As he set the cup on the bar his eyes came to rest on Florinda. At leisure for the moment, Florinda stood back from the bar. It was the first time Charles and Florinda had ever had a good look at each other. At the rancho their one conversation had taken place in the dark hall, and after that Florinda had kept out of his way, so that they had exchanged only a few passing glimpses. Now they looked each other over with mutual distaste.

Charles pushed his cup across the bar. “Fill this up,” he said curtly.

Florinda took a bottle from the shelf, but she did not pour. “You haven’t paid for the first one, Mr. Hale, and you’ve put no credit on the books.”

With a curl of his lip Charles tossed her a Spanish doubloon, worth fifteen dollars. It was an obvious gesture of disdain to remind her that he could buy every bottle on the shelf if he wanted to. Garnet felt like throwing the money back into his face. She must have looked like it too, for as the coin rattled on the counter Texas laid a hand on her wrist, shaking his head. Garnet caught her breath. But Florinda, with a coolness that Garnet envied, picked up the doubloon and pushed the bottle into Charles’ hands.

“Take it all, Mr. Hale, and thank you. I’ll write down the extra credit.” She dropped the doubloon into the cash-box, opened the book, and on a fresh page she made a note of one gold doubloon less one bottle of whiskey, credit of Mr. Charles Hale.

Without comment, Charles poured a drink. Bill the marine drained the last of his aguardiente and grinned hazily at Garnet. “Who’s the pizen-face?” he inquired.

“Be quiet, Bill,” she said.

“Last round, gentlemen,” Silky called.

There was a flurry of orders. Under cover of the final drinks Florinda whispered to Garnet, “If you want to take him back to the kitchen now, dearie, I’ll clear up.”

“No you won’t. If he wants to talk to me he can wait till I’m ready. I’m not going to leave you to do the work.”

“Six o’clock, gentlemen,” said Silky.

Sometimes he had trouble getting them out, but this evening there was a sergeant present who did the job for him. Evidently the sergeant knew Charles was a person of importance, for he made no effort to have him leave with the others. Florinda came through the side doorway into the front half of the room and began fastening the shutters. Silky picked up the ledgers and cash-box to check the day’s business, and Garnet piled the cups on a tray. Indicating the bottle in front of Charles, she said,

“I can put that on the shelf, marked with your name. Or do you want to keep it?”

“I’ll keep it,” he returned shortly, and picked it up. Garnet took the cups into the kitchen, came back and washed off the bar, and finally said, “You can come in here now, Charles.”

They went into the kitchen. Silky already sat at the end of the table near the fireplace, and Mickey was bringing him his supper. Garnet told Isabel she could go. Charles stood looking down at the basket.

“So this,” he said, “is Oliver’s child.” He drew down the covers. Stephen made a little sleepy protest at being disturbed, and Garnet put out her hand to cover him again. “I’m not hurting him,” Charles said. He gazed at Stephen a moment, and nodded in satisfaction. “A fine healthy child,” he said. Garnet rearranged the blankets. When she had tucked them in Charles said, “Come over here.”