“What’s off there?” I pointed toward the mountains. “There’s the mountains, and over beyond, a wide valley. The pass they call the Little Door. The Injun name is Cahuenga.
“There’s trails through most of the canyons. Just horse trails, mostly, but there are bears back in there, lots of them, and more than likely they won’t get out of the way, in which case you’d better turn around and get out of there, less you want to fight.”
“I heard there were bandits.”
“Oh, sure! Plenty of those. Some just steal horses, some raid lonely stations, murder travelers and the like. You got to be careful.” The day was warm and pleasant. All around us was a wide sweep of grassland dotted with clumps of oak and other brush, with here and there a small grove or a patch where someone was planting. Scattered everywhere, although not in great numbers, there were cattle.
“Once in a while a man has to fight,” Jacob said, “but you avoid it if you can.
Fightin’ attracts attention, and that’s the last thing you need. “This is a small town with not much to talk about. Fortunately the Californios don’t pay a lot of attention to us Anglos. There’s a few of us here, and although Stearns and a few others are doing well, they go about their business without blowing up a storm. The old don keeps to himself, mostly. They say he thinks himself better than the others because he is of pure Castilian blood. Your grandmother has been dead for a good many years, so the old don’s house is run by his younger sister, the Dona Elena.
“She runs a mighty fine house, or so they say. Stone-flagged floors ‘n everything. I suspect there aren’t more’n a half-dozen houses in town with anything but dirt floors. Out here folks make do with mighty little. Nothin’ fancy to be had.
“Back t’ home my ma never had much to do with, but we lived better than these folks who have thousands of acres. The government doesn’t permit trade with anybody but themselves, although there’s a good deal of business done with the Boston ships.”
“You mean, they’re not supposed to?”
“They got laws against it, but what’re these folks to do? They are needful of things, and the ships come in. Usually those who are supposed to enforce the laws look the other way.”
Jacob Finney drew up. “Back yonder, that’s Rancho Las Cienagas. I told you about the swampland. Francisco Avila owns that, and off to the northwest where those low hills are, that ranch is called Rodeo de las Aguas. Means ‘the gathering of the waters,’ likely because of the springs. A widow woman owns that. Her husband was a soldier named Valdez.
“La Brea, where we’re headed, that’s owned by a Portugee named Rocha. Good man. I helped his folks catch up some horses here a while back. Injuns had started to run them off an’ we had a bit of a set-to.
“One of these times, you an’ me, well take ourselves an outfit and ride off up the San Joaquin Valley. That’s over yonder. A long, long valley with herds of wild horses everywhere, two, three hundred in a bunch. Some fine stock, too.” “They belong to no one?”
“That’s right. Wild as antelope or elk. Comes to that, I’ve seen herds of over a thousand elk. Boy, that’s one you’ve got to see! Somethin’ to remember. Tame, too. The Californios don’t hunt much. They have all the beef they want and they make do with that. Me, I like elk meat. It’s right tasty.” We rode on, lazy in the sunshine. Cattle moved out of our way or turned their heads to look at us with a total lack of interest. We were not chasing them, and they knew it.
“There!” Finney pointed. “See? The trees yonder? That dark pool? That’s it. You got to ride careful, there’s several smaller patches of tar here an’ there.” He waved a hand. “Most anyplace here you can push a stick into the ground and it will come up black with tar. The Chumash been coming here for centuries to get tar to calk their boats.
“See? The bones yonder? Something trapped there, buzzards fed off it, and maybe one of them trapped, too. If you set still and watch, you can see the gas bubble up. There! See, yonder? It bubbles up, the bubbles break, and after a bit, another one comes. Water isn’t fit to drink. Too much oil an’ stuff, but this here’s somethin’ to see. A few years ago a ship’s captain from down to San Pedro, he come out here to get tar and he found a tusk. Elephant’s tusk. “Anybody’d told me, I’d not have believed it, but there it was.” “The Indians have stories about hunting them,” I said. “Not the Cahuillas, the Plains Indians.”
“You don’t say? That’s one I never heard.”
“It was the Osage, I think,” I said. “It was a hairy elephant they had killed.” We left our horses cropping the grass and walked over to the pools, but not going too close. The trees Jacob had mentioned were actually some distance away, but grass grew right to the edge of the water in some places. The larger pool was at least an acre in extent. “It was larger when we were here the first time,” Jacob said, “but this has been a dry year.” He pointed out two more pools, each no larger -than a washtub, and several places where grayish bulges of tar or asphalt had pushed up through the grass. “There are several oil springs around,” Jacob said. “Miss Nesselrode wanted to see them, so we rode over to take a look. Injuns and some of the Californios come there to get oil for some treatments they give themselves.” “It is a strange place,” I said. “I’d like to come back again.” “Reckon you can do about as you wish when there’s no school. You talk about that with Miss Nesselrode. I don’t know what she has in mind, but you can bet she’s figurin’ on something. That woman’s mind never sets still, believe me.” “I like her.”
“So do I,” Jacob agreed, “but let me warn you, although you aren’t likely to need it. Don’t cross her. She’s almighty pleasant. She’s a fine-looking young woman with a lovely smile and all that, but there’s cuttin’ steel under it, and don’t you be forgettin’ it.”
We mounted up and started back, and Jacob said, “She wants you to ride around over this valley and get acquainted with the locality. Don’t ask me why. Maybe she just wants to be sure you don’t get lost sometime. Knowin’ her, I’d lay a good bit she’s got something else in mind.”
We were unsaddling our horses when he spoke again. “Did you learn to speak any of that Cahuilla lingo? I mean, could you make them understand?” “Most of them spoke some Spanish. Francisco and his father know both Spanish and English. They know enough to get along, anyway.” “How about the Ghumash?”
“It is a different language, I think.”
“She wants you to learn it, Johannes. She’s got something in mind.” We started for the house, and Miss Nesselrode was standing in the door, waiting for me. I knew right away that something had happened. Something was wrong.
Twenty-three
Miss Nesselrode rested a hand upon my shoulder, but she spoke to Jacob. “Will you come in, Mr. Finney? This is something you should know.” Her hand caressed the back of my head. “Johannes? You have a visitor. A guest.” It was dusk and the candles had been lighted. Something in her tone seemed to warn me. In my right hand I held my rifle and pistol belt, for I had been told never to ride without them.
“You will not need those, Johannes. Come in, now.”
She stepped aside to permit me to pass, then closed the door behind us. It was a moment not to be forgotten. The quiet room, the soft glow from the two candelabra, the old carved chest against the wall, the table, the chairs, the rag rugs upon the floor, and that tall, straight woman standing there, looking at me.
Her hair was black, but white at the temples. She had allowed her rebozo to fall back to her shoulders. Her features were thin and what people called aristocratic.
She was a beautiful and stately woman, no .longer young, but a woman with presence, to whom years had brought added beauty. She had distinction, more than anyone I had known, perhaps more than anyone I would ever know. “Yes”-her voice was low, very pleasant-“of course! How like them you are!”
She stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Johannes, I am your great-aunt, Elena.
I have looked forward to this moment.”
Great-aunt? My mother spoke fondly of her Aunt Elena, but if she was my grandfather’s sister, she must be an enemy. Yet she did not seem like an enemy. Her smile made me want to draw closer.