The Hunter Cats of Connorloa Part 6

Would you think any one could have the heart to turn those two poor old people out of their home? It would not seem as if a human being could be found who would do such a thing. But there was. He was a lawyer; I could tell you his true name, but I will not. He had a great deal to do with all sorts of records and law papers, about land and t.i.tles and all such things.

There has always been trouble about the owners.h.i.+p of land in California, because first it belonged to Spain, and then it belonged to Mexico; and then we fought with Mexico, and Mexico gave it to us. So you can easily see that where lands are pa.s.sed along in that way, through so many hands, it might often be hard to tell to whom they justly belonged.

Of course this poor old Ysidro did not know anything about papers. He could not read or write. The missionaries gave the land to his father more than a hundred years ago, and his father gave it to him, and that was all Ysidro knew about it.

Well, this lawyer was rummaging among papers and t.i.tles and maps of estates in San Gabriel, and he found out that there was this little bit of land near the church, which had been overlooked by everybody, and to which n.o.body had any written t.i.tle. He went over and looked at it, and found Ysidro's house on it; and Ysidro told him he had always lived there; but the lawyer did not care for that.

Land is worth a great deal of money now in San Gabriel. This little place of Ysidro's was worth a good many hundred dollars; and this lawyer was determined to have it. So he went to work in ways I cannot explain to you, for I do not understand them myself; and you could not understand them even if I could write them out exactly: but it was all done according to law; and the lawyer got it decided by the courts and the judges in San Francisco that this bit of land was his.

When this was all done, he had not quite boldness enough to come forward himself, and turn the poor old Indians out. Even he had some sense of shame; so he slyly sold the land to a man who did not know anything about the Indians being there.

You see how cunning this was of him! When it came to the Indians being turned out, and the land taken by the new owner, this lawyer's name would not need to come out in the matter at all. But it did come out; so that a few people knew what a mean, cruel thing he had done. Just for the sake of the price of an acre of land, to turn two aged helpless people out of house and home to starve! Do you think those dollars will ever do that man any good as long as he lives? No, not if they had been a million.

Well, Mr. Connor was one of the persons who had found out about this; and he had at first thought he would help Ysidro fight, in the courts, to keep his place; but he found there would be no use in that. The lawyer had been cunning enough to make sure he was safe, before he went on to steal the old Indian's farm. The law was on his side. Ysidro did not really own the land, according to law, though he had lived on it all his life, and it had been given to his father by the missionaries, almost a hundred years ago.

Does it not seem strange that the law could do such a thing as that?

When the boys who read this story grow up to be men, I hope they will do away with these bad laws, and make better ones.

The way Rea had found out about old Ysidro was this: when Jim went to the post-office for the mail, in the mornings, he used generally to take Anita and Rea in the wagon with him, and leave them at Anita's mother's while he drove on to the post-office, which was a mile farther.

Rea liked this very much. Anita's mother had a big blue and green parrot, that could talk in both Spanish and English; and Rea was never tired of listening to her. She always carried her sugar; and she used to c.o.c.k her head on one side, and call out, "Senorita! senorita! Polly likes sugar! sugar! sugar!" as soon as she saw Rea coming in at the door. It was the only parrot Rea had ever seen, and it seemed to her the most wonderful creature in the world.

Ysidro's house was next to Anita's mother's; and Rea often saw the old man at work in his garden, or sitting on his door-step knitting lace, with needles as fine as pins.

One day Anita took her into the house to see Carmena, who was sitting in bed at work on her embroidery. When Carmena heard that Rea was Mr.

Connor's niece, she insisted upon giving her a beautiful piece of lace which she had made. Anita did not wish to take it, but old Carmena said,--

"You must take it. Mr. Connor has given us much money, and there was never anything I could do for him. Now if his little senorita will take this, it will be a pleasure."

So Rea carried the lace home, and showed it to her Uncle George, and he said she might keep it; and it was only a few weeks after this that when Anita and Rea went down to San Gabriel, one day, they found the old couple in great distress, the news having come that they were going to be turned out of their house.

And it was the night after this visit that Rea dreamed about the poor old creatures all night, and the very next morning that she asked her Uncle George if he would not build them a house in his canon.

After lunch, Mr. Connor said to Rea,--

"I am going to drive this afternoon, Rea. Would you like to come with me?"

His eyes twinkled as he said it, and Rea cried out,--

"Oh! oh! It is to see Ysidro and Carmena, I am sure!"

"Yes," said her uncle; "I am going down to tell them you are going to build them a house."

"Uncle George, will you really, truly, do it?" said Rea. "I think you are the kindest man in all the world!" and she ran for her hat, and was down on the veranda waiting, long before the horses were ready.

They found old Ysidro sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of his house. He had his face covered up with both hands, his elbows leaning on his knees.

"Oh, look at him! He is crying, Uncle George," said Rea.

"No, dear," replied Mr. Connor. "He is not crying. Indian men very rarely cry. He is feeling all the worse that he will not let himself cry, but shuts the tears all back."

"Yes, that is lots worse," said Rea.

"How do you know, pet?" laughingly said her uncle. "Did you ever try it?"

"I've tried to try it," said Rea, "and it felt so much worse, I couldn't."

It was not easy at first to make old Ysidro understand what Mr. Connor meant. He could not believe that anybody would give him a house and home for nothing. He thought Mr. Connor wanted to get him to come and work; and, being an honest old fellow, he was afraid Mr. Connor did not know how little strength he had; so he said,--

"Senor Connor, I am very old; I am sick too. I am not worth hiring to work."

"Bless you!" said Mr. Connor. "I don't want you to work any more than you do now. I am only offering you a place to live in. If you are strong enough to do a day's work, now and then, I shall pay you for it, just as I would pay anybody else."

Ysidro gazed earnestly in Mr. Connor's face, while he said this; he gazed as if he were trying to read his very thoughts. Then he looked up to the sky, and he said,--

"Senor, Ysidro has no words. He cannot speak. Will you come into the house and tell Carmena? She will not believe if I tell it."

So Mr. Connor and Rea went into the house, and there sat Carmena in bed, trying to sew; but the tears were running out of her eyes. When she saw Mr. Connor and Rea coming in at the door, she threw up her hands and burst out into loud crying.

"O senor! senor!" she said. "They drive us out of our house. Can you help us? Can you speak for us to the wicked man?"

Ysidro went up to the bed and took hold of her hand, and, pointing with his other hand to Mr. Connor, said,--

"He comes from G.o.d,--the senor. He will help us!"

"Can we stay?" cried Carmena.

Here Rea began to cry.

"Don't cry, Rea," said Mr. Connor. "That will make her feel worse."

Rea gulped down her sobs, enough to say,--

"But she doesn't want to come into the canon! All she wants is to stay here! She won't be glad of the new house."

"Yes, she will, by and by," whispered Mr. Connor. "Stop crying, that's my good Rea."

But Rea could not. She stood close to the bed, looking into old Carmena's distressed face; and the tears would come, spite of all her efforts.

When Carmena finally understood that not even Mr. Connor, with all his good will and all his money, could save them from leaving their home, she cried again as hard as at first; and Ysidro felt ashamed of her, for he was afraid Mr. Connor would think her ungrateful. But Mr. Connor understood it very well.

"I have lived only two years in my house," he said to Rea, "and I would not change it for one twice as good that anybody could offer me. Think how any one must feel about a house he has lived in all his life."

"But it is a horrible little house, Uncle George," said Rea,--"the dirtiest hovel I ever saw. It is worse than they are in Italy."

"I do not believe that makes much difference, dear," said Uncle George.

"It is their home, all the same, as if it were large and nice. It is that one loves."

Just as Mr. Connor and Rea came out of the house, who should come riding by, but the very man that had caused all this unhappiness,--the lawyer who had taken Ysidro's land! He was with the man to whom he had sold it.