rode up to the ranch on a beautiful white gelding. His saddle sparkled with silver and the metal crickets on his bridle chirped as he trotted up to the hitching rack.
"I'm sorry to see everything so dry," he said, after he had taken my hand. "And hundreds of cattle dying and the horses gaunt."
He stood for a while, gazing around at the mesa, the tree-lined streams winding westward, the far blue hills that slanted away toward the sea.
"How many acres do you have here?" he asked. He had a chirpy voice. Any moment I expected him to burst into song, like a bird. "Sixty thousand?"
"Less."
"Have you ever thought of selling part of it?"
"No."
"You have a parcel down by the coast, where the stream meets the ocean. Five hundred acres, more or less. I can make you a good offer."
The parcel he spoke about was near the lagoon where the wreck of the treasure ship lay.
"You will need to talk to my grandmother. But I can tell you now that she will not be interested in selling."
"At a good price?"
"At any price."
"Do you mind if I talk to her?"
I led Mr. Thomas into the patio and sent for Doña Dolores. She took her time but finally came stumping out of the
sala,
swinging her cane. I introduced them and told my grandmother that the Cuban tobacco she liked so much I had bought from Mr. Thomas.
"It is the best I have smoked since some Turkish that I bought from a New Bedford whaler."
"Had I known that you liked it so much," said Mr. Thomas, "I would have brought some along as a gift."
He was making a good impression upon my grandmother, but it didn't last long.
"I spoke to Miss Carlota about a parcel of land on the coast," Mr. Thomas said. "Some five hundred acres of brush and water, mostly brush not fit for cattle. But I'm prepared to offer you twenty-five centavos an acre. The going price for such land is twenty, as you know."
"My land is worth ten times that," Grandmother said sharply.
"Before the drought, maybe," Mr. Thomas said. "Not now. Everything's dried up at this momentârange, pasture, meadows, hills, streams. And the Lord knows when it will be any better. Perhaps never."
Doña Dolores rolled a cigarillo and Rosario brought her a live coal. She puffed away and said nothing.
Mr. Thomas said, "What do you think, señora?"
"I am not thinking," my grandmother answered.
"I can offer you twenty-five centavos an acre," Caleb Thomas repeated.
"Two hundred centavos," said Doña Dolores, "and I will begin to think. Not much, but a little."
"Ridiculous," cried Mr. Thomas. "How about fifty?"
"Two hundred," Doña Dolores said firmly.
Mr. Thomas took off his spectacles and polished them on his sleeve.
"Fifty-five centavos."
Doña Dolores did not bother to answer. She turned to me and asked what we were having for supper, saying that she was becoming very tired of peppers and tough meat.
Mr. Thomas began to walk up and down in front of us, hopping like an angry bird. At last, when Doña Dolores went on talking as if he weren't there, he stopped and pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and held it out in front of my grandmother. He gave the paper a shake and then pointed at it with a long finger.
"Madam," he said, "what do you propose to do with this?"
Doña Dolores puffed on her cigarillo and glanced at the paper through the cigarillo smoke.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's a bill for the goods and supplies your granddaughter bought some three months ago."
"Bills we pay once a year," Doña Dolores said. "On All Saints' Day."
"This bill," said Mr. Thomas, "must be paid immediately."
Doña Dolores planted her cane, leaned upon it, and lifted herself to her feet. "On All Saints' Day we pay our bills," she said.
Mr. Thomas folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. "Unless I hear from you by next week," he said, "I'll turn the bill over to the sheriff and attach your property."
"I will speak to the
juez de campo,
" Doña Dolores said. She raised her cane as if she had a mind to
"I'm sorry to see everything so dry," he said, after he had taken my hand. "And hundreds of cattle dying and the horses gaunt."
He stood for a while, gazing around at the mesa, the tree-lined streams winding westward, the far blue hills that slanted away toward the sea.
"How many acres do you have here?" he asked. He had a chirpy voice. Any moment I expected him to burst into song, like a bird. "Sixty thousand?"
"Less."
"Have you ever thought of selling part of it?"
"No."
"You have a parcel down by the coast, where the stream meets the ocean. Five hundred acres, more or less. I can make you a good offer."
The parcel he spoke about was near the lagoon where the wreck of the treasure ship lay.
"You will need to talk to my grandmother. But I can tell you now that she will not be interested in selling."
"At a good price?"
"At any price."
"Do you mind if I talk to her?"
I led Mr. Thomas into the patio and sent for Doña Dolores. She took her time but finally came stumping out of the
sala,
swinging her cane. I introduced them and told my grandmother that the Cuban tobacco she liked so much I had bought from Mr. Thomas.
"It is the best I have smoked since some Turkish that I bought from a New Bedford whaler."
"Had I known that you liked it so much," said Mr. Thomas, "I would have brought some along as a gift."
He was making a good impression upon my grandmother, but it didn't last long.
"I spoke to Miss Carlota about a parcel of land on the coast," Mr. Thomas said. "Some five hundred acres of brush and water, mostly brush not fit for cattle. But I'm prepared to offer you twenty-five centavos an acre. The going price for such land is twenty, as you know."
"My land is worth ten times that," Grandmother said sharply.
"Before the drought, maybe," Mr. Thomas said. "Not now. Everything's dried up at this momentârange, pasture, meadows, hills, streams. And the Lord knows when it will be any better. Perhaps never."
Doña Dolores rolled a cigarillo and Rosario brought her a live coal. She puffed away and said nothing.
Mr. Thomas said, "What do you think, señora?"
"I am not thinking," my grandmother answered.
"I can offer you twenty-five centavos an acre," Caleb Thomas repeated.
"Two hundred centavos," said Doña Dolores, "and I will begin to think. Not much, but a little."
"Ridiculous," cried Mr. Thomas. "How about fifty?"
"Two hundred," Doña Dolores said firmly.
Mr. Thomas took off his spectacles and polished them on his sleeve.
"Fifty-five centavos."
Doña Dolores did not bother to answer. She turned to me and asked what we were having for supper, saying that she was becoming very tired of peppers and tough meat.
Mr. Thomas began to walk up and down in front of us, hopping like an angry bird. At last, when Doña Dolores went on talking as if he weren't there, he stopped and pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and held it out in front of my grandmother. He gave the paper a shake and then pointed at it with a long finger.
"Madam," he said, "what do you propose to do with this?"
Doña Dolores puffed on her cigarillo and glanced at the paper through the cigarillo smoke.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's a bill for the goods and supplies your granddaughter bought some three months ago."
"Bills we pay once a year," Doña Dolores said. "On All Saints' Day."
"This bill," said Mr. Thomas, "must be paid immediately."
Doña Dolores planted her cane, leaned upon it, and lifted herself to her feet. "On All Saints' Day we pay our bills," she said.
Mr. Thomas folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. "Unless I hear from you by next week," he said, "I'll turn the bill over to the sheriff and attach your property."
"I will speak to the
juez de campo,
" Doña Dolores said. She raised her cane as if she had a mind to
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