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OVERLAND TALES

by

JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD.







[Illustration]

San Francisco:
A. L. Bancroft & Co.
1877.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
Josephine Clifford,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

[Illustration: J. FAGAN & SON, STEREOTYPERS, PHILAD'A.]

COLLINS, PRINTER.




Dedicated

TO MY KINDEST

AND

_MOST CONSTANT READER_,

MOTHER.




PREFACE.


In the book I now lay before the reader, I have collected a series of
stories and sketches of journeyings through California, Arizona, and New
Mexico. There is little of fiction, even in the stories; and the
sketches, I flatter myself, are true to life--as I saw it, at the time I
visited the places.

A number of these stories first appeared in the OVERLAND MONTHLY, but
some of them are new, and have never been published. I bespeak for them
all the attentive perusal and undivided interest of the kind reader.

THE AUTHOR.




CONTENTS.

                                         PAGE
_LA GRACIOSA_,                             13

_JUANITA_,                                 53

_HETTY'S HEROISM_,                         68

_A WOMAN'S TREACHERY_,                     87

_THE GENTLEMAN FROM SISKIYOU_,            101

_SOMETHING ABOUT MY PETS_,                119

_POKER-JIM_,                              137

_THE TRAGEDY AT MOHAWK STATION_,          153

_LONE LINDEN_,                            161

_MANUELA_,                                188

_THE ROMANCE OF GILA BEND_,               204

_A LADY IN CAMP_,                         219

_THE GOLDEN LAMB_,                        237

_IT OCCURRED AT TUCSON_,                  260

_A BIT OF "EARLY CALIFORNIA"_,            274

_HER NAME WAS SYLVIA_,                    282

_CROSSING THE ARIZONA DESERTS_,           296

_DOWN AMONG THE DEAD LETTERS_,            310

_MARCHING WITH A COMMAND_,                321

_TO TEXAS, AND BY THE WAY_,               354

_MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN NEW MEXICO_,      367




OVERLAND TALES.




_LA GRACIOSA._


It was a stolid Indian face, at the first casual glance, but lighting up
wonderfully with intelligence and a genial smile, when the little dark
man, with the Spanish bearing, was spoken to. Particularly when
addressed by one of the fairer sex, did a certain native grace of
demeanor, an air of chivalrous gallantry, distinguish him from the more
cold-blooded, though, perhaps, more fluent-spoken, Saxon people
surrounding him.

Among the many different eyes fixed upon him now and again, in the
crowded railroad-car, was one pair, of dark luminous gray, that dwelt
there longer, and returned oftener, than its owner chose to have the man
of the olive skin know. Still, he must have felt the magnetism of those
eyes; for, conversing with this, disputing with that, and greeting the
third man, he advanced, slowly but surely, to where a female figure,
shrouded in sombre black, sat close by the open window. There was
something touching in the young face that looked from out the heavy
widow's veil, which covered her small hat, and almost completely
enveloped the slender form. The face was transparently pale, the
faintest flush of pink tinging the cheeks when any emotion swayed the
breast; the lips were full, fresh, and cherry-red in color, and the
hair, dark-brown and wavy, was brushed lightly back from the temples.

The breeze at the open window was quite fresh, for the train in its
flight was nearing the spot where the chill air from the ocean draws
through the Salinos Valley. Vainly the slender fingers tried to move the
obstinate spring that held aloft the upper part of the window. The color
crept faintly into the lady's cheeks, for suddenly a hand, hardly larger
than her's, though looking brown beside it, gently displaced her fingers
and lowered the window without the least trouble. The lady's gloves had
dropped; her handkerchief had fluttered to the floor; a small basket was
displaced; all these things were remedied and attended to by the
Spaniard, who had surely well-earned the thanks she graciously bestowed.

"Excuse me," he said, with unmistakable Spanish pronunciation; "but you
do not live in our Valley--do you?"

"This is my first visit," she replied; "but I shall probably live here
for the future."

"Ah! that makes me so happy," he said, earnestly, laying his hand on his
heart.

The lady looked at him in silent astonishment. "Perhaps that is the way
of the Spanish people," she said to herself. "At any rate, he has very
fine eyes, and--it may be tedious living in Salinos."

Half an hour's conversation brought out the fact that a married sister's
house was to be the home of the lady for a while; that the sister did
not know of her coming just to-day, and that her ankle was so badly
sprained that walking was very painful to her.

From the other side it was shown that his home was in the neighborhood
of the town ("one of those wealthy Spanish rancheros," she thought);
that he was slightly acquainted with her brother-in-law; that he was a
widower, and that his two sons would be at the depot to receive him.
These sons would bring with them, probably, a light spring-wagon from
the ranch, but could easily be sent back for the comfortable carriage,
if the lady would allow him the pleasure of seeing her safely under her
sister's roof. She said she would accept a seat in the spring-wagon, and
Senor Don Pedro Lopez withdrew, with a deep bow, to look after his
luggage.

"Poor lady!" he explained to a group of his inquiring friends, "poor
lady! She is deep in mourning, and she has much sorrow in her heart."
And he left them quickly, to assist his _protege_ with her wraps. Then
the train came to a halt, and Don Pedro's new acquaintance, leaning on
his arm, approached the light vehicle, at either side of which stood the
two sons, bending courteously, in acknowledgment of the lady's greeting.
When Don Pedro himself was about to mount to the seat beside her, she
waved him back, with a charmingly impetuous motion of the hand. "I am
safe enough with your sons," she laughed, pleasantly. "Do you stop at my
brother-in-law's office, pray, and tell him I have come."

Sister Anna was well pleased to greet the new arrival--"without an
attachment." Her sister Nora's "unhappy marriage" had been a source of
constant trouble and worry to her; and here she came at last--alone.
Brother-in-law Ben soon joined them, and Nora's first evening passed
without her growing seriously lonesome or depressed. Sister Anna, to be
sure, dreaded the following days. Her sister's unhappy marriage, she
confided to her nearest neighbor, had so tried the poor girl's nerves,
that she should not wonder if she sank into a profound melancholy. She
did all she could to make the days pass pleasantly; but what can you do
in a small town when you have neither carriage nor horses?

Fortunately, Don Pedro came to the rescue. He owned many fine
horses and a number of vehicles--from an airy, open buggy to a
comfortably-cushioned carriage. He made his appearance a day or two
after Nora's arrival, mounted on a prancing black steed, to whose every
step jingled and clashed the heavy silver-mounted trappings, which the
older Spaniards are fond of decking out their horses with. He came
only, like a well-bred man, to inquire after the sprained ankle; but
before he left he had made an engagement to call the very next morning,
with his easiest carriage, to take both ladies out to drive.

And he appeared, punctual to the minute, sitting stiffly in the
barouche-built carriage, on the front seat beside the driver, who, to
Nora's unpractised eye, seemed a full Indian, though hardly darker than
his master. True, the