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+Project Gutenberg's The Splendid Idle Forties, by Gertrude Atherton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Splendid Idle Forties
+       Stories of Old California
+
+Author: Gertrude Atherton
+
+Release Date: June 23, 2004 [EBook #12697]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'IT WAS ONLY THE PEARLS YOU WANTED.'"]
+
+
+
+
+THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES
+
+
+_STORIES OF OLD CALIFORNIA_
+
+
+BY
+
+GERTRUDE ATHERTON
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE CONQUEROR," "SENATOR NORTH" "THE ARISTOCRATS," ETC.
+
+
+_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON FISHER_
+
+
+
+1902
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+THE BOHEMIAN CLUB
+
+OF SAN FRANCISCO
+
+AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF
+
+ITS COURTESY IN PLACING
+
+ITS FINE
+
+LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIAN LITERATURE
+
+AT MY DISPOSAL
+
+
+
+
+NOTE
+
+
+This is a revised and enlarged edition of the volume which was issued
+some years ago under the title, "Before the Gringo Came."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+THE PEARLS OF LORETO
+
+THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS
+
+THE WASH-TUB MAIL
+
+THE CONQUEST OF DOŅA JACOBA
+
+A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA
+
+THE ISLE OF SKULLS
+
+THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
+
+LA PÉRDIDA
+
+LUKARI'S STORY
+
+NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS
+
+THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
+
+THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
+
+WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
+
+
+
+
+THE PEARLS OF LORETO
+
+
+I
+
+Within memory of the most gnarled and coffee-coloured Montereņo never
+had there been so exciting a race day. All essential conditions seemed
+to have held counsel and agreed to combine. Not a wreath of fog floated
+across the bay to dim the sparkling air. Every horse, every vaquero,
+was alert and physically perfect. The rains were over; the dust was not
+gathered. Pio Pico, Governor of the Californias, was in Monterey on
+one of his brief infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet, covered with
+jewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his big chestnut horse at the upper
+end of the field, with General Castro, Doņa Modeste Castro, and other
+prominent Montereņos, his interest so keen that more than once the
+official dignity relaxed, and he shouted "Brava!" with the rest.
+
+And what a brilliant sight it was! The flowers had faded on the hills,
+for June was upon them; but gayer than the hills had been was the
+race-field of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide gray hats
+and on their saddles of embossed leather, gold and silver embroidery on
+their velvet serapes, crimson sashes about their slender waists, silver
+spurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in their stirrups as the racers
+flew by, or, during the short intervals, pressed each other with eager
+wagers. There was little money in that time. The golden skeleton within
+the sleeping body of California had not yet been laid bare. But ranchos
+were lost and won; thousands of cattle would pass to other hands at the
+next rodeo; many a superbly caparisoned steed would rear and plunge
+between the spurs of a new master.
+
+And caballeros were not the only living pictures of that memorable day
+of a time for ever gone. Beautiful women in silken fluttering gowns,
+bright flowers holding the mantilla from flushed awakened faces, sat
+their impatient horses as easily as a gull rides a wave. The sun beat
+down, making dark cheeks pink and white cheeks darker, but those great
+eyes, strong with their own fires, never faltered. The old women in
+attendance grumbled vague remonstrances at all things, from the heat to
+intercepted coquetries. But their charges gave the good dueņas little
+heed. They shouted until their little throats were hoarse, smashed
+their fans, beat the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, in
+imitation of the vaqueros.
+
+"It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless life in the world,"
+thought Pio Pico, shutting his teeth, as he looked about him. "But how
+long will it last? Curse the Americans! They are coming."
+
+But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled Monterey shot from no
+ordinary condition. A stranger was there, a guest of General Castro, Don
+Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not that a stranger was
+matter for comment in Monterey, capital of California, but this stranger
+had brought with him horses which threatened to disgrace the famous
+winners of the North. Two races had been won already by the black
+Southern beasts.
+
+"Dios de mi alma!" cried the girls, one to the other, "their coats are
+blacker than our hair! Their nostrils pulse like a heart on fire! Their
+eyes flash like water in the sun! Ay! the handsome stranger, will he
+roll us in the dust? Ay! our golden horses, with the tails and manes of
+silver--how beautiful is the contrast with the vaqueros in their black
+and silver, their soft white linen! The shame! the shame!--if they are
+put to shame! Poor Guido! Will he lose this day, when he has won so
+many? But the stranger is so handsome! Dios de mi vida! his eyes are
+like dark blue stars. And he is so cold! He alone--he seems not to care.
+Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios! he wins again! No! no! no! Yes! Ay! yi!
+yi! B-r-a-v-o!"
+
+Guido Cabaņares dug his spurs into his horse and dashed to the head of
+the field, where Don Vicente sat at the left of General Castro. He was
+followed hotly by several friends, sympathetic and indignant. As he
+rode, he tore off his serape and flung it to the ground; even his silk
+riding-clothes sat heavily upon his fury. Don Vicente smiled, and rode
+forward to meet him.
+
+"At your service, seņor," he said, lifting his sombrero.
+
+"Take your mustangs back to Los Angeles!" cried Don Guido, beside
+himself with rage, the politeness and dignity of his race routed by
+passion. "Why do you bring your hideous brutes here to shame me in the
+eyes of Monterey? Why--"
+
+"Yes! Why? Why?" demanded his friends, surrounding De la Vega. "This is
+not the humiliation of a man, but of the North by the accursed South!
+You even would take our capital from us! Los Angeles, the capital of the
+Californias!"
+
+"What have politics to do with horse-racing?" asked De la Vega, coldly.
+"Other strangers have brought their horses to your field, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, but they have not won. They have not been from the South."
+
+By this time almost every caballero on the field was wheeling about De
+la Vega. Some felt with Cabaņares, others rejoiced in his defeat, but
+all resented the victory of the South over the North.
+
+"Will you run again?" demanded Cabaņares.
+
+"Certainly. Do you think of putting your knife into my neck?"
+
+Cabaņares drew back, somewhat abashed, the indifference of the other
+sputtering like water on his passion.
+
+"It is not a matter for blood," he said sulkily; "but the head is hot
+and words are quick when horses run neck to neck. And, by the Mother of
+God, you shall not have the last race. My best horse has not run. Viva
+El Rayo!"
+
+"Viva El Rayo!" shouted the caballeros.
+
+"And let the race be between you two alone," cried one. "The North or
+the South! Los Angeles or Monterey! It will be the race of our life."
+
+"The North or the South!" cried the caballeros, wheeling and galloping
+across the field to the doņas. "Twenty leagues to a real for Guido
+Cabaņares."
+
+"What a pity that Ysabel is not here!" said Doņa Modeste Castro to Pio
+Pico. "How those green eyes of hers would flash to-day!"
+
+"She would not come," said the Governor. "She said she was tired of the
+race."
+
+"Of whom do you speak?" asked De la Vega, who had rejoined them.
+
+"Of Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Monterey," answered Pio Pico. "The
+most beautiful woman in the Californias, since Chonita Iturbi y Moncada,
+my Vicente. It is at her uncle's that I stay. You have heard me speak of
+my old friend; and surely you have heard of her."
+
+"Ay!" said De la Vega. "I have heard of her."
+
+"Viva El Rayo!"
+
+"Ay, the ugly brute!"
+
+"What name? Vitriolo? Mother of God! Diablo or Demonio would suit him
+better. He looks as if he had been bred in hell. He will not stand the
+quirto; and El Rayo is more lightly built. We shall beat by a dozen
+lengths."
+
+The two vaqueros who were to ride the horses had stripped to their soft
+linen shirts and black velvet trousers, cast aside their sombreros, and
+bound their heads with tightly knotted handkerchiefs. Their spurs were
+fastened to bare brown heels; the cruel quirto was in the hand of each;
+they rode barebacked, winding their wiry legs in and out of a horse-hair
+rope encircling the body of the animal. As they slowly passed the crowd
+on their way to the starting-point at the lower end of the field, and
+listened to the rattling fire of wagers and comments, they looked
+defiant, and alive to the importance of the coming event.
+
+El Rayo shone like burnished copper, his silver mane and tail glittering
+as if powdered with diamond-dust. He was long and graceful of body, thin
+of flank, slender of leg. With arched neck and flashing eyes, he walked
+with the pride of one who was aware of the admiration he excited.
+
+Vitriolo was black and powerful. His long neck fitted into well-placed
+shoulders. He had great depth of girth, immense length from
+shoulder-points to hips, big cannon-bones, and elastic pasterns. There
+was neither amiability nor pride in his mien; rather a sullen sense of
+brute power, such as may have belonged to the knights of the Middle
+Ages. Now and again he curled his lips away from the bit and laid his
+ears back as if he intended to eat of the elegant Beau Brummel stepping
+so daintily beside him. Of the antagonistic crowd he took not the
+slightest notice.
+
+"The race begins! Holy heaven!" The murmur rose to a shout--a deep
+hoarse shout strangely crossed and recrossed by long silver notes; a
+thrilling volume of sound rising above a sea of flashing eyes and parted
+lips and a vivid moving mass of colour.
+
+Twice the horses scored, and were sent back. The third time they bounded
+by the starting-post neck and neck, nose to nose. José Abrigo, treasurer
+of Monterey, dashed his sombrero, heavy with silver eagles, to the
+ground, and the race was begun.
+
+Almost at once the black began to gain. Inch by inch he fought his way
+to the front, and the roar with which the crowd had greeted the start
+dropped into the silence of apprehension.
+
+El Rayo was not easily to be shaken off. A third of the distance had
+been covered, and his nose was abreast of Vitriolo's flank. The vaqueros
+sat as if carved from sun-baked clay, as lightly as if hollowed,
+watching each other warily out of the corners of their eyes.
+
+The black continued to gain. Halfway from home light was visible between
+the two horses. The pace became terrific, the excitement so intense that
+not a sound was heard but that of racing hoofs. The horses swept onward
+like projectiles, the same smoothness, the same suggestion of eternal
+flight. The bodies were extended until the tense muscles rose under the
+satin coats. Vitriolo's eyes flashed viciously; El Rayo's strained with
+determination. Vitriolo's nostrils were as red as angry craters; El
+Rayo's fluttered like paper in the wind.
+
+Three-quarters of the race was run, and the rider of Vitriolo could tell
+by the sound of the hoof-beats behind him that he had a good lead of at
+least two lengths over the Northern champion. A smile curled the corners
+of his heavy lips; the race was his already.
+
+Suddenly El Rayo's vaquero raised his hand, and down came the maddening
+quirto, first on one side, then on the other. The spurs dug; the blood
+spurted. The crowd burst into a howl of delight as their favourite
+responded. Startled by the sound, Vitriolo's rider darted a glance over
+his shoulder, and saw El Rayo bearing down upon him like a thunder-bolt,
+regaining the ground that he had lost, not by inches, but by feet. Two
+hundred paces from the finish he was at the black's flanks; one hundred
+and fifty, he was at his girth; one hundred, and the horses were neck
+and neck; and still the quirto whirred down on El Rayo's heaving flanks,
+the spurs dug deeper into his quivering flesh.
+
+The vaquero of Vitriolo sat like an image, using neither whip nor spur,
+his teeth set, his eyes rolling from the goal ahead to the rider at his
+side.
+
+The breathless intensity of the spectators had burst. They had begun to
+click their teeth, to mutter hoarsely, then to shout, to gesticulate,
+to shake their fists in each other's face, to push and scramble for a
+better view.
+
+"Holy God!" cried Pio Pico, carried out of himself, "the South is lost!
+Vitriolo the magnificent! Ah, who would have thought? The black by the
+gold! Ay! What! No! Holy Mary! Holy God!--"
+
+Six strides more and the race is over. With the bark of a coyote the
+vaquero of the South leans forward over Vitriolo's neck. The big black
+responds like a creature of reason. Down comes the quirto once--only
+once. He fairly lifts his horse ahead and shoots into victory, winner by
+a neck. The South has vanquished the North.
+
+The crowd yelled and shouted until it was exhausted. But even Cabaņares
+made no further demonstration toward De la Vega. Not only was he weary
+and depressed, but the victory had been nobly won.
+
+It grew late, and they rode to the town, caballeros pushing as close to
+doņas as they dared, dueņas in close attendance, one theme on the lips
+of all. Anger gave place to respect; moreover, De la Vega was the guest
+of General Castro, the best-beloved man in California. They were willing
+to extend the hand of friendship; but he rode last, between the General
+and Doņa Modeste, and seemed to care as little for their good will as
+for their ill.
+
+Pio Pico rode ahead, and as the cavalcade entered the town he broke from
+it and ascended the hill to carry the news to Ysabel Herrera.
+
+Monterey, rising to her pine-spiked hills, swept like a crescent moon
+about the sapphire bay. The surf roared and fought the white sand hills
+of the distant horn; on that nearest the town stood the fort, grim
+and rude, but pulsating with military life, and alert for American
+onslaught. In the valley the red-tiled white adobe houses studded a
+little city which was a series of corners radiating from a central
+irregular street. A few mansions were on the hillside to the right,
+brush-crowded sand banks on the left; the perfect curve of hills, thick
+with pine woods and dense green undergrowth, rose high above and around
+all, a rampart of splendid symmetry.
+
+"Ay! Ysabel! Ysabel!" cried the young people, as they swept down the
+broad street. "Bring her to us, Excellency. Tell her she shall not know
+until she comes down. We will tell her. Ay! poor Guido!"
+
+The Governor turned and waved his hand, then continued the ascent of the
+hill, toward a long low house which showed no sign of life.
+
+He alighted and glanced into a room opening upon the corridor which
+traversed the front. The room was large and dimly lighted by deeply set
+windows. The floor was bare, the furniture of horse-hair; saints and
+family portraits adorned the white walls; on a chair lay a guitar;
+it was a typical Californian sala of that day. The ships brought few
+luxuries, beyond raiment and jewels, to even the wealthy of that
+isolated country.
+
+"Ysabel," called the Governor, "where art thou? Come down to the town
+and hear the fortune of the races. Alvarado Street streams like a comet.
+Why should the Star of Monterey withhold her light?"
+
+A girl rose from a sofa and came slowly forward to the corridor.
+Discontent marred her face as she gave her hand to the Governor to
+kiss, and looked down upon the brilliant town. The Seņorita Doņa Ysabel
+Herrera was poor. Were it not for her uncle she would not have where to
+lay her stately head--and she was La Favorita of Monterey, the proudest
+beauty in California! Her father had gambled away his last acre, his
+horse, his saddle, the serape off his back; then sent his motherless
+girl to his brother, and buried himself in Mexico. Don Antonio took the
+child to his heart, and sent for a widowed cousin to be her dueņa. He
+bought her beautiful garments from the ships that touched the port, but
+had no inclination to gratify her famous longing to hang ropes of pearls
+in her soft black hair, to wind them about her white neck, and band them
+above her green resplendent eyes.
+
+"Unbend thy brows," said Pio Pico. "Wrinkles were not made for youth."
+
+Ysabel moved her brows apart, but the clouds still lay in her eyes.
+
+"Thou dost not ask of the races, O thou indifferent one! What is the
+trouble, my Ysabel? Will no one bring the pearls? The loveliest girl in
+all the Californias has said, 'I will wed no man who does not bring me
+a lapful of pearls,' and no one has filled the front of that pretty
+flowered gown. But have reason, niņa. Remember that our Alta California
+has no pearls on its shores, and that even the pearl fisheries of the
+terrible lower country are almost worn out. Will nothing less content
+thee?"
+
+"No, seņor."
+
+"Dios de mi alma! Thou hast ambition. No woman has had more offered her
+than thou. But thou art worthy of the most that man could give. Had I
+not a wife myself, I believe I should throw my jewels and my ugly old
+head at thy little feet."
+
+Ysabel glanced with some envy at the magnificent jewels with which the
+Governor of the Californias was hung, but did not covet the owner. An
+uglier man than Pio Pico rarely had entered this world. The upper lip of
+his enormous mouth dipped at the middle; the broad thick underlip hung
+down with its own weight. The nose was big and coarse, although
+there was a certain spirited suggestion in the cavernous nostrils.
+Intelligence and reflectiveness were also in his little eyes, and they
+were far apart. A small white mustache grew above his mouth; about his
+chin, from ear to ear, was a short stubby beard, whiter by contrast with
+his copper-coloured skin. He looked much like an intellectual bear.
+
+And Ysabel? In truth, she had reason for her pride. Her black hair,
+unblemished by gloss or tinge of blue, fell waving to her feet.
+California, haughty, passionate, restless, pleasure-loving, looked from
+her dark green eyes; the soft black lashes dropped quickly when they
+became too expressive. Her full mouth was deeply red, but only a faint
+pink lay in her white cheeks; the nose curved at bridge and nostrils.
+About her low shoulders she held a blue reboso, the finger-tips of each
+slim hand resting on the opposite elbow. She held her head a little
+back, and Pio Pico laughed as he looked at her.
+
+"Dios!" he said, "but thou might be an Estenega or an Iturbi y Moncada.
+Surely that lofty head better suits old Spain than the republic of
+Mexico. Draw the reboso about thy head now, and let us go down. They
+expect thee."
+
+She lifted the scarf above her hair, and walked down the steep rutted
+hill with the Governor, her flowered gown floating with a silken rustle
+about her. In a few moments she was listening to the tale of the races.
+
+"Ay, Ysabel! Dios de mi alma! What a day! A young seņor from Los Angeles
+won the race--almost all the races--the Seņor Don Vicente de la Vega y
+Arillaga. He has never been here, before. His horses! Madre de Dios!
+They ran like hares. Poor Guido! Válgame Dios! Even thou wouldst have
+been moved to pity. But he is so handsome! Look! Look! He comes now,
+side by side with General Castro. Dios! his serape is as stiff with gold
+as the vestments of the padre."
+
+Ysabel looked up as a man rode past. His bold profile and thin face were
+passionate and severe; his dark blue eyes were full of power. Such a
+face was rare among the languid shallow men of her race.
+
+"He rides with General Castro," whispered Benicia Ortega. "He stays with
+him. We shall see him at the ball to-night."
+
+As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for a moment. His opened
+suddenly with a bold eager flash, his arched nostrils twitching. The
+colour left her face, and her eyes dropped heavily.
+
+Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Californian.
+
+
+II
+
+The people of Monterey danced every night of their lives, and went
+nowhere so promptly as to the great sala of Doņa Modeste Castro, their
+leader of fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city of Mexico.
+
+Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Doņa Modeste's skin was
+whiter than her own, for it could not be, nor her eyes greener, for they
+were not; but because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, and
+upon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in her
+storm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she was
+taller; Doņa Modeste's slight elegant figure lacked Ysabel's graceful
+inches, and perhaps she too felt a pang sometimes as the girl undulated
+above her like a snake about to strike.
+
+At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was gathered for the dance. All
+the men except the officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats and
+white trousers. All the women wore white, the waist long and pointed,
+the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crępe. Her hair was
+coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb framed with a narrow
+band of gold. Pio Pico, splendid with stars and crescents and rings and
+pins, led her in, and with his unique ugliness enhanced her beauty.
+
+She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying absently to the
+caballeros who surrounded her. Don Vicente de la Vega was not there. The
+thick circle about her parted, and General Castro bent over her hand,
+begging the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the moment
+forgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the beginning of a
+dream. Here was a man--the only man of her knowledge whom she could have
+loved, and who would have found her those pearls. Californians had so
+little ambition! Then she gave a light audacious laugh. Governor Pico
+was shaking hands cordially with General Castro, the man he hated best
+in California.
+
+No two men could have contrasted more sharply than José Castro and
+Pio Pico--with the exception of Alvarado the most famous men of their
+country. The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were his only
+jewels. His hair and beard--the latter worn _ā la Basca_, a narrow strip
+curving from upper lip to ear--were as black as Pio Pico's once had
+been. The handsomest man in California, he had less consciousness than
+the least of the caballeros. His deep gray eyes were luminous with
+enthusiasm; his nose was sharp and bold; his firm sensitive mouth was
+cut above a resolute chin. He looked what he was, the ardent patriot of
+a doomed cause.
+
+"Seņorita," he said, as he led Ysabel out to the sweet monotonous music
+of the contradanza, "did you see the caballero who rode with me to-day?"
+
+A red light rose to Ysabel's cheek. "Which one, commandante? Many rode
+with you."
+
+"I mean him who rode at my right, the winner of the races, Vicente, son
+of my old friend Juan Bautista de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles."
+
+"It may be. I think I saw a strange face."
+
+"He saw yours, Doņa Ysabel, and is looking upon you now from the
+corridor without, although the fog is heavy about him. Cannot you see
+him--that dark shadow by the pillar?"
+
+Ysabel never went through the graceful evolutions of the contradanza
+as she did that night. Her supple slender body curved and swayed and
+glided; her round arms were like lazy snakes uncoiling; her exquisitely
+poised head moved in perfect concord with her undulating hips. Her eyes
+grew brighter, her lips redder. The young men who stood near gave as
+loud a vent to their admiration as if she had been dancing El Son alone
+on the floor. But the man without made no sign.
+
+After the dance was over, General Castro led her to her dueņa, and
+handing her a guitar, begged a song.
+
+She began a light love-ballad, singing with the grace and style of her
+Spanish blood; a little mocking thing, but with a wild break now and
+again. As she sang, she fixed her eyes coquettishly on the adoring face
+of Guido Cabaņares, who stood beside her, but saw every movement of the
+form beyond the window. Don Guido kept his ardent eyes riveted upon
+her but detected no wandering in her glances. His lips trembled as he
+listened, and once he brushed the tears from his eyes. She gave him
+a little cynical smile, then broke her song in two. The man on the
+corridor had vaulted through the window.
+
+Ysabel, clinching her hands the better to control her jumping nerves,
+turned quickly to Cabaņares, who had pressed behind her, and was pouring
+words into her ear.
+
+"Ysabel! Ysabel! hast thou no pity? Dost thou not see that I am fit to
+set the world on fire for love of thee? The very water boils as I drink
+it--"
+
+She interrupted him with a scornful laugh, the sharper that her voice
+might not tremble. "Bring me my pearls. What is love worth when it will
+not grant one little desire?"
+
+He groaned. "I have found a vein of gold on my rancho. I can pick the
+little shining pieces out with my fingers. I will have them beaten into
+a saddle for thee--"
+
+But she had turned her back flat upon him, and was making a deep
+courtesy to the man whom General Castro presented.
+
+"I appreciate the honour of your acquaintance," she murmured
+mechanically.
+
+"At your feet, seņorita," said Don Vicente.
+
+The art of making conversation had not been cultivated among the
+Californians, and Ysabel plied her large fan with slow grace, at a loss
+for further remark, and wondering if her heart would suffocate her. But
+Don Vicente had the gift of words.
+
+"Seņorita," he said, "I have stood in the chilling fog and felt the
+warmth of your lovely voice at my heart. The emotions I felt my poor
+tongue cannot translate. They swarm in my head like a hive of puzzled
+bees; but perhaps they look through my eyes," and he fixed his powerful
+and penetrating gaze on Ysabel's green depths.
+
+A waltz began, and he took her in his arms without asking her
+indulgence, and regardless of the indignation of the mob of men about
+her. Ysabel, whose being was filled with tumult, lay passive as he held
+her closer than man had ever dared before.
+
+"I love you," he said, in his harsh voice. "I wish you for my wife. At
+once. When I saw you to-day standing with a hundred other beautiful
+women, I said: 'She is the fairest of them all. I shall have her.' And
+I read the future in"--he suddenly dropped the formal "you"--"in thine
+eyes, cariņa. Thy soul sprang to mine. Thy heart is locked in my heart
+closer, closer than my arms are holding thee now."
+
+The strength of his embrace was violent for a moment; but Ysabel might
+have been cut from marble. Her body had lost its swaying grace; it
+was almost rigid. She did not lift her eyes. But De la Vega was not
+discouraged.
+
+The music finished, and Ysabel was at once surrounded by a determined
+retinue. This intruding Southerner was welcome to the honours of the
+race-field, but the Star of Monterey was not for him. He smiled as he
+saw the menace of their eyes.
+
+"I would have her," he thought, "if they were a regiment of
+Castros--which they are not." But he had not armed himself against
+diplomacy.
+
+"Seņor Don Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga," said Don Guido Cabaņares, who
+had been selected as spokesman, "perhaps you have not learned during
+your brief visit to our capital that the Seņorita Doņa Ysabel Herrera,
+La Favorita of Alta California, has sworn by the Holy Virgin, by the
+blessed Junipero Serra, that she will wed no man who does not bring her
+a lapful of pearls. Can you find those pearls on the sands of the South,
+Don Vicente? For, by the holy cross of God, you cannot have her without
+them!"
+
+For a moment De la Vega was disconcerted.
+
+"Is this true?" he demanded, turning to Ysabel.
+
+"What, seņor?" she asked vaguely. She had not listened to the words of
+her protesting admirer.
+
+A sneer bent his mouth. "That you have put a price upon yourself? That
+the man who ardently wishes to be your husband, who has even won your
+love, must first hang you with pearls like--" He stopped suddenly, the
+blood burning his dark face, his eyes opening with an expression of
+horrified hope. "Tell me! Tell me!" he exclaimed. "Is this true?"
+
+For the first time since she had spoken with him Ysabel was herself. She
+crossed her arms and tapped her elbows with her pointed fingers.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is true." She raised her eyes to his and regarded
+him steadily. They looked like green pools frozen in a marble wall.
+
+The harp, the flute, the guitar, combined again, and once more he swung
+her from a furious circle. But he was safe; General Castro had joined
+it. He waltzed her down the long room, through one adjoining, then into
+another, and, indifferent to the iron conventions of his race, closed
+the door behind them. They were in the sleeping-room of Doņa Modeste.
+The bed with its rich satin coverlet, the bare floor, the simple
+furniture, were in semi-darkness; only on the altar in the corner were
+candles burning. Above it hung paintings of saints, finely executed by
+Mexican hands; an ebony cross spread its black arms against the white
+wall; the candles flared to a golden Christ. He caught her hands and led
+her over to the altar.
+
+"Listen to me," he said. "I will bring you those pearls. You shall have
+such pearls as no queen in Europe possesses. Swear to me here, with your
+hands on this altar, that you will wed me when I return, no matter how
+or where I find those pearls."
+
+He was holding her hands between the candelabra. She looked at him with
+eyes of passionate surrender; the man had conquered worldly ambitions.
+But he answered her before she had time to speak.
+
+"You love me, and would withdraw the conditions. But I am ready to do a
+daring and a terrible act. Furthermore, I wish to show you that I can
+succeed where all other men have failed. I ask only two things now.
+First, make me the vow I wish."
+
+"I swear it," she said.
+
+"Now," he said, his voice sinking to a harsh but caressing whisper,
+"give me one kiss for courage and hope."
+
+She leaned slowly forward, the blood pulsing in her lips; but she had
+been brought up behind grated windows, and she drew back. "No," she
+said, "not now."
+
+For a moment he looked rebellious; then he laid his hands on her
+shoulders and pressed her to her knees. He knelt behind her, and
+together they told a rosary for his safe return.
+
+He left her there and went to his room. From his saddle-bag he took
+a long letter from an intimate friend, one of the younger Franciscan
+priests of the Mission of Santa Barbara, where he had been educated. He
+sought this paragraph:--
+
+"Thou knowest, of course, my Vicente, of the pearl fisheries of Baja
+California. It is whispered--between ourselves, indeed, it is
+quite true--that a short while ago the Indian divers discovered an
+extravagantly rich bed of pearls. Instead of reporting to any of the
+companies, they have hung them all upon our Most Sacred Lady of Loreto,
+in the Mission of Loreto; and there, by the grace of God, they will
+remain. They are worth the ransom of a king, my Vicente, and the Church
+has come to her own again."
+
+
+III
+
+The fog lay thick on the bay at dawn next morning. The white waves hid
+the blue, muffled the roar of the surf. Now and again a whale threw a
+volume of spray high in the air, a geyser from a phantom sea. Above the
+white sands straggled the white town, ghostly, prophetic.
+
+De la Vega, a dark sombrero pulled over his eyes, a dark serape
+enveloping his tall figure, rode, unattended and watchful, out of the
+town. Not until he reached the narrow road through the brush forest
+beyond did he give his horse rein. The indolence of the Californian was
+no longer in his carriage; it looked alert and muscular; recklessness
+accentuated the sternness of his face.
+
+As he rode, the fog receded slowly. He left the chaparral and rode by
+green marshes cut with sloughs and stained with vivid patches of
+orange. The frogs in the tules chanted their hoarse matins. Through
+brush-covered plains once more, with sparsely wooded hills in the
+distance, and again the tules, the marsh, the patches of orange. He rode
+through a field of mustard; the pale yellow petals brushed his dark
+face, the delicate green leaves won his eyes from the hot glare of the
+ascending sun, the slender stalks, rebounding, smote his horse's flanks.
+He climbed hills to avoid the wide marshes, and descended into willow
+groves and fields of daisies. Before noon he was in the San Juan
+Mountains, thick with sturdy oaks, bending their heads before the
+madroņo, that belle of the forest, with her robes of scarlet and her
+crown of bronze. The yellow lilies clung to her skirts, and the buckeye
+flung his flowers at her feet. The last redwoods were there, piercing
+the blue air with their thin inflexible arms, gray as a dusty band of
+friars. Out by the willows, whereunder crept the sluggish river, then
+between the hills curving about the valley of San Juan Bautista.
+
+At no time is California so beautiful as in the month of June. De la
+Vega's wild spirit and savage purpose were dormant for the moment as he
+rode down the valley toward the mission. The hills were like gold, like
+mammoth fawns veiled with violet mist, like rich tan velvet. Afar, bare
+blue steeps were pink in their chasms, brown on their spurs. The dark
+yellow fields were as if thick with gold-dust; the pale mustard was a
+waving yellow sea. Not a tree marred the smooth hills. The earth sent
+forth a perfume of its own. Below the plateau from which rose the white
+walls of the mission was a wide field of bright green corn rising
+against the blue sky.
+
+The padres in their brown hooded robes came out upon the long corridor
+of the mission and welcomed the traveller. Their lands had gone from
+them, their mission was crumbling, but the spirit of hospitality
+lingered there still. They laid meat and fruit and drink on a table
+beneath the arches, then sat about him and asked him eagerly for news of
+the day. Was it true that the United States of America were at war with
+Mexico, or about to be? True that their beloved flag might fall, and
+the stars and stripes of an insolent invader rise above the fort of
+Monterey?
+
+De la Vega recounted the meagre and conflicting rumours which had
+reached California, but, not being a prophet, could not tell them that
+they would be the first to see the red-white-and-blue fluttering on the
+mountain before them. He refused to rest more than an hour, but mounted
+the fresh horse the padres gave him and went his way, riding hard and
+relentlessly, like all Californians.
+
+He sped onward, through the long hot day, leaving the hills for the
+marshes and a long stretch of ugly country, traversing the beautiful San
+Antonio Valley in the night, reaching the Mission of San Miguel at dawn,
+resting there for a few hours. That night he slept at a hospitable
+ranch-house in the park-like valley of Paso des Robles, a grim silent
+figure amongst gay-hearted people who delighted to welcome him. The
+early morning found him among the chrome hills; and at the Mission of
+San Luis Obispo the good padres gave him breakfast. The little valley,
+round as a well, its bare hills red and brown, gray and pink, violet and
+black, from fire, sloping steeply from a dizzy height, impressed him
+with a sense of being prisoned in an enchanted vale where no message of
+the outer world could come, and he hastened on his way.
+
+Absorbed as he was, he felt the beauty he fled past. A line of golden
+hills lay against sharp blue peaks. A towering mass of gray rocks had
+been cut and lashed by wind and water, earthquake and fire, into the
+semblance of a massive castle, still warlike in its ruin. He slept for a
+few hours that night in the Mission of Santa Ynes, and was high in the
+Santa Barbara Mountains at the next noon. For brief whiles he forgot
+his journey's purpose as his horse climbed slowly up the steep trails,
+knocking the loose stones down a thousand feet and more upon a roof of
+tree-tops which looked like stunted brush. Those gigantic masses of
+immense stones, each wearing a semblance to the face of man or beast;
+those awful chasms and stupendous heights, densely wooded, bare, and
+many-hued, rising above, beyond, peak upon peak, cutting through the
+visible atmosphere--was there no end? He turned in his saddle and looked
+over low peaks and caņons, rivers and abysms, black peaks smiting the
+fiery blue, far, far, to the dim azure mountains on the horizon.
+
+"Mother of God!" he thought. "No wonder California still shakes! I would
+I could have stood upon a star and beheld the awful throes of this
+country's birth." And then his horse reared between the sharp spurs and
+galloped on.
+
+He avoided the Mission of Santa Barbara, resting at a rancho outside
+the town. In the morning, supplied as usual with a fresh horse, he fled
+onward, with the ocean at his right, its splendid roar in his ears. The
+cliffs towered high above him; he saw no man's face for hours together;
+but his thoughts companioned him, savage and sinister shapes whirling
+about the figure of a woman. On, on, sleeping at ranchos or missions,
+meeting hospitality everywhere, avoiding Los Angeles, keeping close to
+the ponderous ocean, he left civilization behind him at last, and
+with an Indian guide entered upon that desert of mountain-tops, Baja
+California.
+
+Rapid travelling was not possible here. There were no valleys worthy the
+name. The sharp peaks, multiplying mile after mile, were like teeth of
+gigantic rakes, black and bare. A wilderness of mountain-tops, desolate
+as eternity, arid, parched, baked by the awful heat, the silence never
+broken by the cry of a bird, a hut rarely breaking the barren monotony,
+only an infrequent spring to save from death. It was almost impossible
+to get food or fresh horses. Many a night De la Vega and his stoical
+guide slept beneath a cactus, or in the mocking bed of a creek. The
+mustangs he managed to lasso were almost unridable, and would have
+bucked to death any but a Californian. Sometimes he lived on cactus
+fruit and the dried meat he had brought with him; occasionally he shot
+a rabbit. Again he had but the flesh of the rattlesnake roasted over
+coals. But honey-dew was on the leaves.
+
+He avoided the beaten trail, and cut his way through naked bushes spiked
+with thorns, and through groves of cacti miles in length. When the thick
+fog rolled up from the ocean he had to sit inactive on the rocks, or
+lose his way. A furious storm dashed him against a boulder, breaking his
+mustang's leg; then a torrent, rising like a tidal wave, thundered down
+the gulch, and catching him on its crest, flung him upon a tree of
+thorns. When dawn came he found his guide dead. He cursed his luck, and
+went on.
+
+Lassoing another mustang, he pushed on, having a general idea of the
+direction he should take. It was a week before he reached Loreto, a week
+of loneliness, hunger, thirst, and torrid monotony. A week, too, of
+thought and bitterness of spirit. In spite of his love, which never
+cooled, and his courage, which never quailed, Nature, in her guise of
+foul and crooked hag, mocked at earthly happiness, at human hope, at
+youth and passion.
+
+If he had not spent his life in the saddle, he would have been worn out
+when he finally reached Loreto, late one night. As it was, he slept in a
+hut until the following afternoon. Then he took a long swim in the bay,
+and, later, sauntered through the town.
+
+The forlorn little city was hardly more than a collection of Indians'
+huts about a church in a sandy waste. No longer the capital, even the
+barracks were toppling. When De la Vega entered the mission, not a white
+man but the padre and his assistant was in it; the building was thronged
+with Indian worshippers. The mission, although the first built in
+California, was in a fair state of preservation. The Stations in their
+battered frames were mellow and distinct. The gold still gleamed in the
+vestments of the padre.
+
+For a few moments De la Vega dared not raise his eyes to the Lady of
+Loreto, standing aloft in the dull blaze of adamantine candles. When he
+did, he rose suddenly from his knees and left the mission. The pearls
+were there.
+
+It took him but a short time to gain the confidence of the priest and
+the little population. He offered no explanation for his coming, beyond
+the curiosity of the traveller. The padre gave him a room in the
+mission, and spent every hour he could spare with the brilliant
+stranger. At night he thanked God for the sudden oasis in his life's
+desolation. The Indians soon grew accustomed to the lonely figure
+wandering about the sand plains, or kneeling for hours together before
+the altar in the church. And whom their padre trusted was to them as
+sacred and impersonal as the wooden saints of their religion.
+
+
+IV
+
+The midnight stars watched over the mission. Framed by the cross-shaped
+window sunk deep in the adobe wall above the entrance, a mass of them
+assumed the form of the crucifix, throwing a golden trail full upon the
+Lady of Loreto, proud in her shining pearls. The long narrow body of the
+church seemed to have swallowed the shadows of the ages, and to yawn for
+more.
+
+De la Vega, booted and spurred, his serape folded about him, his
+sombrero on his head, opened the sacristy door and entered the church.
+In one hand he held a sack; in the other, a candle sputtering in a
+bottle. He walked deliberately to the foot of the altar. In spite of
+his intrepid spirit, he stood appalled for a moment as he saw the dim
+radiance enveloping the Lady of Loreto. He scowled over his shoulder at
+the menacing emblem of redemption and crossed himself. But had it been
+the finger of God, the face of Ysabel would have shone between. He
+extinguished his candle, and swinging himself to the top of the altar
+plucked the pearls from the Virgin's gown and dropped them into the
+sack. His hand trembled a little, but he held his will between his
+teeth.
+
+How quiet it was! The waves flung themselves upon the shore with
+the sullen wrath of impotence. A seagull screamed now and again, an
+exclamation-point in the silence above the waters. Suddenly De la Vega
+shook from head to foot, and snatched the knife from his belt. A faint
+creaking echoed through the hollow church. He strained his ears, holding
+his breath until his chest collapsed with the shock of outrushing air.
+But the sound was not repeated, and he concluded that it had been but a
+vibration of his nerves. He glanced to the window above the doors. The
+stars in it were no longer visible; they had melted into bars of flame.
+The sweat stood cold on his face, but he went on with his work.
+
+A rope of pearls, cunningly strung together with strands of sea-weed,
+was wound about the Virgin's right arm. De la Vega was too nervous to
+uncoil it; he held the sack beneath, and severed the strands with his
+knife. As he finished, and was about to stoop and cut loose the pearls
+from the hem of the Virgin's gown, he uttered a hoarse cry and stood
+rigid. A cowled head, with thin lips drawn over yellow teeth, furious
+eyes burning deep in withered sockets, projected on its long neck from
+the Virgin's right and confronted him. The body was unseen.
+
+"Thief!" hissed the priest. "Dog! Thou wouldst rob the Church? Accursed!
+accursed!"
+
+There was not one moment for hesitation, one alternative. Before the
+priest could complete his malediction, De la Vega's knife had flashed
+through the fire of the cross. The priest leaped, screeching, then
+rolled over and down, and rebounded from the railing of the sanctuary.
+
+
+V
+
+Ysabel sat in the low window-seat of her bedroom, pretending to draw the
+threads of a cambric handkerchief. But her fingers twitched, and her
+eyes looked oftener down the hill than upon the delicate work which
+required such attention. She wore a black gown flowered with yellow
+roses, and a slender ivory cross at her throat. Her hair hung in two
+loose braids, sweeping the floor. She was very pale, and her pallor was
+not due to the nightly entertainments of Monterey.
+
+Her dueņa sat beside her. The old woman was the colour of strong coffee;
+but she, too, looked as if she had not slept, and her straight old lips
+curved tenderly whenever she raised her eyes to the girl's face.
+
+There was no carpet on the floor of the bedroom of La Favorita of
+Monterey, the heiress of Don Antonio Herrera, and the little bedstead
+in the corner was of iron, although a heavy satin coverlet trimmed with
+lace was on it. A few saints looked down from the walls; the furniture
+was of native wood, square and ugly; but it was almost hidden under fine
+linen elaborately worked with the deshalados of Spain.
+
+The supper hour was over, and the light grew dim. Ysabel tossed the
+handkerchief into Doņa Juana's lap, and stared through the grating.
+Against the faded sky a huge cloud, shaped like a fire-breathing dragon,
+was heavily outlined. The smoky shadows gathered in the woods. The
+hoarse boom of the surf came from the beach; the bay was uneasy, and the
+tide was high: the earth had quaked in the morning, and a wind-storm
+fought the ocean. The gay bright laughter of women floated up from the
+town. Monterey had taken her siesta, enjoyed her supper, and was ready
+to dance through the night once more.
+
+"He is dead," said Ysabel.
+
+"True," said the old woman.
+
+"He would have come back to me before this."
+
+"True."
+
+"He was so strong and so different, mamita."
+
+"I never forget his eyes. Very bold eyes."
+
+"They could be soft, macheppa."
+
+"True. It is time thou dressed for the ball at the Custom-house,
+niņita."
+
+Ysabel leaned forward, her lips parting. A man was coming up the hill.
+He was gaunt; he was burnt almost black. Something bulged beneath his
+serape.
+
+Doņa Juana found herself suddenly in the middle of the room. Ysabel
+darted through the only door, locking it behind her. The indignant dueņa
+also recognized the man, and her position. She trotted to the door and
+thumped angrily on the panel; sympathetic she was, but she never could
+so far forget herself as to permit a young girl to talk with a man
+unattended.
+
+"Thou shalt not go to the ball to-night," she cried shrilly. "Thou shalt
+be locked in the dark room. Thou shalt be sent to the rancho. Open!
+open! thou wicked one. Madre de Dios! I will beat thee with my own
+hands."
+
+But she was a prisoner, and Ysabel paid no attention to her threats. The
+girl was in the sala, and the doors were open. As De la Vega crossed the
+corridor and entered the room she sank upon a chair, covering her face
+with her hands.
+
+He strode over to her, and flinging his serape from his shoulder opened
+the mouth of a sack and poured its contents into her lap. Pearls of all
+sizes and shapes--pearls black and pearls white, pearls pink and pearls
+faintly blue, pearls like globes and pearls like pears, pearls as big
+as the lobe of Pio Pico's ear, pearls as dainty as bubbles of frost--a
+lapful of gleaming luminous pearls, the like of which caballero had
+never brought to doņa before.
+
+For a moment Ysabel forgot her love and her lover. The dream of a
+lifetime was reality. She was the child who had cried for the moon and
+seen it tossed into her lap.
+
+She ran her slim white fingers through the jewels. She took up handfuls
+and let them run slowly back to her lap. She pressed them to her face;
+she kissed them with little rapturous cries. She laid them against her
+breast and watched them chase each other down her black gown. Then at
+last she raised her head and met the fierce sneering eyes of De la Vega.
+
+"So it is as I might have known. It was only the pearls you wanted. It
+might have been an Indian slave who brought them to you."
+
+She took the sack from his hand and poured back the pearls. Then she
+laid the sack on the floor and stood up. She was no longer pale, and her
+eyes shone brilliantly in the darkening room.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I forgot for a moment. But during many terrible weeks,
+seņor, my tears have not been for the pearls."
+
+The sudden light that was De la Vega's chiefest charm sprang to his
+eyes. He took her hands and kissed them passionately.
+
+"That sack of pearls would be a poor reward for one tear. But thou hast
+shed them for me? Say that again. Mi alma! mi alma!"
+
+"I never thought of the pearls--at least not often. At last, not at all.
+I have been very unhappy, seņor. Ay!"
+
+The maiden reserve which had been knit like steel about her plastic
+years burst wide. "Thou art ill! What has happened to thee? Ay, Dios!
+what it is to be a woman and to suffer! Thou wilt die! Oh, Mother of
+God!"
+
+"I shall not die. Kiss me, Ysabel. Surely it is time now."
+
+But she drew back and shook her head.
+
+He exclaimed impatiently, but would not release her hand. "Thou meanest
+that, Ysabel?"
+
+"We shall be married soon--wait."
+
+"I had hoped you would grant me that. For when I tell you where I got
+those pearls you may drive me from you in spite of your promise--drive
+me from you with the curse of the devout woman on your lips. I might
+invent some excuse to persuade you to fly with me from California
+to-night, and you would never know. But I am a man--a Spaniard--and a De
+la Vega. I shall not lie to you."
+
+She looked at him with wide eyes, not understanding, and he went on, his
+face savage again, his voice harsh. He told her the whole story of
+that night in the mission. He omitted nothing--the menacing cross, the
+sacrilegious theft, the deliberate murder; the pictures were painted
+with blood and fire. She did not interrupt him with cry or gasp, but her
+expression changed many times. Horror held her eyes for a time, then
+slowly retreated, and his own fierce pride looked back at him. She
+lifted her head when he had finished, her throat throbbing, her nostrils
+twitching.
+
+"Thou hast done that--for me?"
+
+"Ay, Ysabel!"
+
+"Thou hast murdered thy immortal soul--for me?"
+
+"Ysabel!"
+
+"Thou lovest me like that! O God, in what likeness hast thou made me? In
+whatsoever image it may have been, I thank Thee--and repudiate Thee!"
+
+She took the cross from her throat and broke it in two pieces with her
+strong white fingers.
+
+"Thou art lost, eternally damned: but I will go down to hell with thee."
+And she threw herself upon him and kissed him on the mouth.
+
+For a moment he forgot the lesson thrust into his brain by the hideous
+fingers of the desert. He was almost happy. He put his hands about her
+warm face after a time. "We must go to-night," he said. "I went to
+General Castro's to change my clothes, and learned that a ship sails
+for the United States to-night. We will go on that. I dare not delay
+twenty-four hours. It may be that they are upon my heels now. How can we
+meet?"
+
+Her thoughts had travelled faster than his words, and she answered at
+once: "There is a ball at the Custom-house to-night. I will go. You will
+have a boat below the rocks. You know that the Custom-house is on the
+rocks at the end of the town, near the fort. No? It will be easier for
+me to slip from the ball-room than from this house. Only tell me where
+you will meet me."
+
+"The ship sails at midnight. I too will go to the ball; for with me you
+can escape more easily. Have you a maid you can trust?"
+
+"My Luisa is faithful."
+
+"Then tell her to be on the beach between the rocks of the Custom-house
+and the Fort with what you must take with you."
+
+Again he kissed her many times, but softly. "Wear thy pearls to-night. I
+wish to see thy triumphant hour in Monterey."
+
+"Yes," she said, "I shall wear the pearls."
+
+
+VI
+
+The corridor of the Custom-house had been enclosed to protect the
+musicians and supper table from the wind and fog. The store-room had
+been cleared, the floor scrubbed, the walls hung with the colours of
+Mexico. All in honour of Pio Pico, again in brief exile from his beloved
+Los Angeles. The Governor, blazing with diamonds, stood at the upper end
+of the room by Doņa Modeste Castro's side. About them were Castro and
+other prominent men of Monterey, all talking of the rumoured war between
+the United States and Mexico and prophesying various results. Neither
+Pico nor Castro looked amiable. The Governor had arrived in the morning
+to find that the General had allowed pasquinades representing his
+Excellency in no complimentary light to disfigure the streets of
+Monterey. Castro, when taken to task, had replied haughtily that it
+was the Governor's place to look after his own dignity; he, the
+Commandante-General of the army of the Californias, had more important
+matters to attend to. The result had been a furious war of words, ending
+in a lame peace.
+
+"Tell us, Excellency," said José Abrigo, "what will be the outcome?"
+
+"The Americans can have us if they wish," said Pio Pico, bitterly. "We
+cannot prevent."
+
+"Never!" cried Castro. "What? We cannot protect ourselves against the
+invasion of bandoleros? Do you forget what blood stings the veins of
+the Californian? A Spaniard stand with folded arms and see his country
+plucked from him! Oh, sacrilege! They will never have our Californias
+while a Californian lives to cut them down!"
+
+"Bravo! bravo!" cried many voices.
+
+"I tell you--" began Pio Pico, but Doņa Modeste interrupted him. "No
+more talk of war to-night," she said peremptorily. "Where is Ysabel?"
+
+"She sent me word by Doņa Juana that she could not make herself ready in
+time to come with me, but would follow with my good friend, Don Antonio,
+who of course had to wait for her. Her gown was not finished, I believe.
+I think she had done something naughty, and Doņa Juana had tried to
+punish her, but had not succeeded. The old lady looked very sad.
+Ah, here is Doņa Ysabel now!"
+
+"How lovely she is!" said Doņa Modeste. "I think--What! what!--"
+
+"Dios de mi Alma!" exclaimed Pio Pico, "where did she get those pearls?"
+
+The crowd near the door had parted, and Ysabel entered on the arm of her
+uncle. Don Antonio's form was bent, and she looked taller by contrast.
+His thin sharp profile was outlined against her white neck, bared for
+the first time to the eyes of Monterey. Her shawl had just been laid
+aside, and he was near-sighted and did not notice the pearls.
+
+She had sewn them all over the front of her white silk gown. She had
+wound them in the black coils of her hair. They wreathed her neck and
+roped her arms. Never had she looked so beautiful. Her great green eyes
+were as radiant as spring. Her lips were redder than blood. A pink flame
+burned in her oval cheeks. Her head moved like a Californian lily on its
+stalk. No Montereņo would ever forget her.
+
+"El Son!" cried the young men, with one accord. Her magnificent beauty
+extinguished every other woman in the room. She must not hide her light
+in the contradanza. She must madden all eyes at once.
+
+Ysabel bent her head and glided to the middle of the room. The other
+women moved back, their white gowns like a snowbank against the garish
+walls. The thin sweet music of the instruments rose above the boom of
+the tide. Ysabel lifted her dress with curving arms, displaying arched
+feet clad in flesh-coloured stockings and white slippers, and danced El
+Son.
+
+Her little feet tapped time to the music; she whirled her body with
+utmost grace, holding her head so motionless that she could have
+balanced a glass of water upon it. She was inspired that night; and
+when, in the midst of the dance, De la Vega entered the room, a sort of
+madness possessed her. She invented new figures. She glided back and
+forth, bending and swaying and doubling until to the eyes of her
+bewildered admirers the outlines of her lovely body were gone. Even the
+women shouted their approval, and the men went wild. They pulled their
+pockets inside out and flung handfuls of gold at her feet. Those who
+had only silver cursed their fate, but snatched the watches from their
+pockets, the rings from their fingers, and hurled them at her with
+shouts and cheers. They tore the lace ruffles from their shirts; they
+rushed to the next room and ripped the silver eagles from their hats.
+Even Pio Pico flung one of his golden ropes at her feet, a hot blaze in
+his old ugly face, as he cried:--
+
+"Brava! brava! thou Star of Monterey!"
+
+Guido Cabaņares, desperate at having nothing more to sacrifice to his
+idol, sprang upon a chair, and was about to tear down the Mexican flag,
+when the music stopped with a crash, as if musicians and instruments had
+been overturned, and a figure leaped into the room.
+
+The women uttered a loud cry and crossed themselves. Even the men fell
+back. Ysabel's swaying body trembled and became rigid. De la Vega, who
+had watched her with folded arms, too entranced to offer her anything
+but the love that shook him, turned livid to his throat. A friar, his
+hood fallen back from his stubbled head, his brown habit stiff with
+dirt, smelling, reeling with fatigue, stood amongst them. His eyes were
+deep in his ashen face. They rolled about the room until they met De la
+Vega's.
+
+General Castro came hastily forward. "What does this mean?" he asked.
+"What do you wish?"
+
+The friar raised his arm, and pointed his shaking finger at De la Vega.
+
+"Kill him!" he said, in a loud hoarse whisper. "He has desecrated the
+Mother of God!"
+
+Every caballero in the room turned upon De la Vega with furious
+satisfaction. Ysabel had quickened their blood, and they were willing
+to cool it in vengeance on the man of whom they still were jealous, and
+whom they suspected of having brought the wondrous pearls which covered
+their Favorita to-night.
+
+"What? What?" they cried eagerly. "Has he done this thing?"
+
+"He has robbed the Church. He has stripped the Blessed Virgin of her
+jewels. He--has--murdered--a--priest of the Holy Catholic Church."
+
+Horror stayed them for a moment, and then they rushed at De la Vega. "He
+does not deny it!" they cried. "Is it true? Is it true?" and they surged
+about him hot with menace.
+
+"It is quite true," said De la Vega, coldly. "I plundered the shrine of
+Loreto and murdered its priest."
+
+The women panted and gasped; for a moment even the men were stunned,
+and in that moment an ominous sound mingled with the roar of the surf.
+Before the respite was over Ysabel had reached his side.
+
+"He did it for me!" she cried, in her clear triumphant voice. "For
+me! And although you kill us both, I am the proudest woman in all the
+Californias, and I love him."
+
+"Good!" cried Castro, and he placed himself before them. "Stand back,
+every one of you. What? are you barbarians, Indians, that you would do
+violence to a guest in your town? What if he has committed a crime? Is
+he not one of you, then, that you offer him blood instead of protection?
+Where is your pride of caste? your _hospitality_? Oh, perfidy! Fall
+back, and leave the guest of your capital to those who are compelled to
+judge him."
+
+The caballeros shrank back, sullen but abashed. He had touched the quick
+of their pride.
+
+"Never mind!" cried the friar. "You cannot protect him from _that_.
+Listen!"
+
+Had the bay risen about the Custom-house?
+
+"What is that?" demanded Castro, sharply.
+
+"The poor of Monterey; those who love their Cross better than the
+aristocrats love their caste. They know."
+
+De la Vega caught Ysabel in his arms and dashed across the room and
+corridor. His knife cut a long rift in the canvas, and in a moment they
+stood upon the rocks. The shrieking crowd was on the other side of the
+Custom-house.
+
+"Marcos!" he called to his boatman, "Marcos!"
+
+No answer came but the waves tugging at the rocks not two feet below
+them. He could see nothing. The fog was thick as night.
+
+"He is not here, Ysabel. We must swim. Anything but to be torn to pieces
+by those wild-cats. Are you afraid?"
+
+"No," she said.
+
+He folded her closely with one arm, and felt with his foot for the edge
+of the rocks. A wild roar came from behind. A dozen pistols were fired
+into the air. De la Vega reeled suddenly. "I am shot, Ysabel," he said,
+his knees bending. "Not in this world, my love!"
+
+She wound her arms about him, and dragging him to the brow of the rocks,
+hurled herself outward, carrying him with her. The waves tossed them on
+high, flung them against the rocks and ground them there, playing with
+them like a lion with its victim, then buried them.
+
+
+
+
+THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS
+
+
+I
+
+"God of my soul! Do not speak of hope to me. Hope? For what are those
+three frigates, swarming with a horde of foreign bandits, creeping about
+our bay? For what have the persons of General Vallejo and Judge Leese
+been seized and imprisoned? Why does a strip of cotton, painted with a
+gaping bear, flaunt itself above Sonoma? Oh, abomination! Oh, execrable
+profanation! Mother of God, open thine ocean and suck them down! Smite
+them with pestilence if they put foot in our capital! Shrivel their
+fingers to the bone if they dethrone our Aztec Eagle and flourish their
+stars and stripes above our fort! O California! That thy sons and thy
+daughters should live to see thee plucked like a rose by the usurper!
+And why? Why? Not because these piratical Americans have the right to
+one league of our land; but because, Holy Evangelists! they want it! Our
+lands are rich, our harbours are fine, gold veins our valleys, therefore
+we must be plucked. The United States of America are mightier than
+Mexico, therefore they sweep down upon us with mouths wide open. Holy
+God! That I could choke but one with my own strong fingers. Oh!" Doņa
+Eustaquia paused abruptly and smote her hands together,--"O that I were
+a man! That the women of California were men!"
+
+On this pregnant morning of July seventh, eighteen hundred and
+forty-six, all aristocratic Monterey was gathered in the sala of Doņa
+Modeste Castro. The hostess smiled sadly. "That is the wish of my
+husband," she said, "for the men of our country want the Americans."
+
+"And why?" asked one of the young men, flicking a particle of dust from
+his silken riding jacket. "We shall then have freedom from the constant
+war of opposing factions. If General Castro and Governor Pico are not
+calling Juntas in which to denounce each other, a Carillo is pitting his
+ambition against an Alvarado. The Gringos will rule us lightly and bring
+us peace. They will not disturb our grants, and will give us rich prices
+for our lands--"
+
+"Oh, fool!" interrupted Doņa Eustaquia. "Thrice fool! A hundred years
+from now, Fernando Altimira, and our names will be forgotten in
+California. Fifty years from now and our walls will tumble upon us
+whilst we cook our beans in the rags that charity--American charity--has
+flung us! I tell you that the hour the American flag waves above the
+fort of Monterey is the hour of the Californians' doom. We have lived in
+Arcadia--ingrates that you are to complain--they will run over us like
+ants and sting us to death!"
+
+"That is the prediction of my husband," said Doņa Modeste. "Liberty,
+Independence, Decency, Honour, how long will they be his watch-words?"
+
+"Not a day longer!" cried Doņa Eustaquia, "for the men of California are
+cowards."
+
+"Cowards! We? No man should say that to us!" The caballeros were on
+their feet, their eyes flashing, as if they faced in uniform the navy of
+the United States, rather than confronted, in lace ruffles and silken
+smallclothes, an angry scornful woman.
+
+"Cowards!" continued Fernando Altimira. "Are not men flocking about
+General Castro at San Juan Bautista, willing to die in a cause already
+lost? If our towns were sacked or our women outraged would not the
+weakest of us fight until we died in our blood? But what is coming is
+for the best, Doņa Eustaquia, despite your prophecy; and as we cannot
+help it--we, a few thousand men against a great nation--we resign
+ourselves because we are governed by reason instead of by passion. No
+one reverences our General more than Fernando Altimira. No grander man
+ever wore a uniform! But he is fighting in a hopeless cause, and the
+fewer who uphold him the less blood will flow, the sooner the struggle
+will finish."
+
+Doņa Modeste covered her beautiful face and wept. Many of the women
+sobbed in sympathy. Bright eyes, from beneath gay rebosas or delicate
+mantillas, glanced approvingly at the speaker. Brown old men and women
+stared gloomily at the floor. But the greater number followed every
+motion of their master-spirit, Doņa Eustaquia Ortega.
+
+She walked rapidly up and down the long room, too excited to sit down,
+flinging the mantilla back as it brushed her hot cheek. She was a woman
+not yet forty, and very handsome, although the peachness of youth had
+left her face. Her features were small but sharply cut; the square
+chin and firm mouth had the lines of courage and violent emotions, her
+piercing intelligent eyes interpreted a terrible power of love and hate.
+But if her face was so strong as to be almost unfeminine, it was frank
+and kind.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia might watch with joy her bay open and engulf the hated
+Americans, but she would nurse back to life the undrowned bodies flung
+upon the shore. If she had been born a queen she would have slain in
+anger, but she would not have tortured. General Castro had flung his hat
+at her feet many times, and told her that she was born to command. Even
+the nervous irregularity of her step to-day could not affect the extreme
+elegance of her carriage, and she carried her small head with the
+imperious pride of a sovereign. She did not speak again for a moment,
+but as she passed the group of young men at the end of the room her eyes
+flashed from one languid face to another. She hated their rich breeches
+and embroidered jackets buttoned with silver and gold, the lace
+handkerchiefs knotted about their shapely throats. No man was a man who
+did not wear a uniform.
+
+Don Fernando regarded her with a mischievous smile as she approached him
+a second time.
+
+"I predict, also," he said, "I predict that our charming Doņa Eustaquia
+will yet wed an American--"
+
+"What!" she turned upon him with the fury of a lioness. "Hold thy
+prating tongue! I marry an American? God! I would give every league of
+my ranchos for a necklace made from the ears of twenty Americans. I
+would throw my jewels to the pigs, if I could feel here upon my neck
+the proof that twenty American heads looked ready to be fired from the
+cannon on the hill!"
+
+Everybody in the room laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighter. Muslin
+gowns began to flutter, and the seal of disquiet sat less heavily upon
+careworn or beautiful faces. But before the respite was a moment old a
+young man entered hastily from the street, and throwing his hat on the
+floor burst into tears.
+
+"What is it?" The words came mechanically from every one in the room.
+
+The herald put his hand to his throat to control the swelling muscles.
+"Two hours ago," he said, "Commander Sloat sent one Captain William
+Mervine on shore to demand of our Commandante the surrender of the town.
+Don Mariano walked the floor, wringing his hands, until a quarter of an
+hour ago, when he sent word to the insolent servant of a pirate-republic
+that he had no authority to deliver up the capital, and bade him go to
+San Juan Bautista and confer with General Castro. Whereupon the American
+thief ordered two hundred and fifty of his men to embark in boats--do
+not you hear?"
+
+A mighty cheer shook the air amidst the thunder of cannon; then another,
+and another.
+
+Every lip in the room was white.
+
+"What is that?" asked Doņa Eustaquia. Her voice was hardly audible.
+
+"They have raised the American flag upon the Custom-house," said the
+herald.
+
+For a moment no one moved; then as by one impulse, and without a word,
+Doņa Modeste Castro and her guests rose and ran through the streets to
+the Custom-house on the edge of the town.
+
+In the bay were three frigates of twenty guns each. On the rocks, in the
+street by the Custom-house and on its corridors, was a small army of men
+in the naval uniform of the United States, respectful but determined.
+About them and the little man who read aloud from a long roll of paper,
+the aristocrats joined the rabble of the town. Men with sunken eyes who
+had gambled all night, leaving even serape and sombrero on the gaming
+table; girls with painted faces staring above cheap and gaudy satins,
+who had danced at fandangos in the booths until dawn, then wandered
+about the beach, too curious over the movements of the American squadron
+to go to bed; shopkeepers, black and rusty of face, smoking big pipes
+with the air of philosophers; Indians clad in a single garment of
+calico, falling in a straight line from the neck; eagle-beaked old
+crones with black shawls over their heads; children wearing only a smock
+twisted about their little waists and tied in a knot behind; a few
+American residents, glancing triumphantly at each other; caballeros,
+gay in the silken attire of summer, sitting in angry disdain upon their
+plunging, superbly trapped horses; last of all, the elegant women in
+their lace mantillas and flowered rebosas, weeping and clinging to each
+other. Few gave ear to the reading of Sloat's proclamation.
+
+Benicia, the daughter of Doņa Eustaquia, raised her clasped hands, the
+tears streaming from her eyes. "Oh, these Americans! How I hate them!"
+she cried, a reflection of her mother's violent spirit on her sweet
+face.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia caught the girl's hands and flung herself upon her neck.
+"Ay! California! California!" she cried wildly. "My country is flung to
+its knees in the dirt."
+
+A rose from the upper corridor of the Custom-house struck her daughter
+full in the face.
+
+
+II
+
+The same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala where her mother was lying
+on a sofa, and exclaimed excitedly: "My mother! My mother! It is not
+so bad. The Americans are not so wicked as we have thought. The
+proclamation of the Commodore Sloat has been pasted on all the walls of
+the town and promises that our grants shall be secured to us under the
+new government, that we shall elect our own alcaldes, that we shall
+continue to worship God in our own religion, that our priests shall
+be protected, that we shall have all the rights and advantages of the
+American citizen--"
+
+"Stop!" cried Doņa Eustaquia, springing to her feet. Her face still
+burned with the bitter experience of the morning. "Tell me of no more
+lying promises! They will keep their word! Ay, I do not doubt but they
+will take advantage of our ignorance, with their Yankee sharpness! I
+know them! Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, it must; and
+at least I have thee." She caught the girl in her arms, and covered the
+flower-like face with passionate kisses. "My little one! My darling!
+Thou lovest thy mother--better than all the world? Tell me!"
+
+The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face which could express
+such fierceness of love and hate.
+
+"My mother! Of course I love thee. It is because I have thee that I do
+not take the fate of my country deeper heart. So long as they do not put
+their ugly bayonets between us, what difference whether the eagle or the
+stars wave above the fort?"
+
+"Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country which is part of my
+soul! But perhaps it is as well, for thou lovest thy mother the more. Is
+it not so, my little one?"
+
+"Surely, my mother; I love no one in the world but you."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's fair cheek with her
+finger.
+
+"Not even Don Fernando Altimira?"
+
+"No, my mother."
+
+"Nor Flujencio Hernandez? Nor Juan Perez? Nor any of the caballeros who
+serenade beneath thy window?"
+
+"I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from one throat as from
+another."
+
+Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. "And yet I would have thee marry
+some day, my little one. I was happy with thy father--thanks to God he
+did not live to see this day--I was as happy, for two little years, as
+this poor nature of ours can be, and I would have thee be the same. But
+do not hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! Thine eyes have yet
+the roguishness of youth; I would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouth
+is like a child's; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life the day
+it trembles with passion. Dear little one! Thou hast been more than a
+daughter to me; thou hast been my only companion. I have striven to
+impart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the intellect of thy
+father. And I am proud of thee, very, very proud of thee!"
+
+Benicia pinched her mother's chin, her mischievous eyes softening. "Ay,
+my mother, I have done my little best, but I never shall be you. I am
+afraid I love to dance through the night and flirt my breath away better
+than I love the intellectual conversation of the few people you think
+worthy to sit about you in the evenings. I am like a little butterfly
+sitting on the mane of a mountain lion--"
+
+"Tush! Tush! Thou knowest more than any girl in Monterey, and I am
+satisfied with thee. Think of the books thou hast read, the languages
+thou hast learned from the Seņor Hartnell. Ay, my little one, nobody
+but thou wouldst dare to say thou cared for nothing but dancing and
+flirting, although I will admit that even Ysabel Herrera could scarce
+rival thee at either."
+
+"Ay, my poor Ysabel! My heart breaks every night when I say a prayer for
+her." She tightened the clasp of her arms and pressed her face close to
+her mother's. "Mamacita, darling," she said coaxingly, "I have a big
+favour to beg. Ay, an enormous one! How dare I ask it?"
+
+"Aha! What is it? I should like to know. I thought thy tenderness was a
+little anxious."
+
+"Ay, mamacita! Do not refuse me or it will break my heart. On Wednesday
+night Don Thomas Larkin gives a ball at his house to the officers of the
+American squadron. Oh, mamacita! mamacita! _darling!_ do, do let me go!"
+
+"Benicia! Thou wouldst meet those men? Válgame Dios! And thou art a
+child of mine!"
+
+She flung the girl from her, and walked rapidly up and down the room,
+Benicia following with her little white hands outstretched. "Dearest
+one, I know just how you feel about it! But think a moment. They have
+come to stay. They will never go. We shall meet them everywhere--every
+night--every day. And my new gown, mamacita! The beautiful silver
+spangles! There is not such a gown in Monterey! Ay, I must go. And they
+say the Americans hop like puppies when they dance. How I shall laugh
+at them! And it is not once in the year that I have a chance to speak
+English, and none of the other girls can. And all the girls, all the
+girls, all the girls, will go to this ball. Oh, mamacita!"
+
+Her mother was obliged to laugh. "Well, well, I cannot refuse you
+anything; you know that! Go to the ball! Ay, yi, do not smother me! As
+you have said--that little head can think--we must meet these insolent
+braggarts sooner or later. So I would not--" her cheeks blanched
+suddenly, she caught her daughter's face between her hands, and bent her
+piercing eyes above the girl's soft depths. "Mother of God! That could
+not be. My child! Thou couldst never love an American! A Gringo! A
+Protestant! Holy Mary!"
+
+Benicia threw back her head and gave a long laugh--the light rippling
+laugh of a girl who has scarcely dreamed of lovers. "I love an American?
+Oh, my mother! A great, big, yellow-haired bear! When I want only to
+laugh at their dancing! No, mamacita, when I love an American thou shalt
+have his ears for thy necklace."
+
+
+III
+
+Thomas O. Larkin, United States Consul to California until the
+occupation left him without duties, had invited Monterey to meet the
+officers of the _Savannah, Cyane,_ and _Levant_, and only Doņa Modeste
+Castro had declined. At ten o'clock the sala of his large house on the
+rise of the hill was thronged with robed girls in every shade and device
+of white, sitting demurely behind the wide shoulders of coffee-coloured
+dowagers, also in white, and blazing with jewels. The young matrons were
+there, too, although they left the sala at intervals to visit the room
+set apart for the nurses and children; no Montereņa ever left her little
+ones at home. The old men and the caballeros wore the black coats and
+white trousers which Monterey fashion dictated for evening wear; the
+hair of the younger men was braided with gay ribbons, and diamonds
+flashed in the lace of their ruffles.
+
+The sala was on the second floor; the musicians sat on the corridor
+beyond the open windows and scraped their fiddles and twanged their
+guitars, awaiting the coming of the American officers. Before long the
+regular tramp of many feet turning from Alvarado Street up the little
+Primera del Este, facing Mr. Larkin's house, made dark eyes flash, lace
+and silken gowns flutter. Benicia and a group of girls were standing by
+Doņa Eustaquia. They opened their large black fans as if to wave back
+the pink that had sprung to their cheeks. Only Benicia held her head
+saucily high, and her large brown eyes were full of defiant sparkles.
+
+"Why art thou so excited, Blandina?" she asked of a girl who had grasped
+her arm. "I feel as if the war between the United States and Mexico
+began tonight."
+
+"Ay, Benicia, thou hast so gay a spirit that nothing ever frightens
+thee! But, Mary! How many they are! They tramp as if they would go
+through the stair. Ay, the poor flag! No wonder--"
+
+"Now, do not cry over the flag any more. Ah! there is not one to compare
+with General Castro!"
+
+The character of the Californian sala had changed for ever; the blue and
+gold of the United States had invaded it.
+
+The officers, young and old, looked with much interest at the faces,
+soft, piquant, tropical, which made the effect of pansies looking
+inquisitively over a snowdrift. The girls returned their glances with
+approval, for they were as fine and manly a set of men as ever had faced
+death or woman. Ten minutes later California and the United States were
+flirting outrageously.
+
+Mr. Larkin presented a tall officer to Benicia. That the young man was
+very well-looking even Benicia admitted. True, his hair was golden, but
+it was cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a bear; his
+mustache and brows were brown; his gray eyes were as laughing as her
+own.
+
+"I suppose you do not speak any English, seņorita," he said helplessly.
+
+"No? I spik Eenglish like the Spanish. The Spanish people no have
+difficult at all to learn the other langues. But Seņor Hartnell he
+say it no is easy at all for the Eenglish to spik the French and the
+Spanish, so I suppose you no spik one word our langue, no?"
+
+He gallantly repressed a smile. "Thankfully I may say that I do not,
+else would I not have the pleasure of hearing you speak English. Never
+have I heard it so charmingly spoken before."
+
+Benicia took her skirt between the tips of her fingers and swayed her
+graceful body forward, as a tule bends in the wind.
+
+"You like dip the flag of the conqueror in honey, seņor. Ay! We need
+have one compliment for every tear that fall since your eagle stab his
+beak in the neck de ours."
+
+"Ah, the loyal women of Monterey! I have no words to express my
+admiration for them, seņorita. A thousand compliments are not worth one
+tear."
+
+Benicia turned swiftly to her mother, her eyes glittering with pleasure.
+"Mother, you hear! You hear!" she cried in Spanish. "These Americans are
+not so bad, after all."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia gave the young man one of her rare smiles; it flashed
+over her strong dark face, until the light of youth was there once more.
+
+"Very pretty speech," she said, with slow precision. "I thank you, Seņor
+Russell, in the name of the women of Monterey."
+
+"By Jove! Madam--seņora--I assure you I never felt so cut up in my
+life as when I saw all those beautiful women crying down there by the
+Custom-house. I am a good American, but I would rather have thrown the
+flag under your feet than have seen you cry like that. And I assure you,
+dear seņora, every man among us felt the same. As you have been good
+enough to thank me in the name of the women of Monterey, I, in behalf of
+the officers of the United States squadron, beg that you will forgive
+us."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia's cheek paled again, and she set her lips for a moment;
+then she held out her hand.
+
+"Seņor," she said, "we are conquered, but we are Californians; and
+although we do not bend the head, neither do we turn the back. We have
+invite you to our houses, and we cannot treat you like enemies. I will
+say with--how you say it--truth?--we did hate the thought that you
+come and take the country that was ours. But all is over and cannot
+be changed. So, it is better we are good friends than poor ones;
+and--and--my house is open to you, seņor."
+
+Russell was a young man of acute perceptions; moreover, he had heard
+of Doņa Eustaquia; he divined in part the mighty effort by which good
+breeding and philosophy had conquered bitter resentment. He raised the
+little white hand to his lips.
+
+"I would that I were twenty men, seņora. Each would be your devoted
+servant."
+
+"And then she have her necklace!" cried Benicia, delightedly.
+
+"What is that?" asked Russell; but Doņa Eustaquia shook her fan
+threateningly and turned away.
+
+"I no tell you everything," said Benicia, "so no be too curiosa. You no
+dance the contradanza, no?"
+
+"I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain waltz; will you not
+give it to me?"
+
+Benicia, disregarding the angry glances of approaching caballeros, laid
+her hand on the officer's shoulder, and he spun her down the room.
+
+"Why, you no dance so bad!" she said with surprise. "I think always the
+Americanos dance so terreeblay."
+
+"Who could not dance with a fairy in his arms?"
+
+"What funny things you say. I never been called fairy before."
+
+"You have never been interpreted." And then, in the whirl-waltz of that
+day, both lost their breath.
+
+When the dance was over and they stood near Doņa Eustaquia, he took the
+fan from Benicia's hand and waved it slowly before her. She laughed
+outright.
+
+"You think I am so tired I no can fan myself?" she demanded. "How queer
+are these Americanos! Why, I have dance for three days and three nights
+and never estop."
+
+"Seņorita!"
+
+"Si, seņor. Oh, we estop sometimes, but no for long. It was at Sonoma
+two months ago. At the house de General Vallejo."
+
+"You certainly are able to fan yourself; but it is no reflection upon
+your muscle. It is only a custom we have."
+
+"Then I think much better you no have the custom. You no look like a man
+at all when you fan like a girl."
+
+He handed her back the fan with some choler.
+
+"Really, seņorita, you are very frank. I suppose you would have a man
+lie in a hammock all day and roll cigaritos."
+
+"Much better do that than take what no is yours."
+
+"Which no American ever did!"
+
+"Excep' when he pulled California out the pocket de Mexico."
+
+"And what did Mexico do first? Did she not threaten the United States
+with hostilities for a year, and attack a small detachment of our troops
+with a force of seven thousand men--"
+
+"No make any difference what she do. Si she do wrong, that no is excuse
+for you do wrong."
+
+Two angry young people faced each other.
+
+"You steal our country and insult our men. But they can fight, Madre de
+Dios! I like see General Castro take your little Commodore Sloat by the
+neck. He look like a little gray rat."
+
+"Commodore Sloat is a brave and able man, Miss Ortega, and no officer in
+the United States navy will hear him insulted."
+
+"Then much better you lock up the ears."
+
+"My dear Captain Russell! Benicia! what is the matter?"
+
+Mr. Larkin stood before them, an amused smile on his thin intellectual
+face. "Come, come, have we not met to-night to dance the waltz of peace?
+Benicia, your most humble admirer has a favour to crave of you. I would
+have my countrymen learn at once the utmost grace of the Californian.
+Dance El Jarabe, please, and with Don Fernando Altimira."
+
+Benicia lifted her dainty white shoulders. She was not unwilling to
+avenge herself upon the American by dazzling him with her grace and
+beauty. Her eye's swift invitation brought Don Fernando, scowling, to
+her side. He led her to the middle of the room, and the musicians played
+the stately jig.
+
+Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at Russell from beneath
+her curling lashes, then fixed her eyes upon the floor, nor raised them
+again. She held her reed-like body very erect and took either side of
+her spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, lifting it just enough
+to show the arched little feet in their embroidered stockings and satin
+slippers. Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and together they
+rattled their feet on the floor with dexterity and precision, whilst the
+girls sang the words of the dance. The officers gave genuine applause,
+delighted with this picturesque fragment of life on the edge of the
+Pacific. Don Fernando listened to their demonstrations with sombre
+contempt on his dark handsome face; Benicia indicated her pleasure by
+sundry archings of her narrow brows, or coquettish curves of her red
+lips. Suddenly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother, with a
+long sweeping movement, like the bending and lifting of grain in the
+wind. As she approached Russell he took a rose from his coat and threw
+it at her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her thick
+braids, and the next moment he was at her side again.
+
+
+IV
+
+Doņa Eustaquia slipped from the crowd and out of the house. Drawing a
+reboso about her head she walked swiftly down the street and across the
+plaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but the
+aristocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to the
+house of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the long
+hall to the sleeping room of Doņa Modeste. There was no response to her
+knock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly lit
+by the candles on the altar. Doņa Modeste was not in the big mahogany
+bed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Doņa Eustaquia
+crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figure
+kneeling there.
+
+"Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, and
+thou art better in bed or with thy friends."
+
+Doņa Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took Doņa
+Eustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dim
+light, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look like
+a little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bend
+that stately head.
+
+"Religion is my solace," she said, "my only one; for I have not a brain
+of iron nor a soul of fire like thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more cause
+to pray to-night."
+
+"It is true, then, that José is in retreat? Ay, Mary!"
+
+"My husband, deserted by all but one hundred men, is flying southward
+from San Juan Bautista. I have it from the wash-tub mail. That never is
+wrong."
+
+"Ingrates! Traitors! But it is true, Modeste--surely, no?--that our
+general will not surrender? That he will stand against the Americans?"
+
+"He will not yield. He would have marched upon Monterey and forced them
+to give him battle here but for this base desertion. Now he will go to
+Los Angeles and command the men of the South to rally about him."
+
+"I knew that he would not kiss the boots of the Americans like the rest
+of our men! Oh, the cowards! I could almost say to-night that I like
+better the Americans than the men of my own race. _They_ are Castros! I
+shall hate their flag so long as life is in me; but I cannot hate the
+brave men who fight for it. But my pain is light to thine. Thy heart is
+wrung, and I am sorry for thee."
+
+"My day is over. Misfortune is upon us. Even if my husband's life is
+spared--ay! shall I ever see him again?--his position will be taken
+from him, for the Americans will conquer in the end. He will be
+Commandante-General of the army of the Californias no longer, but--holy
+God!--a ranchero, a caballero! He at whose back all California has
+galloped! Thou knowest his restless aspiring soul, Eustaquia, his
+ambition, his passionate love of California. Can there be happiness for
+such a man humbled to the dust--no future! no hope? Ay!"--she sprang to
+her feet with arms uplifted, her small slender form looking twice its
+height as it palpitated against the shadows, "I feel the bitterness of
+that spirit! I know how that great heart is torn. And he is alone!"
+She flung herself across Doņa Eustaquia's knees and burst into violent
+sobbing.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her friend, but her eyes were
+more angry than soft. "Weep no more, Modeste," she said. "Rather, arise
+and curse those who have flung a great man into the dust. But comfort
+thyself. Who can know? Thy husband, weary with fighting, disgusted with
+men, may cling the closer to thee, and with thee and thy children forget
+the world in thy redwood forests or between the golden hills of thy
+ranchos."
+
+Doņa Modeste shook her head. "Thou speakest the words of kindness, but
+thou knowest José. Thou knowest that he would not be content to be as
+other men. And, ay! Eustaquia, to think that it was opposite our own
+dear home, our favourite home, that the American flag should first have
+been raised! Opposite the home of José Castro!"
+
+"To perdition with Frémont! Why did he, of all places, select San Juan
+Bautista in which to hang up his American rag?"
+
+"We never can live there again. The Gabilan Mountains would shut out the
+very face of the sun from my husband."
+
+"Do not weep, my Modeste; remember thy other beautiful ranchos. Dios de
+mi alma!" she added with a flash of humour, "I revere San Juan Bautista
+for your husband's sake, but I weep not that I shall visit you there no
+more. Every day I think to hear that the shaking earth of that beautiful
+valley has opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. God grant
+that Frémont's hair stood up more than once. But go to bed, my friend.
+Look, I will put you there." As if Doņa Modeste were an infant, she
+undressed and laid her between the linen sheets with their elaborate
+drawn work, then made her drink a glass of angelica, folded and laid
+away the satin coverlet, and left the house.
+
+She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head high. Monterey at that
+time was infested by dogs, some of them very savage. Doņa Eustaquia's
+strong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on her way to General
+Castro's house she had paid no attention to the snarling muzzles thrust
+against her gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang upon her
+with a savage yelp and would have caught her by the throat had not a
+heavy stick cracked its skull. A tall officer in the uniform of the
+United States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair and looked at her
+with blue eyes as piercing as her own.
+
+"You will pardon me, madam," he said, "if I insist upon attending you to
+your door. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets of
+Monterey at night."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haughtily. "I thank you much,
+seņor, for your kind rescue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten by
+the dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with me. I go only to
+the house of the Seņor Larkin. It is there, at the end of the little
+street beyond the plaza."
+
+"My dear madam, you must not deprive the United States of the pleasure
+of protecting California. Pray grant my humble request to walk behind
+you and keep off the dogs."
+
+Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort.
+
+"Walk by me, if you wish," she said graciously. "Why are you not at the
+house of Don Thomas Larkin?"
+
+"I am on my way there now. Circumstances prevented my going earlier."
+His companion did not seem disposed to pilot the conversation, and he
+continued lamely, "Have you noticed, madam, that the English frigate
+_Collingwood_ is anchored in the bay?"
+
+"I saw it in the morning." She turned to him with sudden hope. "Have
+they--the English--come to help California?"
+
+"I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to capture California at the
+first whisper of war between Mexico and the United States; you know that
+England has always cast a covetous eye upon your fair land. It is said
+that the English admiral stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-day
+when he saw the American flag flying on the fort."
+
+"All are alike!" she exclaimed bitterly, then controlled herself.
+"You--do you admeer our country, seņor? Have you in America something
+more beautiful than Monterey?"
+
+The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad of a change of
+topic, for he suspected to whom he was talking. "Madam, I have never
+seen anything more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey. What
+a situation! What exquisite proportions! That wide curve of snow-white
+sand about the dark blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with a
+knife. And that semicircle of hills behind the town, with its pine and
+brush forest tapering down to the crescent's points! Nor could anything
+be more picturesque than this scattered little town with its bright red
+tiles above the white walls of the houses and the gray walls of the
+yards; its quaint church surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio;
+its beautiful, strangely dressed women and men who make this corner of
+the earth resemble the pages of some romantic old picture-book--"
+
+"Ay!" she interrupted him. "Much better you feel proud that you conquer
+us; for surely, seņor, California shall shine like a diamond in the very
+centre of America's crown." Then she held out her hand impulsively.
+
+"Mucho gracias, seņor--pardon--thank you very much. If you love my
+country, seņor, you must be my friend and the friend of my daughter. I
+am the Seņora Doņa Eustaquia Carillo de Ortega, and my house is there
+on the hill--you can see the light, no? Always we shall be glad to see
+you."
+
+He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand.
+
+"And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the United States navy,
+do sincerely thank the most famous woman of Monterey for her gracious
+hospitality. And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm of the American
+who is not the conqueror but the conquered."
+
+"That was very pretty--speech. When you abuse me I put you out the door.
+This is the house of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball. You come in,
+no? You like I take your arm? Very well"
+
+And so the articles of peace were signed.
+
+
+V
+
+"Yes, yes, indeed, Blandina," exclaimed Benicia, "they had no chance at
+all last night, for we danced until dawn, and perhaps they were afraid
+of Don Thomas Larkin. But we shall talk and have music to-night, and
+those fine new tables that came on the last ship from Boston must not be
+destroyed."
+
+"Well, if you really think--" said Blandina, who always thought exactly
+as Benicia did. She opened a door and called:--
+
+"Flujencio."
+
+"Well, my sister?"
+
+A dreamy-looking young man in short jacket and trousers of red silk
+entered the room, sombrero in one hand, a cigarito in the other.
+
+"Flujencio, you know it is said that these 'Yankees' always 'whittle'
+everything. We are afraid they will spoil the furniture to-night; so
+tell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, and you go down
+to the store and buy a box of penknives. Then they will have plenty to
+amuse themselves with and will not cut the furniture."
+
+"True! True! What a good idea! Was it Benicia's?" He gave her a glance
+of languid adoration. "I will buy those knives at once, before I forget
+it," and he tossed the sombrero on his curls and strode out of the
+house.
+
+"How dost thou like the Seņor Lieutenant Russell, Benicia?"
+
+Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became very pink.
+
+"Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, very proud, and thinks
+too well of his hateful country. But I shall teach him how to flirt. He
+thinks he can, but he cannot."
+
+"Thou canst do it, Benicia--look! look!"
+
+Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were sauntering slowly by and
+looking straight through the grated window at the beautiful girls in
+their gayly flowered gowns. They saluted, and the girls bent their
+slender necks, but dared not speak, for Doņa Francesca Hernandez was in
+the next room and the door was open. Immediately following the American
+officers came Don Fernando Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he saw
+the erect swinging figures of the conquerors, but Benicia kissed the
+tips of her fingers as he flung his sombrero to the ground, and he
+galloped, smiling, on his way.
+
+That night the officers of the United States squadron met the society of
+Monterey at the house of Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, to
+which they could be admiring spectators only, much to the delight of the
+caballeros, Benicia took the guitar presented by Flujencio, and letting
+her head droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk by the
+breeze, sang the most coquettish song she knew. Her mahogany brown hair
+hung unconfined over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered silk
+with its pointed waist and full skirt. Her large brown eyes were
+alternately mischievous and tender, now and again lighted by a sudden
+flash. Her cheeks were pink; her round babylike arms curved with all the
+grace of the Spanish woman. As she finished the song she dropped her
+eyelids for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked straight at
+Russell.
+
+"By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog!" said a brother officer. "She's the
+prettiest girl in the room! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, as
+these ardent Californians do?"
+
+[Illustration: "RUSSELL CROSSED THE ROOM AND SAT BESIDE BENICIA."]
+
+"My cap is in the next room, but I will go over and fling myself there
+instead."
+
+Russell crossed the room and sat down beside Benicia.
+
+"I should like to hear you sing under those cypresses out on the ocean
+about six or eight miles from here," he said to her. "I rode down the
+coast yesterday. Jove! what a coast it is!"
+
+"We will have a merienda there on some evening," said Doņa Eustaquia,
+who sat beside her daughter. "It is very beautiful on the big rocks to
+watch the ocean, under the moonlight."
+
+"A merienda?"
+
+"A peek-neek."
+
+"Good! You will not forget that?"
+
+She smiled at his boyishness. "It will be at the next moon. I promise."
+
+Benicia sang another song, and a half-dozen caballeros stood about
+her, regarding her with glances languid, passionate, sentimental,
+reproachful, determined, hopeless. Russell, leaning back in his chair,
+listened to the innocent thrilling voice of the girl, and watched her
+adorers, amused and stimulated. The Californian beauty was like no other
+woman he had known, and the victory would be as signal as the capture of
+Monterey. "More blood, perhaps," he thought, "but a victory is a poor
+affair unless painted in red. It will do these seething caballeros good
+to learn that American blood is quite as swift as Californian."
+
+As the song finished, the musicians began a waltz; Russell took the
+guitar from Benicia's hand and laid it on the floor.
+
+"This waltz is mine, seņorita," he said.
+
+"I no know--"
+
+"Seņorita!" said Don Fernando Altimira, passionately, "the first waltz
+is always mine. Thou wilt not give it to the American?"
+
+"And the next is mine!"
+
+"And the next contradanza!"
+
+The girl's faithful retinue protested for their rights. Russell could
+not understand, but he translated their glances, and bent his lips to
+Benicia's ear. That ear was pink and her eyes were bright with roguish
+triumph.
+
+"I want this dance, dear seņorita. I may go away any day. Orders may
+come to-morrow which will send me where I never can see you again. You
+can dance with these men every night of the year--"
+
+"I give to you," said Benicia, rising hurriedly. "We must be hospitable
+to the stranger who comes to-day and leaves to-morrow," she said in
+Spanish to the other men. "I have plenty more dances for you."
+
+After the dance, salads and cakes, claret and water, were brought to the
+women by Indian girls, who glided about the room with borrowed grace,
+their heads erect, the silver trays held well out. They wore bright red
+skirts and white smocks of fine embroidered linen, open at the throat,
+the sleeves very short. Their coarse hair hung in heavy braids; their
+bright little eyes twinkled in square faces scrubbed until they shone
+like copper.
+
+"Captain," said Russell to Brotherton, as the men followed the host into
+the supper room, "let us buy a ranch, marry two of these stunning
+girls, and lie round in hammocks whilst these Western houris bring us
+aguardiente and soda. What an improvement on Byron and Tom Moore! It
+is all so unhackneyed and unexpected. In spite of Dana and Robinson I
+expected mud huts and whooping savages. This is Arcadia, and the women
+are the most elegant in America."
+
+"Look here, Ned," said his captain, "you had better do less flirting and
+more thinking while you are in this odd country. Your talents will get
+rusty, but you can rub them up when you get home. Neither Californian
+men nor women are to be trifled with. This is the land of passion, not
+of drawing-room sentiment."
+
+"Perhaps I am more serious than you think. What is the matter?" He spoke
+to a brother officer who had joined them and was laughing immoderately.
+
+"Do you see those Californians grinning over there?" The speaker
+beckoned to a group of officers, who joined him at once. "What job do
+you suppose they have put up on us? What do you suppose that mysterious
+table in the sala means, with its penknives and wooden sticks? I thought
+it was a charity bazaar. Well, it is nothing more nor less than a trick
+to keep us from whittling up the furniture. We are all Yankees to them,
+you know. Preserve my Spanish!"
+
+The officers shouted with delight. They marched solemnly back into the
+sala, and seating themselves in a deep circle about the table,
+whittled the slugs all over the floor, much to the satisfaction of the
+Californians.
+
+
+VI
+
+After the entertainment was over, Russell strolled about the town. The
+new moon was on the sky, the stars thick and bright; but dark corners
+were everywhere, and he kept his hand on his pistol. He found himself
+before the long low house of Doņa Eustaquia Ortega. Not a light
+glimmered; the shutters were of solid wood. He walked up and down,
+trying to guess which was Benicia's room.
+
+"I am growing as romantic as a Californian," he thought; "but this
+wonderful country pours its colour all through one's nature. If I
+could find her window, I believe I should serenade her in true Spanish
+fashion. By Jove, I remember now, she said something about looking
+through her window at the pines on the hill. It must be at the back of
+the house, and how am I going to get over that great adobe wall? That
+gate is probably fastened with an iron bar--ah!"
+
+He had walked to the corner of the wall surrounding the large yard
+behind and at both sides of Doņa Eustaquia's house, and he saw,
+ascending a ladder, a tall figure, draped in a serape, its face
+concealed by the shadow of a sombrero. He drew his pistol, then laughed
+at himself, although not without annoyance. "A rival; and he has got
+ahead of me. He is going to serenade her."
+
+The caballero seated himself uncomfortably on the tiles that roofed the
+wall, removed his sombrero, and Russell recognized Fernando Altimira. A
+moment later the sweet thin chords of the guitar quivered in the quiet
+air, and a tenor, so fine that even Russell stood entranced, sang to
+Benicia one of the old songs of Monterey:--
+
+EL SUSPIRO
+
+  Una mirada un suspiro,
+  Una lagrima querida,
+  Es balsamo ā la herida
+  Que abriste en mi corazón.
+
+  Por esa lagrima cara
+  Objeto de mi termina,
+  Yo te amé bella criatura
+  Desde que te vi llorar.
+
+  Te acuerdas de aquella noche
+  En que triste y abatida
+  Una lagrima querida
+  Vi de tus ojos brotar.
+
+Although Russell was at the base of the high wall he saw that a light
+flashed. The light was followed by the clapping of little hands. "Jove!"
+he thought, "am I really jealous? But damn that Californian!"
+
+Altimira sang two more songs and was rewarded by the same
+demonstrations. As he descended the ladder and reached the open street
+he met Russell face to face. The two men regarded each other for a
+moment. The Californian's handsome face was distorted by a passionate
+scowl; Russell was calmer, but his brows were lowered.
+
+Altimira flung the ladder to the ground, but fire-blooded as he was, the
+politeness of his race did not desert him, and his struggle with English
+flung oil upon his passion.
+
+"Seņor," he said, "I no know what you do it by the house of the Seņorita
+Benicia so late in the night. I suppose you have the right to walk in
+the town si it please yourself."
+
+"Have I not the same right as you--to serenade the Seņorita Benicia? If
+I had known her room, I should have been on the wall before you."
+
+Altimira's face flushed with triumph. "I think the Seņorita Benicia
+no care for the English song, seņor. She love the sweet words of her
+country: she no care for words of ice."
+
+Russell smiled. "Our language may not be as elastic as yours, Don
+Fernando, but it is a good deal more sincere. And it can express as much
+and perhaps--"
+
+"You love Benicia?" interrupted Altimira, fiercely.
+
+"I admire the Seņorita Ortega tremendously. But I have seen her twice
+only, and although we may love longer, we take more time to get there,
+perhaps, than you do."
+
+"Ay! Dios de mi vida! You have the heart of rock! You chip it off in
+little pieces, one to-day, another to-morrow, and give to the woman. I,
+seņor, I love Benicia, and I marry her. You understand? Si you take her,
+I cut the heart from your body. You understand?"
+
+"I understand. We understand each other." Russell lifted his cap. The
+Californian took his sombrero from his head and made a long sweeping
+bow; and the two men parted.
+
+
+VII
+
+On the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat transferred his authority
+to Commodore Stockton, and the new commander of the Pacific squadron
+organized the California Battalion of Mounted Riflemen, appointing
+Frémont major and Gillespie captain. He ordered them South at once to
+intercept Castro. On the twenty-eighth, Stockton issued a proclamation
+in which he asserted that Mexico was the instigator of the present
+difficulties, and justified the United States in seizing the
+Californias. He denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, a
+boasting and abusive chief, and accused him of having violated every
+principle of national hospitality and good faith toward Captain Frémont
+and his surveying party. Stockton sailed for the South the same day
+in the _Congress_, leaving a number of officers to Monterey and the
+indignation of the people.
+
+"By Jove, I don't dare to go near Doņa Eustaquia," said Russell to
+Brotherton. "And I'm afraid we won't have our picnic. It seems to me the
+Commodore need not have used such strong language about California's
+idol. The very people in the streets are ready to unlimb us; and as for
+the peppery Doņa--"
+
+"Speak more respectfully of Doņa Eustaquia, young man," said the older
+officer, severely. "She is a very remarkable woman and not to be spoken
+slightingly of by young men who are in love with her daughter."
+
+"God forbid that I should slight her, dear Captain. Never have I so
+respected a woman. She frightens the life out of me every time she
+flashes those eyes of hers. But let us go and face the enemy at once,
+like the brave Americans we are."
+
+"Very well." And together they walked along Alvarado Street from the
+harbour, then up the hill to the house of Doņa Eustaquia.
+
+That formidable lady and her daughter were sitting on the corridor
+dressed in full white gowns, slowly wielding large black fans, for the
+night was hot. Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she rose and
+courtesied to the officers, but her mother merely bent her head; nor did
+she extend her hand. Her face was very dark.
+
+Brotherton went directly to the point.
+
+"Dear Doņa Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our Commodore has used such
+harsh language in regard to General Castro. But remember that he has
+been here a few days only and has had no chance to learn the many noble
+and valiant qualities of your General. He doubtless has been prejudiced
+against him by some enemy, and he adores Frémont:--there is the trouble.
+He resents Castro's treating Frémont as an enemy before the United
+States had declared its intentions. But had he been correctly informed,
+he undoubtedly would have conceived the same admiration and respect for
+your brave General that is felt by every other man among us."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but shook her head sternly.
+"Much better he took the trouble to hear true. He insult all
+Californians by those shemful words. All the enemies of our dear General
+be glad. And the poor wife! Poor my Modeste! She fold the arms and raise
+the head, but the heart is broken."
+
+"Jove! I almost wish they had driven us out! Dear seņora--" Russell and
+Benicia were walking up and down the corridor--"we have become friends,
+true friends, as sometimes happens--not often--between man and woman.
+Cease to think of me as an officer of the United States navy, only as a
+man devoted to your service. I have already spent many pleasant hours
+with you. Let me hope that while I remain here neither Commodore
+Stockton nor party feeling will exclude me from many more."
+
+She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a gesture peculiar to her,
+and looked upward with a glance half sad, half bitter.
+
+"I much appreciate your friendship, Capitan Brotherton. You give me much
+advice that is good for me, and tell me many things. It is like the
+ocean wind when you have live long in the hot valley. Yes, dear friend,
+I forget you are in the navy of the conqueror."
+
+"Mamacita," broke in Benicia's light voice, "tell us now when we can
+have the peek-neek."
+
+"To-morrow night."
+
+"Surely?"
+
+"Surely, niņita."
+
+"Castro," said Russell, lifting his cap, "peace be with thee."
+
+
+VIII
+
+The great masses of rock on the ocean's coast shone white in the
+moonlight. Through the gaunt outlying rocks, lashed apart by furious
+storms, boiled the ponderous breakers, tossing aloft the sparkling
+clouds of spray, breaking in the pools like a million silver fishes.
+High above the waves, growing out of the crevices of the massive rocks
+of the shore, were weird old cypresses, their bodies bent from the
+ocean as if petrified in flight before the mightier foe. On their gaunt
+outstretched arms and gray bodies, seamed with time, knobs like human
+muscles jutted; between the broken bark the red blood showed. From
+their angry hands, clutching at the air or doubled in imprecation, long
+strands of gray-green moss hung, waving and coiling, in the night wind.
+Only one old man was on his hands and knees as if to crawl from the
+field; but a comrade spurned him with his foot and wound his bony hand
+about the coward's neck. Another had turned his head to the enemy,
+pointing his index finger in scorn, although he stood alone on high.
+
+All along the cliffs ran the ghostly army, sometimes with straining
+arms fighting the air, sometimes thrust blankly outward, all with life
+quivering in their arrested bodies, silent and scornful in their defeat.
+Who shall say what winter winds first beat them, what great waves first
+fought their deathless trunks, what young stars first shone over them?
+They have outstood centuries of raging storm and rending earthquake.
+Tradition says that until convulsion wrenched the Golden Gate apart the
+San Franciscan waters rolled through the long valleys and emptied into
+the Bay of Monterey. But the old cypresses were on the ocean just
+beyond; the incoming and the outgoing of the inland ocean could not
+trouble them; and perhaps they will stand there until the end of time.
+
+Down the long road by the ocean rode a gay cavalcade. The caballeros had
+haughtily refused to join the party, and the men wore the blue and gold
+of the United States.
+
+But the women wore fluttering mantillas, and their prancing
+high-stepping horses were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In a
+lumbering "wagon of the country," drawn by oxen, running on solid wheels
+cut from the trunks of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of the
+older people of the town, disapproving, but overridden by the impatient
+enthusiasm of Doņa Eustaquia. Through the pine woods with their softly
+moving shadows and splendid aisles, out between the cypresses and rocky
+beach, wound the stately cavalcade, their voices rising above the
+sociable converse of the seals and the screeching of the seagulls
+spiking the rocks where the waves fought and foamed. The gold on the
+shoulders of the men flashed in the moonlight; the jewels of the women
+sparkled and winked. Two by two they came like a conquering army to the
+rescue of the cypresses. Brotherton, who rode ahead with Doņa Eustaquia,
+half expected to see the old trees rise upright with a deep shout of
+welcome.
+
+When they reached a point where the sloping rocks rose high above surf
+and spray, they dismounted, leaving the Indian servants to tether the
+horses. They climbed down the big smooth rocks and sat about in groups,
+although never beyond the range of older eyes, the cypresses lowering
+above them, the ocean tearing through the outer rocks to swirl and
+grumble in the pools. The moon was so bright, its light so broad and
+silver, they almost could imagine they saw the gorgeous mass of colour
+in the pools below.
+
+"You no have seaweed like that in Boston," said Benicia, who had a
+comprehensive way of symbolizing the world by the city from which she
+got many of her clothes and all of her books.
+
+"Indeed, no!" said Russell. "The other day I sat for hours watching
+those great bunches and strands that look like richly coloured chenille.
+And there were stones that looked like big opals studded with vivid
+jewels. God of my soul, as you say, it was magnificent! I never saw such
+brilliant colour, such delicate tints! And those great rugged defiant
+rocks out there, lashed by the waves! Look at that one; misty with spray
+one minute, bare and black the next! They look like an old castle which
+has been battered down with cannon. Captain, do you not feel romantic?"
+
+"I feel that I never want to go into an art gallery again. No wonder the
+women of California are original."
+
+"Benicia," said Russell, "I have tried in vain to learn a Spanish song.
+But teach me a Spanish phrase of endearment. All our 'darlings' and
+'dearests' are too flat for California."
+
+"Bueno; I teach you. Say after me: Mi muy querida prima. That is very
+sweet. Say."
+
+"Mi muy--"
+
+"Querida prima."
+
+"Que--What is it in English?"
+
+"My--very--darling--first. It no sound so pretty in English."
+
+"It does very well. My--very--darling--first--if all these people were
+not about us, I should kiss you. You look exactly like a flower."
+
+"Si you did, Seņor Impertinencio, you get that for thanks."
+
+Russell jumped to his feet with a shout, and shook from his neck a
+little crab with a back like green velvet and legs like carven garnet.
+
+"Did you put that crab on my neck, seņorita?"
+
+"Si, seņor."
+
+A sulky silence of ten minutes ensued, during which Benicia sent little
+stones skipping down into the silvered pools, and Russell, again
+recumbent, stared at the horizon.
+
+"Si you no can talk," she said finally, "I wish you go way and let Don
+Henry Tallant come talk to me. He look like he want."
+
+"No doubt he does; but he can stay where he is. Let me kiss your hand,
+Benicia, and I will forgive you."
+
+Benicia hit his mouth lightly with the back of her hand, but he captured
+it and kissed it several times.
+
+"Your mustache feels like the cat's," said she.
+
+He flung the hand from him, but laughed in a moment. "How sentimental
+you are! Making love to you is like dragging a cannon uphill! Will you
+not at least sing me a love-song? And please do not make faces in the
+tender parts."
+
+Benicia tossed her spirited head, but took her guitar from its case and
+called to the other girls to accompany her. They withdrew from their
+various flirtations with audible sighs, but it was Benicia's merienda,
+and in a moment a dozen white hands were sweeping the long notes from
+the strings.
+
+Russell moved to a lower rock, and lying at Benicia's feet looked
+upward. The scene was all above him--the great mass of white rocks,
+whiter in the moonlight; the rigid cypresses aloft; the beautiful faces,
+dreamy, passionate, stolid, restless, looking from the lace mantillas;
+the graceful arms holding the guitars; the sweet rich voices threading
+through the roar of the ocean like the melody in a grand recitativo; the
+old men and women crouching like buzzards on the stones, their sharp
+eyes never closing; enfolding all with an almost palpable touch, the
+warm voluptuous air. Now and again a bird sang a few notes, a strange
+sound in the night, or the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echo
+through the pines.
+
+The song finished. "Benicia, I love you," whispered Russell.
+
+"We will now eat," said Benicia. "Mamma,"--she raised her voice,--"shall
+I tell Raphael to bring down the supper?"
+
+"Yes, niņa."
+
+The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by Russell. The Indian
+servants were some distance off, and as the young people ran through a
+pine grove the bold officer of the United States squadron captured the
+Californian and kissed her on the mouth. She boxed his ears and escaped
+to the light.
+
+Benicia gave her orders, Raphael and the other Indians followed her with
+the baskets, and spread the supper of tomales and salads, dulces and
+wine, on a large table-like rock, just above the threatening spray; the
+girls sang each in turn, whilst the others nibbled the dainties Doņa
+Eustaquia had provided, and the Americans wondered if it were not a
+vision that would disappear into the fog bearing down upon them.
+
+A great white bank, writhing and lifting, rolling and bending, came
+across the ocean slowly, with majestic stealth, hiding the swinging
+waves on which it rode so lightly, shrouding the rocks, enfolding the
+men and women, wreathing the cypresses, rushing onward to the pines.
+
+"We must go," said Doņa Eustaquia, rising. "There is danger to stay. The
+lungs, the throat, my children. Look at the poor old cypresses."
+
+The fog was puffing through the gaunt arms, festooning the rigid hands.
+It hung over the green heads, it coiled about the gray trunks. The stern
+defeated trees looked like the phantoms of themselves, a long silent
+battalion of petrified ghosts. Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed,
+and during the long ride homeward through the pine woods she had little
+to say to her equally silent companion.
+
+
+IX
+
+Doņa Eustaquia seldom gave balls, but once a week she opened her salas
+to the more intellectual people of the town. A few Americans were ever
+attendant; General Vallejo often came from Sonoma to hear the latest
+American and Mexican news in her house; Castro rarely had been absent;
+Alvarado, in the days of his supremacy, could always be found there, and
+she was the first woman upon whom Pio Pico called when he deigned to
+visit Monterey. A few young people came to sit in a corner with Benicia,
+but they had little to say.
+
+The night after the picnic some fifteen or twenty people were gathered
+about Doņa Eustaquia in the large sala on the right of the hall; a few
+others were glancing over the Mexican papers in the little sala on the
+left. The room was ablaze with many candles standing, above the heads
+of the guests, in twisted silver candelabra, the white walls reflecting
+their light. The floor was bare, the furniture of stiff mahogany and
+horse-hair, but no visitor to that quaint ugly room ever thought of
+looking beyond the brilliant face of Doņa Eustaquia, the lovely eyes of
+her daughter, the intelligence and animation of the people she gathered
+about her. As a rule Doņa Modeste Castro's proud head and strange beauty
+had been one of the living pictures of that historical sala, but she was
+not there to-night.
+
+As Captain Brotherton and Lieutenant Russell entered, Doņa Eustaquia was
+waging war against Mr. Larkin.
+
+"And what hast thou to say to that proclamation of thy little American
+hero, thy Commodore"--she gave the word a satirical roll, impossible to
+transcribe--"who is heir to a conquest without blood, who struts into
+history as the Commander of the United States Squadron of the Pacific,
+holding a few hundred helpless Californians in subjection? O warlike
+name of Sloat! O heroic name of Stockton! O immortal Frémont, prince
+of strategists and tacticians, your country must be proud of you! Your
+newspapers will glorify you! Sometime, perhaps, you will have a little
+history bound in red morocco all to yourselves; whilst Castro--" she
+sprang to her feet and brought her open palm down violently upon the
+table, "Castro, the real hero of this country, the great man ready to
+die a thousand deaths for the liberty of the Californians, a man who was
+made for great deeds and born for fame, he will be left to rust and rot
+because we have no newspapers to glorify him, and the Gringos send what
+they wish to their country! Oh, profanation! That a great man should be
+covered from sight by an army of red ants!"
+
+"By Jove!" said Russell, "I wish I could understand her! Doesn't she
+look magnificent?"
+
+Captain Brotherton made no reply. He was watching her closely, gathering
+the sense of her words, full of passionate admiration for the woman. Her
+tall majestic figure was quivering under the lash of her fiery temper,
+quick to spring and strike. The red satin of her gown and the diamonds
+on her finely moulded neck and in the dense coils of her hair grew dim
+before the angry brilliancy of her eyes.
+
+The thin sensitive lips of Mr. Larkin curled with their accustomed
+humour, but he replied sincerely, "Yes, Castro is a hero, a great man on
+a small canvas--"
+
+"And they are little men on a big canvas!" interrupted Doņa Eustaquia.
+
+Mr. Larkin laughed, but his reply was non-committal. "Remember, they
+have done all that they have been called upon to do, and they have done
+it well. Who can say that they would not be as heroic, if opportunity
+offered, as they have been prudent?"
+
+Doņa Eustaquia shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, but resumed her
+seat. "You will not say, but you know what chance they would have with
+Castro in a fair fight. But what chance has even a great man, when at
+the head of a few renegades, against the navy of a big nation? But
+Frémont! Is he to cast up his eyes and draw down his mouth to the world,
+whilst the man who acted for the safety of his country alone, who showed
+foresight and wisdom, is denounced as a violator of international
+courtesy?"
+
+"No," said one of the American residents who stood near, "history will
+right all that. Some day the world will know who was the great and who
+the little man."
+
+"Some day! When we are under our stones! This swaggering Commodore
+Stockton adores Frémont and hates Castro. His lying proclamation will be
+read in his own country--"
+
+The door opened suddenly and Don Fernando Altimira entered the room.
+"Have you heard?" he cried. "All the South is in arms! The Departmental
+Assembly has called the whole country to war, and men are flocking to
+the standard! Castro has sworn that he will never give up the country
+under his charge. Now, Mother of God! let our men drive the usurper from
+the country."
+
+Even Mr. Larkin sprang to his feet in excitement. He rapidly translated
+the news to Brotherton and Russell.
+
+"Ah! There will be a little blood, then," said the younger officer. "It
+was too easy a victory to count."
+
+Every one in the room was talking at once. Doņa Eustaquia smote her
+hands together, then clasped and raised them aloft.
+
+"Thanks to God!" she cried. "California has come to her senses at last!"
+
+Altimira bent his lips to her ear. "I go to fight the Americans," he
+whispered.
+
+She caught his hand between both her own and pressed it convulsively to
+her breast. "Go," she said, "and may God and Mary protect thee. Go, my
+son, and when thou returnest I will give thee Benicia. Thou art a son
+after my heart, a brave man and a good Catholic."
+
+Benicia, standing near, heard the words. For the first time Russell saw
+the expression of careless audacity leave her face, her pink colour
+fade.
+
+"What is that man saying to your mother?" he demanded.
+
+"She promise me to him when he come back; he go to join General Castro."
+
+"Benicia!" He glanced about. Altimira had left the house. Every one was
+too excited to notice them. He drew her across the hall and into the
+little sala, deserted since the startling news had come. "Benicia," he
+said hurriedly, "there is no time to be lost. You are such a butterfly I
+hardly know whether you love me or not."
+
+"I no am such butterfly as you think," said the girl, pathetically. "I
+often am very gay, for that is my spirit, seņor; but I cry sometimes in
+the night."
+
+"Well, you are not to cry any more, my very darling first!" He took her
+in his arms and kissed her, and she did not box his ears. "I may be
+ordered off at any moment, and what may they not do with you while I am
+gone? So I have a plan! Marry me to-morrow!"
+
+"Ay! Seņor!"
+
+"To-morrow. At your friend Blandina's house. The Hernandez like the
+Americans; in fact, as we all know, Tallant is in love with Blandina and
+the old people do not frown. They will let us marry there."
+
+"Ay! Cielo santo! What my mother say? She kill me!"
+
+"She will forgive you, no matter how angry she may be at first. She
+loves you--almost as much as I do."
+
+The girl withdrew from his arms and walked up and down the room. Her
+face was very pale, and she looked older. On one side of the room hung
+a large black cross, heavily mounted with gold. She leaned her face
+against it and burst into tears. "Ay, my home! My mother!" she cried
+under her breath. "How I can leave you? Ay, triste de mi!" She turned
+suddenly to Russell, whose face was as white as her own, and put to him
+the question which we have not yet answered. "What is this love?" she
+said rapidly. "I no can understand. I never feel before. Always I laugh
+when men say they love me; but I never laugh again. In my heart is
+something that shake me like a lion shake what it go to kill, and make
+me no care for my mother or my God--and you are a Protestant! I have
+love my mother like I have love that cross; and now a man come--a
+stranger! a conqueror! a Protestant! an American! And he twist my heart
+out with his hands! But I no can help. I love you and I go."
+
+
+X
+
+The next morning, Doņa Eustaquia looked up from her desk as Benicia
+entered the room. "I am writing to Alvarado," she said. "I hope to be
+the first to tell him the glorious news. Ay! my child, go to thy altar
+and pray that the bandoleros may be driven wriggling from the land like
+snakes out of a burning field!"
+
+"But, mother, I thought you had learned to like the Gringos."
+
+"I like the Gringos well enough, but I hate their flag! Ay! I will pull
+it down with my own hands if Castro and Pico roll Stockton and Frémont
+in the dust!"
+
+"I am sorry for that, my mother, for I am going to marry an American
+to-day."
+
+Her mother laughed and glanced over the closely written page.
+
+"I am going to marry the Lieutenant Russell at Blandina's house this
+morning."
+
+"Ay, run, run. I must finish my letter."
+
+Benicia left the sala and crossing her mother's room entered her own.
+From the stout mahogany chest she took white silk stockings and satin
+slippers, and sitting down on the floor put them on. Then she opened the
+doors of her wardrobe and looked for some moments at the many pretty
+frocks hanging there. She selected one of fine white lawn, half covered
+with deshalados, and arrayed herself. She took from the drawer of the
+wardrobe a mantilla of white Spanish lace, and draped it about her head
+and shoulders, fastening it back above one ear with a pink rose. Around
+her throat she clasped a string of pearls, then stood quietly in the
+middle of the room and looked about her. In one corner was a little
+brass bedstead covered with a heavy quilt of satin and lace. The
+pillow-cases were almost as fine and elaborate as her gown. In the
+opposite corner was an altar with little gold candlesticks and an ivory
+crucifix. The walls and floor were bare but spotless. The ugly wardrobe
+built into the thick wall never had been empty: Doņa Eustaquia's
+generosity to the daughter she worshipped was unbounded.
+
+Benicia drew a long hysterical breath and went over to the window. It
+looked upon a large yard enclosed by the high adobe wall upon which her
+lovers so often had sat and sung to her. No flowers were in the garden,
+not even a tree. It was as smooth and clean as the floor of a ballroom.
+About the well in the middle were three or four Indian servants
+quarrelling good-naturedly. The house stood on the rise of one of the
+crescent's horns. Benicia looked up at the dark pine woods on the
+hill. What days she had spent there with her mother! She whirled about
+suddenly and taking a large fan from the table returned to the sala.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia laughed. "Thou silly child, to dress thyself like a
+bride. What nonsense is this?"
+
+"I will be a bride in an hour, my mother."
+
+"Go! Go, with thy nonsense! I have spoiled thee! What other girl in
+Monterey would dare to dress herself like this at eleven in the morning?
+Go! And do not ruin that mantilla, for thou wilt not get another. Thou
+art going to Blandina's, no? Be sure thou goest no farther! I would not
+let thee go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou speakest
+to no man in the street."
+
+"No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits me
+in the house. Hasta luego." And she flitted out of the door and up the
+street.
+
+
+XI
+
+A few hours later Doņa Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler sala
+with Captain Brotherton. He read Shakespeare to her whilst she fanned
+herself, her face aglow with intelligent pleasure. She had not broached
+to him the uprising in the South lest it should lead to bitter words.
+Although an American and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood so
+close to her.
+
+He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia entered the room. Doņa
+Eustaquia's heavy brows met.
+
+"Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk with on the street," she
+said in Spanish.
+
+"But, mamacita, he is my husband. We were married this morning at
+Blandina's," Excitement had tuned Benicia's spirit to its accustomed
+pitch, and her eyes danced with mischief. Moreover, although she
+expected violent reproaches, she knew the tenacious strength of her
+mother's affection, and had faith in speedy forgiveness.
+
+Brotherton opened his eyes, but Doņa Eustaquia moved back her head
+impatiently. "That silly joke!" Then she smiled at her own impatience.
+What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled children would disobey
+at times. "Welcome, my son," she said to Russell, extending her hand.
+"We celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and the Captain
+helps us, no? my friend."
+
+"Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato sauce," cried Russell.
+"And rice with saffron; and that delightful dish with which I
+remonstrate all night--olives and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and red
+peppers all rolled up in corn-meal cakes."
+
+"Enchiladas? You have them! Now, both you go over to the corner and talk
+not loud, for I wish to hear my friend read."
+
+Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bidden. Benicia, with a
+gay laugh, kissed her mother and flitted like a butterfly about the
+room, singing gay little snatches of song.
+
+"Oh, mamacita, mamacita," she chanted. "Thou wilt not believe thou hast
+lost thy little daughter. Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son. Thou
+wilt not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass bed--"
+
+"Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue! Sit down!" And this Benicia finally
+consented to do, although smothered laughter came now and again from the
+corner.
+
+Dona Eustaquia sat easily against the straight back of her chair,
+looking very handsome and placid as Brotherton read and expounded "As
+You Like It" to her. Her gown of thin black silk threw out the fine
+gray tones of her skin; about her neck and chest was a heavy chain of
+Californian gold; her dense lustreless hair was held high with a shell
+comb banded with gold; superb jewels weighted her little white hands; in
+her small ears were large hoops of gold studded with black pearls. She
+was perfectly contented in that hour. Her woman's vanity was at peace
+and her eager mind expanding.
+
+The party about the supper table in the evening was very gay. The long
+room was bare, but heavy silver was beyond the glass doors of the
+cupboard; a servant stood behind each chair; the wines were as fine
+as any in America, and the favourite dishes of the Americans had been
+prepared. Even Brotherton, although more nervous than was usual with
+him, caught the contagion of the hour and touched his glass more than
+once to that of the woman whose overwhelming personality had more than
+half captured a most indifferent heart.
+
+After supper they sat on the corridor, and Benicia sang her mocking
+love-songs and danced El Son to the tinkling of her own guitar.
+
+"Is she not a light-hearted child?" asked her mother. "But she has her
+serious moments, my friend. We have been like the sisters. Every path of
+the pine woods we walk together, arm in arm. We ride miles on the beach
+and sit down on the rocks for hours and try to think what the seals
+say one to the other. Before you come I have friends, but no other
+companion; but it is good for me you come, for she think only of
+flirting since the Americans take Monterey. Mira! Look at her flash the
+eyes at Seņor Russell. It is well he has the light heart like herself."
+
+Brotherton made no reply.
+
+"Give to me the guitar," she continued.
+
+Benicia handed her the instrument and Doņa Eustaquia swept the chords
+absently for a moment then sang the song of the troubadour. Her rich
+voice was like the rush of the wind through the pines after the light
+trilling of a bird, and even Russell sat enraptured. As she sang the
+colour came into her face, alight with the fire of youth. Her low notes
+were voluptuous, her high notes rang with piercing sadness. As she
+finished, a storm of applause came from Alvarado Street, which pulsed
+with life but a few yards below them.
+
+"No American woman ever sang like that," said Brotherton. He rose and
+walked to the end of the corridor. "But it is a part of Monterey."
+
+"Most enchanting of mothers-in-law," said Russell, "you have made it
+doubly hard for us to leave you; but it grows late and my wife and I
+must go. Good night," and he raised her hand to his lips.
+
+"Good night, my son."
+
+"Mamacita, good night," and Benicia, who had fluttered into the house
+and found a reboso, kissed her mother, waved her hand to Brotherton, and
+stepped from the corridor to the street.
+
+"Come here, seņorita!" cried her mother. "No walk to-night, for I have
+not the wish to walk myself."
+
+"But I go with my husband, mamma."
+
+"Oh, no more of that joke without sense! Seņor Russell, go home, that
+she have reason for one moment."
+
+"But, dear Doņa Eustaquia, won't you understand that we are really
+married?"
+
+Doņa Eustaquia's patience was at an end. She turned to Brotherton and
+addressed a remark to him. Russell and Benicia conferred a moment, then
+the young man walked rapidly down the street.
+
+"Has he gone?" asked Doņa Eustaquia. "Then let us go in the house, for
+the fog comes from the bay."
+
+They went into the little sala and sat about the table. Doņa Eustaquia
+picked up a silver dagger she used as a paper cutter and tapped a book
+with it.
+
+"Ay, this will not last long," she said to Brotherton. "I much am afraid
+your Commodore send you to the South to fight with our men."
+
+"I shall return," said Brotherton, absently. His eyes were fixed on the
+door.
+
+"But it will not be long that you will be there, my friend. Many people
+are not killed in our wars. Once there was a great battle at Point
+Rincon, near Santa Barbara, between Castro and Carillo. Carillo have
+been appointed governor by Mejico, and Alvarado refuse to resign. They
+fight for three days, and Castro manage so well he lose only one man,
+and the others run away and not lose any."
+
+Brotherton laughed. "I hope all our battles may be as bloodless," he
+said, and then drew a short breath.
+
+Russell, accompanied by Don Jorje and Doņa Francesca Hernandez and the
+priest of Monterey, entered the room.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia rose and greeted her guests with grace and hospitality.
+
+"But I am glad to see you, my father, my friends. And you always are
+welcome, Seņor Russell; but no more joke. Where is our Blandina? Sit
+down--Why, what is it?"
+
+The priest spoke.
+
+"I have that to tell you, Doņa Eustaquia, which I fear will give you
+great displeasure. I hoped not to be the one to tell it. I was weak to
+consent, but these young people importuned me until I was weary. Doņa
+Eustaquia, I married Benicia to the Seņor Russell to-day."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia's head had moved forward mechanically, her eyes staring
+incredulously from the priest to the other members of the apprehensive
+group. Suddenly her apathy left her, her arm curved upward like the neck
+of a snake; but as she sprang upon Benicia her ferocity was that of a
+tiger.
+
+"What!" she shrieked, shaking the girl violently by the shoulder. "What!
+ingrate! traitor! Thou hast married an American, a Protestant!"
+
+Benicia burst into terrified sobs. Russell swung the girl from her
+mother's grasp and placed his arm around her.
+
+"She is mine now," he said. "You must not touch her again."
+
+"Yours! Yours!" screamed Doņa Eustaquia, beside herself. "Oh, Mother of
+God!" She snatched the dagger from the table and, springing backward,
+plunged it into the cross.
+
+"By that sign I curse thee," she cried. "Accursed be the man who has
+stolen my child! Accursed be the woman who has betrayed her mother and
+her country! God! God!--I implore thee, let her die in her happiest
+hour."
+
+
+XII
+
+On August twelfth Commodore Hull arrived on the frigate _Warren_, from
+Mazatlan, and brought the first positive intelligence of the declaration
+of war between Mexico and the United States. Before the middle of
+the month news came that Castro and Pico, after gallant defence, but
+overwhelmed by numbers, had fled, the one to Sonora, the other to Baja
+California. A few days after, Stockton issued a proclamation to the
+effect that the flag of the United States was flying over every town
+in the territory of California; and Alcalde Colton announced that the
+rancheros were more than satisfied with the change of government.
+
+A month later a mounted courier dashed into Monterey with a note from
+the Alcalde of Los Angeles, wrapped about a cigarito and hidden in his
+hair. The note contained the information that all the South was in
+arms again, and that Los Angeles was in the hands of the Californians.
+Russell was ordered to go with Captain Mervine, on the _Savannah_,
+to join Gillespie at San Pedro; Brotherton was left at Monterey with
+Lieutenant Maddox and a number of men to quell a threatened uprising.
+Later came the news of Mervine's defeat and the night of Talbot from
+Santa Barbara; and by November California was in a state of general
+warfare, each army receiving new recruits every day.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia, hard and stern, praying for the triumph of her people,
+lived alone in the old house. Benicia, praying for the return of her
+husband and the relenting of her mother, lived alone in her little house
+on the hill. Friends had interceded, but Doņa Eustaquia had closed her
+ears. Brotherton went to her one day with the news that Lieutenant
+Russell was wounded.
+
+"I must tell Benicia," he said, "but it is you who should do that."
+
+"She betray me, my friend."
+
+"Oh, Eustaquia, make allowance for the lightness of youth. She barely
+realized what she did. But she loves him now, and suffers bitterly. She
+should be with you."
+
+"Ay! She suffer for another! She love a strange man--an American--better
+than her mother! And it is I who would die for her! Ay, you cold
+Americans! Never you know how a mother can love her child."
+
+"The Americans know how to love, seņora. And Benicia was thoroughly
+spoiled by her devoted mother. She was carried away by her wild spirits,
+nothing more."
+
+"Then much better she live on them now."
+
+Doņa Eustaquia sat with her profile against the light. It looked severe
+and a little older, but she was very handsome in her rich black gown and
+the gold chain about her strong throat. Her head, as usual, was held a
+little back. Brotherton sat down beside her and took her hand.
+
+"Eustaquia," he said, "no friendship between man and woman was ever
+deeper and stronger than ours. In spite of the anxiety and excitement of
+these last months we have found time to know each other very intimately.
+So you will forgive me if I tell you that the more a friend loves you
+the more he must be saddened by the terrible iron in your nature. Only
+the great strength of your passions has saved you from hardening into an
+ugly and repellent woman. You are a mother; forgive your child; remember
+that she, too, is about to be a mother--"
+
+She caught his hand between both of hers with a passionate gesture. "Oh,
+my friend," she said, "do not too much reproach me! You never have a
+child, you cannot know! And remember we all are not make alike. If you
+are me, you act like myself. If I am you, I can forgive more easy. But
+I am Eustaquia Ortega, and as I am make, so I do feel now. No judge too
+hard, my friend, and--_infelez de mi!_ do not forsake me."
+
+"I will never forsake you, Eustaquia." He rose suddenly. "I, too, am a
+lonely man, if not a hard one, and I recognize that cry of the soul's
+isolation."
+
+He left her and went up the hill to Benicia's little house, half hidden
+by the cypress trees that grew before it.
+
+She was sitting in her sala working an elaborate deshalados on a baby's
+gown. Her face was pale, and the sparkle had gone out of it; but she
+held herself with all her mother's pride, and her soft eyes were deeper.
+She rose as Captain Brotherton entered, and took his hand in both of
+hers. "You are so good to come to me, and I love you for your friendship
+for my mother. Tell me how she is."
+
+"She is well, Benicia." Then he exclaimed suddenly: "Poor little girl!
+What a child you are--not yet seventeen."
+
+"In a few months, seņor. Sit down. No? And I no am so young now. When we
+suffer we grow more than by the years; and now I go to have the baby,
+that make me feel very old."
+
+"But it is very sad to see you alone like this, without your husband or
+your mother. She will relent some day, Benicia, but I wish she would do
+it now, when you most need her."
+
+"Yes, I wish I am with her in the old house," said the girl,
+pathetically, although she winked back the tears. "Never I can be happy
+without her, even si _he_ is here, and you know how I love him. But I
+have love her so long; she is--how you say it?--like she is part of me,
+and when she no spik to me, how I can be happy with all myself when part
+is gone. You understand, seņor?"
+
+"Yes, Benicia, I understand." He looked through the bending cypresses,
+down the hill, upon the fair town. He had no relish for the task which
+had brought him to her. She looked up and caught the expression of his
+face.
+
+"Seņor!" she cried sharply. "What you go to tell me?"
+
+"There is a report that Ned is slightly wounded; but it is not serious.
+It was Altimira who did it, I believe."
+
+She shook from head to foot, but was calmer than he had expected. She
+laid the gown on a chair and stood up. "Take me to him. Si he is wound,
+I go to nurse him."
+
+"My child! You would die before you got there. I have sent a special
+courier to find out the truth. If Ned is wounded, I have arranged to
+have him sent home immediately."
+
+"I wait for the courier come back, for it no is right I hurt the baby si
+I can help. But si he is wound so bad he no can come, then I go to him.
+It no is use for you to talk at all, seņor, I go."
+
+Brotherton looked at her in wonderment. Whence had the butterfly gone?
+Its wings had been struck from it and a soul had flown in.
+
+"Let me send Blandina to you," he said. "You must not be alone."
+
+"I am alone till he or my mother come. I no want other. I love Blandina
+before, but now she make me feel tired. She talk so much and no say
+anything. I like better be alone."
+
+"Poor child!" said Brotherton, bitterly, "truly do love and suffering
+age and isolate." He motioned with his hand to the altar in her bedroom,
+seen through the open door. "I have not your faith, I am afraid I have
+not much of any; but if I cannot pray for you, I can wish with all the
+strength of a man's heart that happiness will come to you yet, Benicia."
+
+She shook her head. "I no know; I no believe much happiness come in
+this life. Before, I am like a fairy; but it is only because I no am
+_un_happy. But when the heart have wake up, seņor, and the knife have
+gone in hard, then, after that, always, I think, we are a little sad."
+
+
+XIII
+
+General Kearney and Lieutenant Beale walked rapidly up and down before
+the tents of the wretched remnant of United States troops with which the
+former had arrived overland in California. It was bitterly cold in spite
+of the fine drizzling rain. Lonely buttes studded the desert, whose
+palms and cacti seemed to spring from the rocks; high on one of them was
+the American camp. On the other side of a river flowing at the foot of
+the butte, the white tents of the Californians were scattered among the
+dark huts of the little pueblo of San Pasqual.
+
+"Let me implore you, General," said Beale, "not to think of meeting
+Andres Pico. Why, your men are half starved; your few horses are
+broken-winded; your mules are no match for the fresh trained mustangs of
+the enemy. I am afraid you do not appreciate the Californians. They are
+numerous, brave, and desperate. If you avoid them now, as Commodore
+Stockton wishes, and join him at San Diego, we stand a fair chance
+of defeating them. But now Pico's cavalry and foot are fresh and
+enthusiastic--in painful contrast to yours. And, moreover, they know
+every inch of the ground."
+
+Kearney impatiently knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He had little
+regard for Stockton, and no intention of being dictated to by a
+truculent young lieutenant who spoke his mind upon all occasions.
+
+"I shall attack them at daybreak," he said curtly. "I have one hundred
+and thirty good men; and has not Captain Gillespie joined me with his
+battalion? Never shall it be said that I turned aside to avoid a handful
+of boasting Californians. Now go and get an hour's sleep before we
+start."
+
+The young officer shrugged his shoulders, saluted, and walked down
+the line of tents. A man emerged from one of them, and he recognized
+Russell.
+
+"Hello, Ned," he said. "How's the arm?"
+
+"'Twas only a scratch. Is Altimira down there with Pico, do you know? He
+is a brave fellow! I respect that man; but we have an account to settle,
+and I hope it will be done on the battle-field."
+
+"He is with Pico, and he has done some good fighting. Most of the
+Californians have. They know how to fight and they are perfectly
+fearless. Kearney will find it out to-morrow. He is mad to attack them.
+Why, his men are actually cadaverous. Bueno! as they say here; Stockton
+sent me to guide him to San Diego. If he prefers to go through the
+enemy's lines, there is nothing for me to do but take him."
+
+"Yes, but we may surprise them. I wish to God this imitation war were
+over!"
+
+"It will be real enough before you get through. Don't worry. Well, good
+night. Luck to your skin."
+
+At daybreak the little army marched down the butte, shivering with cold,
+wet to the skin. Those on horseback naturally proceeded more rapidly
+than those mounted upon the clumsy stubborn mules; and Captain Johnson,
+who led the advance guard of twelve dragoons, found himself, when he
+came in sight of the enemy's camp, some distance ahead of the main body
+of Kearney's small army. To his surprise he saw that the Californians
+were not only awake, but horsed and apparently awaiting him. Whether he
+was fired by valour or desperation at the sight is a disputed point;
+but he made a sudden dash down the hill and across the river, almost
+flinging himself upon the lances of the Californians.
+
+Captain Moore, who was ambling down the hill on an old white horse at
+the head of fifty dragoons mounted on mules, spurred his beast as he
+witnessed the foolish charge of the advance, and arrived upon the field
+in time to see Johnson fall dead and to take his place. Pico, seeing
+that reënforcements were coming, began to retreat, followed hotly by
+Moore and the horsed dragoons. Suddenly, however, Fernando Altimira
+raised himself in his stirrups, looked back, laughed and galloped across
+the field to General Pico.
+
+"Look!" he said. "Only a few men on horses are after us. The mules are
+stumbling half a mile behind."
+
+Pico wheeled about, gave the word of command, and bore down upon the
+Americans. Then followed a hand-to-hand conflict, the Californians
+lancing and using their pistols with great dexterity, the Americans
+doing the best they could with their rusty sabres and clubbed guns.
+
+They were soon reënforced by Moore's dragoons and Gillespie's battalion,
+despite the unwilling mules; but the brutes kicked and bucked at every
+pistol shot and fresh cloud of smoke. The poor old horses wheezed and
+panted, but stood their ground when not flung out of position by the
+frantic mules. The officers and soldiers of the United States army were
+a sorry sight, and in pointed contrast to the graceful Californians on
+their groomed steeds, handsomely trapped, curvetting and rearing and
+prancing as lightly as if on the floor of a circus. Kearney cursed his
+own stupidity, and Pico laughed in his face. Beale felt satisfaction and
+compunction in saturating the silk and silver of one fine saddle with
+the blood of its owner. The point of the dying man's lance pierced his
+face, but he noted the bleaching of Kearney's, as one dragoon after
+another was flung upon the sharp rocks over which his bewildered brute
+stumbled, or was caught and held aloft in the torturing arms of the
+cacti.
+
+On the edge of the battle two men had forgotten the Aztec Eagle and the
+Stars and Stripes; they fought for love of a woman. Neither had had time
+to draw his pistol; they fought with lance and sabre, thrusting and
+parrying. Both were skilful swordsmen, but Altimira's horse was far
+superior to Russell's, and he had the advantage of weapons.
+
+"One or the other die on the rocks," said the Californian, "and si I
+kill you, I marry Benicia."
+
+Russell made no reply. He struck aside the man's lance and wounded his
+wrist. But Altimira was too excited to feel pain. His face was quivering
+with passion.
+
+It is not easy to parry a lance with a sabre, and still more difficult
+to get close enough to wound the man who wields it. Russell rose
+suddenly in his stirrups, described a rapid half-circle with his weapon,
+brought it down midway upon the longer blade, and snapped the latter in
+two. Altimira gave a cry of rage, and spurring his horse sought to ride
+his opponent down; but Russell wheeled, and the two men simultaneously
+snatched their pistols from the holsters. Altimira fired first, but his
+hand was unsteady and his ball went through a cactus. Russell raised
+his pistol with firm wrist, and discharged it full in the face of the
+Californian.
+
+Then he looked over the field. Moore, fatally lanced, lay under a palm,
+and many of his men were about him. Gillespie was wounded, Kearney had
+received an ugly thrust. The Californians, upon the arrival of the main
+body of the enemy's troops, had retreated unpursued; the mules attached
+to one of the American howitzers were scampering over to the opposite
+ranks, much to the consternation of Kearney. The sun, looking over the
+mountain, dissipated the gray smoke, and cast a theatrical light on the
+faces of the dead. Russell bent over Altimira. His head was shattered,
+but his death was avenged. Never had an American troop suffered a more
+humiliating defeat. Only six Californians lay on the field; and when
+the American surgeon, after attending to his own wounded, offered his
+services to Pico's, that indomitable general haughtily replied that he
+had none.
+
+"By Jove!" said Russell to Beale that night, "you know your
+Californians! I am prouder than ever of having married one! That army is
+of the stuff of which my mother-in-law is made!"
+
+
+XIV
+
+That was a gay Christmas at Monterey, despite the barricades in the
+street. News had come of the defeat of Kearney at San Pasqual, and the
+Montereņos, inflated with hope and pride, gave little thought to the
+fact that his forces were now joined with Stockton's at San Diego.
+
+On Christmas eve light streamed from every window, bonfires flared on
+the hills; the streets were illuminated, and every one was abroad. The
+clear warm night was ablaze with fireworks; men and women were in their
+gala gowns; rockets shot upward amidst shrieks of delight which mingled
+oddly with the rolling of drums at muster; even the children caught the
+enthusiasm, religious and patriotic.
+
+"I suppose you would be glad to see even your friends driven out," said
+Brotherton to Doņa Eustaquia, as they walked through the brilliant town
+toward the church: bells called them to witness the dramatic play of
+"The Shepherds."
+
+"I be glad to see the impertinent flag come down," said she, frankly;
+"but you can make resignation from the army, and have a little store on
+Alvarado Street. You can have beautiful silks and crępes from America. I
+buy of you."
+
+"Thanks," he said grimly. "You would put a dunce cap on poor America,
+and stand her in a corner. If I resign, Doņa Eustaquia, it will be to
+become a ranchero, not a shopkeeper. To tell the truth, I have little
+desire to leave California again."
+
+"But you were make for the fight," she said, looking up with some pride
+at the tall military figure, the erect head and strong features. "You
+not were make to lie in the hammock and horseback all day."
+
+"But I should do a good deal else, seņora. I should raise cattle with
+some method; and I should have a library--and a wife."
+
+"Ah! you go to marry?"
+
+"Some day, I hope. It would be lonely to be a ranchero without a wife."
+
+"Truly."
+
+"What is the matter with those women?"
+
+A group of old women stood by the roadside. Their forms were bent, their
+brown faces gnarled like apples. Some were a shapeless mass of fat,
+others were parchment and bone; about the head and shoulders of each was
+a thick black shawl. Near them stood a number of young girls clad in
+muslin petticoats, flowered with purple and scarlet. Bright satin shoes
+were on their feet, cotton rebosas covered their pretty, pert little
+heads. All were looking in one direction, whispering and crossing
+themselves.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned heavily on
+Brotherton's arm.
+
+"It is Benicia," she said. "It is because she was cursed and is with
+child that they cross themselves."
+
+Brotherton held her arm closely and laid his hand on hers, but he spoke
+sternly.
+
+"The curse is not likely to do her any harm. You prayed that she should
+die when happiest, and you have done your best to make her wretched."
+
+She did not reply, and they walked slowly onward. Benicia followed,
+leaning on the arm of an Indian servant. Her friends avoided her, for
+they bitterly resented Altimira's death. But she gave them little
+regret. Since her husband could not be with her on this Christmas eve,
+she wished only for reconciliation with her mother. In spite of the
+crowd she followed close behind Doņa Eustaquia and Brotherton, holding
+her head proudly, but ready to fall at the feet of the woman she
+worshipped.
+
+"My friend," said Doņa Eustaquia, after a moment, "perhaps it is best
+that I do not forgive her. Were she happy, then might the curse come
+true."
+
+"She has enough else to make her unhappy. Besides, who ever heard of
+a curse coming true? It has worked its will already for the matter of
+that. You kept your child from happiness with her husband during the
+brief time she had him. The bitterness of death is a small matter beside
+the bitterness of life. You should be satisfied."
+
+"You are hard, my friend."
+
+"I see your other faults only to respect and love them."
+
+"Does she look ill, Captain?"
+
+"She cannot be expected to look like the old Benicia. Of course she
+looks ill, and needs care."
+
+"Look over the shoulder. Does she walk heavily?"
+
+"Very. But as haughtily as do you."
+
+"Talk of other things for a little while, my friend."
+
+"Truly there is much to claim the interest to-night. This may be an old
+scene to you, but it is novel and fascinating to me. How lovely are
+those stately girls, half hidden by their rebosas, telling their beads
+as they hurry along. It is the very coquetry of religion. And those--But
+here we are."
+
+The church was handsomer without than within, for the clever old
+padres that built it had more taste than their successors. About the
+whitewashed walls of the interior were poor copies of celebrated
+paintings--the Passion of Christ, and an extraordinary group of nude
+women and grinning men representing the temptation of St. Anthony. In a
+glass case a beautiful figure of the Saviour reclined on a stiff couch
+clumsily covered with costly stuffs. The Virgin was dressed much like
+the aristocratic ladies of Monterey, and the altar was a rainbow of
+tawdry colours.
+
+But the ceremonies were interesting, and Brotherton forgot Benicia for
+the hour. After the mass the priest held out a small waxen image of the
+infant Jesus, and all approached and kissed it. Then from without came
+the sound of a guitar; the worshippers arose and ranged themselves
+against the wall; six girls dressed as shepherdesses; a man representing
+Lucifer; two others, a hermit and the lazy vagabond Bartola; a boy, the
+archangel Gabriel, entered the church. They bore banners and marched
+to the centre of the building, then acted their drama with religious
+fervour.
+
+The play began with the announcement by Gabriel of the birth of the
+Saviour, and exhortations to repair to the manger. On the road came
+the temptation of Lucifer; the archangel appeared once more; a violent
+altercation ensued in which all took part, and finally the prince of
+darkness was routed. Songs and fanciful by-play, brief sermons, music,
+gay and solemn, diversified the strange performance. When all was over,
+the players were followed by an admiring crowd to the entertainment
+awaiting them.
+
+"Is it not beautiful--our Los Pastores?" demanded Doņa Eustaquia,
+looking up at Brotherton, her fine face aglow with enthusiasm. "Do not
+you feel the desire to be a Catholic, my friend?"
+
+"Rather would I see two good Catholics united, dear seņora," and he
+turned suddenly to Benicia, who also had remained in the church, almost
+at her mother's side.
+
+"Mamacita!" cried Benicia.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia opened her arms and caught the girl passionately to her
+heart; and Brotherton left the church.
+
+
+XV
+
+The April flowers were on the hills. Beds of gold-red poppies and
+silver-blue baby eyes were set like tiles amidst the dense green
+undergrowth beneath the pines, and on the natural lawns about the white
+houses. Although hope of driving forth the intruder had gone forever in
+January, Monterey had resumed in part her old gayety; despair had bred
+philosophy. But Monterey was Monterey no longer. An American alcalde
+with a power vested in no judge of the United States ruled over her; to
+add injury to insult, he had started a newspaper. The town was full of
+Americans; the United States was constructing a fort on the hill; above
+all, worse than all, the Californians were learning the value of money.
+Their sun was sloping to the west.
+
+A thick India shawl hung over the window of Benicia's old room in her
+mother's house, shutting out the perfume of the hills. A carpet had been
+thrown on the floor, candles burned in the pretty gold candlesticks that
+had stood on the altar since Benicia's childhood. On the little brass
+bedstead lay Benicia, very pale and very pretty, her transparent skin
+faintly reflecting the pink of the satin coverlet. By the bed sat an old
+woman of the people. Her ragged white locks were bound about by a fillet
+of black silk; her face, dark as burnt umber, was seamed and lined like
+a withered prune; even her long broad nose was wrinkled; her dull eyes
+looked like mud-puddles; her big underlip was pursed up as if she had
+been speaking mincing words, and her chin was covered with a short white
+stubble. Over her coarse smock and gown she wore a black cotton reboso.
+In her arms she held an infant, muffled in a white lace mantilla.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia came in and bent over the baby, her strong face alight
+with joy.
+
+"Didst thou ever nurse so beautiful a baby?" she demanded.
+
+The old woman grunted; she had heard that question before.
+
+"See how pink and smooth it is--not red and wrinkled like other babies!
+How becoming is that mantilla! No, she shall not be wrapped in blankets,
+cap, and shawls."
+
+"She catch cold, most likely," grunted the nurse.
+
+"In this weather? No; it is soft as midsummer. I cannot get cool. Ay,
+she looks like a rosebud lying in a fog-bank!" She touched the baby's
+cheek with her finger, then sat on the bed, beside her daughter.
+"And how dost thou feel, my little one? Thou wert a baby thyself but
+yesterday, and thou art not much more to-day."
+
+"I feel perfectly well, my mother, and--ay, Dios, so happy! Where is
+Edourdo?"
+
+"Of course! Always the husband! They are all alike! Hast thou not thy
+mother and thy baby?"
+
+"I adore you both, mamacita, but I want Edourdo. Where is he?"
+
+Her mother grimaced. "I suppose it is no use to protest. Well, my little
+one, I think he is at this moment on the hill with Lieutenant Ord."
+
+"Why did he not come to see me before he went out?"
+
+"He did, my daughter, but thou wert asleep. He kissed thee and stole
+away."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Right there on your cheek, one inch below your eyelashes."
+
+"When will he return?"
+
+"Holy Mary! For dinner, surely, and that will be in an hour."
+
+"When can I get up?"
+
+"In another week. Thou art so well! I would not have thee draw too
+heavily on thy little strength. Another month and thou wilt not remember
+that thou hast been ill. Then we will go to the rancho, where thou and
+thy little one will have sun all day and no fog."
+
+"Have I not a good husband, mamacita?"
+
+"Yes; I love him like my own son. Had he been unkind to thee, I should
+have killed him with my own hands; but as he has his lips to thy little
+slipper, I forgive him for being an American."
+
+"And you no longer wish for a necklace of American ears! Oh, mamma!"
+
+Doņa Eustaquia frowned, then sighed. "I do not know the American head
+for which I have not more like than hate, and they are welcome to their
+ears; but _the spirit_ of that wish is in my heart yet, my child. Our
+country has been taken from us; we are aliens in our own land; it is the
+American's. They--holy God!--permit us to live here!"
+
+"But they like us better than their own women."
+
+"Perhaps; they are men and like what they have not had too long."
+
+"Mamacita, I am thirsty."
+
+"What wilt thou have? A glass of water?"
+
+"Water has no taste."
+
+"I know!"
+
+Doņa Eustaquia left the room and returned with an orange. "This will be
+cool and pleasant on so warm a day. It is just a little sour," she said;
+but the nurse raised her bony hand.
+
+"Do not give her that," she said in her harsh voice. "It is too soon."
+
+"Nonsense! The baby is two weeks old. Why, I ate fruit a week after
+childing. Look how dry her mouth is! It will do her good."
+
+She pared the orange and gave it to Benicia, who ate it gratefully.
+
+"It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me always, but that is because
+you are so good. And one day I hope you will be as happy as your little
+daughter; for there are other good Americans in the world. No? mamma. I
+think--Mamacita!"
+
+She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curving rigidly; her soft
+brown eyes stared horribly; froth gathered about her mouth; she gasped
+once or twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms that strove to
+hold it, then fell limply down, her features relaxing.
+
+"She is dead," said the nurse.
+
+"Benicia!" whispered Doņa Eustaquia. "Benicia!"
+
+"You have killed her," said the old woman, as she drew the mantilla
+about the baby's face.
+
+Doņa Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. She
+put out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and from
+thence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her.
+
+"Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! _My dear_! What has happened? What--"
+
+She raised her hand and pointed to the cross. The mark of the dagger was
+still there.
+
+"Benicia!" she uttered. "The curse!" and then she fell at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+THE WASH-TUB MAIL
+
+
+PART I
+
+"Mariquita! Thou good-for-nothing, thou art wringing that smock in
+pieces! Thy seņora will beat thee! Holy heaven, but it is hot!"
+
+"For that reason I hurry, old Faquita. Were I as slow as thou, I should
+cook in my own tallow."
+
+"Aha, thou art very clever! But I have no wish to go back to the rancho
+and wash for the cooks. Ay, yi! I wonder will La Tulita ever give me her
+bridal clothes to wash. I have no faith that little flirt will marry the
+Seņor Don Ramon Garcia. He did not well to leave Monterey until after
+the wedding. And to think--Ay! yi!"
+
+"Thou hast a big letter for the wash-tub mail, Faquita."
+
+"Aha, my Francesca, thou hast interest! I thought thou wast thinking
+only of the bandits."
+
+Francesca, who was holding a plunging child between her knees, actively
+inspecting its head, grunted but did not look up, and the oracle of
+the wash-tubs, provokingly, with slow movements of her knotted
+coffee-coloured arms, flapped a dainty skirt, half-covered with drawn
+work, before she condescended to speak further.
+
+Twenty women or more, young and old, dark as pine cones, stooped or sat,
+knelt or stood, about deep stone tubs sunken in the ground at the foot
+of a hill on the outskirts of Monterey. The pines cast heavy shadows on
+the long slope above them, but the sun was overhead. The little white
+town looked lifeless under its baking red tiles, at this hour of
+siesta. On the blue bay rode a warship flying the American colours. The
+atmosphere was so clear, the view so uninterrupted, that the younger
+women fancied they could read the name on the prow: the town was on the
+right; between the bay and the tubs lay only the meadow, the road, the
+lake, and the marsh. A few yards farther down the road rose a hill where
+white slabs and crosses gleamed beneath the trees. The roar of the surf
+came refreshingly to their hot ears. It leaped angrily, they fancied, to
+the old fort on the hill where men in the uniform of the United States
+moved about with unsleeping vigilance. It was the year 1847. The
+Americans had come and conquered. War was over, but the invaders guarded
+their new possessions.
+
+The women about the tubs still bitterly protested against the downfall
+of California, still took an absorbing interest in all matters,
+domestic, social, and political. For those old women with grizzled locks
+escaping from a cotton handkerchief wound bandwise about their heads,
+their ample forms untrammelled by the flowing garment of calico, those
+girls in bright skirts and white short-sleeved smock and young hair
+braided, knew all the news of the country, past and to come, many hours
+in advance of the dons and doņas whose linen they washed in the great
+stone tubs: the Indians, domestic and roving, were their faithful
+friends.
+
+"Sainted Mary, but thou art more slow than a gentleman that walks!"
+cried Mariquita, an impatient-looking girl. "Read us the letter. La
+Tulita is the prettiest girl in Monterey now that the Seņorita Ysabel
+Herrera lies beneath the rocks, and Benicia Ortega has died of her
+childing. But she is a flirt--that Tulita! Four of the Gringos are under
+her little slipper this year, and she turn over the face and roll in the
+dirt. But Don Ramon, so handsome, so rich--surely she will marry him."
+
+Faquita shook her head slowly and wisely. "There--come
+--yesterday--from--the--South--a--young--lieutenant--of--America." She
+paused a moment, then proceeded leisurely, though less provokingly. "He
+come over the great American deserts with General Kearney last year and
+help our men to eat the dust in San Diego. He come only yesterday to
+Monterey, and La Tulita is like a little wild-cat ever since. She box my
+ears this morning when I tell her that the Americans are bandoleros, and
+say she never marry a Californian. And never Don Ramon Garcia, ay, yi!"
+
+By this time the fine linen was floating at will upon the water, or
+lying in great heaps at the bottom of the clear pools. The suffering
+child scampered up through the pines with whoops of delight. The
+washing-women were pressed close about Faquita, who stood with thumbs on
+her broad hips, the fingers contracting and snapping as she spoke, wisps
+of hair bobbing back and forth about her shrewd black eyes and scolding
+mouth.
+
+"Who is he? Where she meet him?" cried the audience. "Oh, thou old
+carreta! Why canst thou not talk faster?"
+
+"If thou hast not more respect, Seņorita Mariquita, thou wilt hear
+nothing. But it is this. There is a ball last night at Doņa Maria
+Ampudia's house for La Tulita. She look handsome, that witch! Holy Mary!
+When she walk it was like the tule in the river. You know. Why she have
+that name? She wear white, of course, but that frock--it is like the
+cobweb, the cloud. She has not the braids like the other girls, but the
+hair, soft like black feathers, fall down to the feet. And the eyes like
+blue stars! You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so long, and
+black like the hair. And the sparkle! No eyes ever sparkle like those.
+The eyes of Ysabel Herrera look like they want the world and never
+can get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the child's. But La
+Tulita's! They sparkle like the devil sit behind and strike fire out
+red-hot iron--"
+
+"Mother of God!" cried Mariquita, impatiently, "we all know thou art
+daft about that witch! And we know how she looks. Tell us the story."
+
+"Hush thy voice or thou wilt hear nothing. It is this way. La Tulita
+have the castanets and just float up and down the sala, while all stand
+back and no breathe only when they shout. I am in the garden in the
+middle the house, and I stand on a box and look through the doors. Ay,
+the roses and the nasturtiums smell so sweet in that little garden!
+Well! She dance so beautiful, I think the roof go to jump off so she can
+float up and live on one the gold stars all by herself. Her little feet
+just twinkle! Well! The door open and Lieutenant Ord come in. He have
+with him another young man, not so handsome, but so straight, so sharp
+eye and tight mouth. He look at La Tulita like he think she belong to
+America and is for him. Lieutenant Ord go up to Doņa Maria and say, so
+polite: 'I take the liberty to bring Lieutenant'--I no can remember that
+name, so American! 'He come to-day from San Diego and will stay with us
+for a while.' And Doņa Maria, she smile and say, very sweet, 'Very glad
+when I have met all of our conquerors.' And he turn red and speak very
+bad Spanish and look, look, at La Tulita. Then Lieutenant Ord speak to
+him in English and he nod the head, and Lieutenant Ord tell Doņa Maria
+that his friend like be introduced to La Tulita, and she say, 'Very
+well,' and take him over to her who is now sit down. He ask her to waltz
+right away, and he waltz very well, and then they dance again, and once
+more. And then they sit down and talk, talk. God of my soul, but the
+caballeros are mad! And Doņa Maria! By and by she can stand it no more
+and she go up to La Tulita and take away from the American and say, 'Do
+you forget--and for a bandolero--that you are engage to my nephew?' And
+La Tulita toss the head and say: 'How can I remember Ramon Garcia when
+he is in Yerba Buena? I forget he is alive.' And Doņa Maria is very
+angry. The eyes snap. But just then the little sister of La Tulita run
+into the sala, the face red like the American flag. 'Ay, Herminia!' she
+just gasp. 'The donas! The donas! It has come!'"
+
+"The donas!" cried the washing-women, old and young. "Didst thou see
+it, Faquita? Oh, surely. Tell us, what did he send? Is he a generous
+bridegroom? Were there jewels? And satins? Of what was the rosary?"
+
+"Hush the voice or you will hear nothing. The girls all jump and clap
+their hands and they cry: 'Come, Herminia. Come quick! Let us go and
+see.' Only La Tulita hold the head very high and look like the donas is
+nothing to her, and the Lieutenant look very surprise, and she talk to
+him very fast like she no want him to know what they mean. But the girls
+just take her hands and pull her out the house. I am after. La Tulita
+look very mad, but she cannot help, and in five minutes we are at the
+Casa Rivera, and the girls scream and clap the hands in the sala for
+Doņa Carmen she have unpack the donas and the beautiful things are on
+the tables and the sofas and the chairs, Mother of God!"
+
+"Go on! Go on!" cried a dozen exasperated voices.
+
+"Well! Such a donas. Ay, he is a generous lover. A yellow crepe shawl
+embroidered with red roses. A white one with embroidery so thick it can
+stand up. A string of pearls from Baja California. (Ay, poor Ysabel
+Herrera!) Hoops of gold for the little ears of La Tulita. A big chain
+of California gold. A set of topaz with pearls all round. A rosary of
+amethyst--purple like the violets. A big pin painted with the Ascension,
+and diamonds all round. Silks and satins for gowns. A white lace
+mantilla, Dios de mi alma! A black one for the visits. And the
+night-gowns like cobwebs. The petticoats!" She stopped abruptly.
+
+"And the smocks?" cried her listeners, excitedly. "The smocks? They are
+more beautiful than Blandina's? They were pack in rose-leaves--"
+
+"Ay! yi! yi! yi!" The old woman dropped her head on her breast and waved
+her arms. She was a study for despair. Even she did not suspect how
+thoroughly she was enjoying herself.
+
+"What! What! Tell us! Quick, thou old snail. They were not fine? They
+had not embroidery?"
+
+"Hush the voices. I tell you when I am ready. The girls are like crazy.
+They look like they go to eat the things. Only La Tulita sit on the
+chair in the door with her back to all and look at the windows of Doņa
+Maria. They look like a long row of suns, those windows.
+
+"I am the one. Suddenly I say: 'Where are the smocks?' And they all cry:
+'Yes, where are the smocks? Let us see if he will be a good husband.
+Doņa Carmen, where are the smocks?'
+
+"Doņa Carmen turn over everything in a hurry. 'I did not think of the
+smocks,' she say. 'But they must be here. Everything was unpack in this
+room.' She lift all up, piece by piece. The girls help and so do I.
+La Tulita sit still but begin to look more interested. We search
+everywhere--everywhere--for twenty minutes. There--are--no--smocks!"
+
+"God of my life! The smocks! He did not forget!"
+
+"He forget the smocks!"
+
+There was an impressive pause. The women were too dumfounded to comment.
+Never in the history of Monterey had such a thing happened before.
+
+Faquita continued: "The girls sit down on the floor and cry. Doņa Carmen
+turn very white and go in the other room. Then La Tulita jump up and
+walk across the room. The lashes fall down over the eyes that look like
+she is California and have conquer America, not the other way. The
+nostrils just jump. She laugh, laugh, laugh. 'So!' she say, 'my rich and
+generous and ardent bridegroom, he forget the smocks of the donas. He
+proclaim as if by a poster on the streets that he will be a bad husband,
+a thoughtless, careless, indifferent husband. He has vow by the stars
+that he adore me. He has serenade beneath my window until I have beg for
+mercy. He persecute my mother. And now he flings the insult of insults
+in my teeth. And he with six married sisters!'
+
+"The girls just sob. They can say nothing. No woman forgive that. Then
+she say loud, 'Ana,' and the girl run in. 'Ana,' she say, 'pack this
+stuff and tell José and Marcos take it up to the house of the Seņor Don
+Ramon Garcia. I have no use for it.' Then she say to me: 'Faquita, walk
+back to Doņa Maria's with me, no? I have engagement with the American.'
+And I go with her, of course; I think I go jump in the bay if she tell
+me; and she dance all night with that American. He no look at another
+girl--all have the eyes so red, anyhow. And Doņa Maria is crazy that her
+nephew do such a thing, and La Tulita no go to marry him now. Ay, that
+witch! She have the excuse and she take it."
+
+For a few moments the din was so great that the crows in a neighbouring
+grove of willows sped away in fear. The women talked all at once, at
+the top of their voices and with no falling inflections. So rich an
+assortment of expletives, secular and religious, such individuality yet
+sympathy of comment, had not been called upon for duty since the seventh
+of July, a year before, when Commodore Sloat had run up the American
+flag on the Custom-house. Finally they paused to recover breath.
+Mariquita's young lungs being the first to refill, she demanded of
+Faquita:--
+
+"And Don Ramon--when does he return?"
+
+"In two weeks, no sooner."
+
+
+PART II
+
+Two weeks later they were again gathered about the tubs.
+
+For a time after arrival they forgot La Tulita--now the absorbing topic
+of Monterey--in a new sensation. Mariquita had appeared with a basket of
+unmistakable American underwear.
+
+"What!" cried Faquita, shrilly. "Thou wilt defile these tubs with the
+linen of bandoleros? Hast thou had thy silly head turned with a kiss?
+Not one shirt shall go in this water."
+
+Mariquita tossed her head defiantly. "Captain Brotherton say the Indian
+women break his clothes in pieces. They know not how to wash anything
+but dish-rags. And does he not go to marry our Doņa Eustaquia?"
+
+"The Captain is not so bad," admitted Faquita. The indignation of the
+others also visibly diminished: the Captain had been very kind the year
+before when gloom lay heavy on the town. "But," continued the autocrat,
+with an ominous pressing of her lips, "sure he must change three times a
+day. Is all that Captain Brotherton's?"
+
+"He wear many shirts," began Mariquita, when Faquita pounced upon the
+basket and shook its contents to the grass.
+
+"Aha! It seems that the Captain has sometimes the short legs and
+sometimes the long. Sometimes he put the tucks in his arms, I suppose.
+What meaning has this? Thou monster of hypocrisy!"
+
+The old women scowled and snorted. The girls looked sympathetic: more
+than one midshipman had found favour in the lower quarter.
+
+"Well," said Mariquita, sullenly, "if thou must know, it is the linen of
+the Lieutenant of La Tulita. Ana ask me to wash it, and I say I will."
+
+At this announcement Faquita squared her elbows and looked at Mariquita
+with snapping eyes.
+
+"Oho, seņorita, I suppose thou wilt say next that thou knowest what
+means this flirtation! Has La Tulita lost her heart, perhaps? And Don
+Ramon--dost thou know why he leaves Monterey one hour after he comes?"
+Her tone was sarcastic, but in it was a note of apprehension.
+
+Mariquita tossed her head, and all pressed close about the rivals.
+
+"What dost thou know, this time?" inquired the girl, provokingly. "Hast
+thou any letter to read today? Thou dost forget, old Faquita, that Ana
+is my friend--"
+
+"Throw the clothes in the tubs," cried Faquita, furiously. "Do we come
+here to idle and gossip? Mariquita, thou hussy, go over to that tub by
+thyself and wash the impertinent American rags. Quick. No more talk. The
+sun goes high."
+
+No one dared to disobey the queen of the tubs, and in a moment the women
+were kneeling in irregular rows, tumbling their linen into the water,
+the brown faces and bright attire making a picture in the colorous
+landscape which some native artist would have done well to preserve. For
+a time no sound was heard but the distant roar of the surf, the sighing
+of the wind through the pines on the hill, the less romantic grunts of
+the women and the swish of the linen in the water. Suddenly Mariquita,
+the proscribed, exclaimed from her segregated tub:--
+
+"Look! Look!"
+
+Heads flew up or twisted on their necks. A party of young people,
+attended by a dueņa, was crossing the meadow to the road. At the head of
+the procession were a girl and a man, to whom every gaze which should
+have been intent upon washing-tubs alone was directed. The girl wore a
+pink gown and a reboso. Her extraordinary grace made her look taller
+than she was; the slender figure swayed with every step. Her pink lips
+were parted, her blue starlike eyes looked upward into the keen cold
+eyes of a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the United
+States army.
+
+The dominant characteristics of the young man's face, even then, were
+ambition and determination, and perhaps the remarkable future was
+foreshadowed in the restless scheming mind. But to-day his deep-set eyes
+were glowing with a light more peculiar to youth, and whenever bulging
+stones afforded excuse he grasped the girl's hand and held it as long
+as he dared. The procession wound past the tubs and crossing the road
+climbed up the hill to the little wooded cemetery of the early fathers,
+the cemetery where so many of those bright heads were to lie forgotten
+beneath the wild oats and thistles.
+
+"They go to the grave of Benicia Ortega and her little one," said
+Francesca. "Holy Mary! La Tulita never look in a man's eyes like that
+before."
+
+"But she have in his," said Mariquita, wisely.
+
+"No more talk!" cried Faquita, and once more silence came to her own.
+But fate was stronger than Faquita. An hour later a little girl came
+running down, calling to the old woman that her grandchild, the
+consolation of her age, had been taken ill. After she had hurried away
+the women fairly leaped over one another in their efforts to reach
+Mariquita's tub.
+
+"Tell us, tell us, chiquita," they cried, fearful lest Faquita's
+snubbing should have turned her sulky, "what dost thou know?"
+
+But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to keep back her story,
+opened them and spoke fluently.
+
+"Ay, my friends! Doņa Eustaquia and Benicia Ortega are not the only ones
+to wed Americans. Listen! La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no more
+handsome than the palm of my hand when it has all day been in the water.
+Yesterday morning came Don Ramon. I am in the back garden of the Casa
+Rivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front garden sitting under the
+wall. I can look through the doors of the sala and see and hear all.
+Such a handsome caballero, my friends! The gold six inches deep on the
+serape. Silver eagles on the sombrero. And the botas! Stamp with birds
+and leaves, ay, yi! He fling open the gates so bold, and when he see La
+Tulita he look like the sun is behind his face. (Such curls, my friends,
+tied with a blue ribbon!) But listen!
+
+"'Mi querida!' he cry, 'mi alma!' (Ay, my heart jump in my throat like
+he speak to me.) Then he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand. But
+she throw herself back like she hate him. Her eyes are like the bay in
+winter. And then she laugh. When she do that, he stand up and say with
+the voice that shake:--
+
+"'What is the matter, Herminia? Do you not love me any longer?'
+
+"'I never love you,' she say. 'They give me no peace until I say I marry
+you, and as I love no one else--I do not care much. But now that you
+have insult me, I have the best excuse to break the engagement, and I do
+it.'
+
+"'I insult you?' He hardly can speak, my friends, he is so surprised and
+unhappy.
+
+"'Yes; did you not forget the smocks?'
+
+"'The--smocks!' he stammer, like that. 'The smocks?'
+
+"'No one can be blame but you,' she say. 'And you know that no bride
+forgive that. You know all that it means.'
+
+"'Herminia!' he say. 'Surely you will not put me; away for a little
+thing like that!'
+
+"'I have no more to say,' she reply, and then she get up and go in the
+house and shut the door so I cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorry
+for him if he did forget the smocks. Well! That evening I help Ana water
+the flowers in the front garden, and every once in the while we look
+through the windows at La Tulita and the Lieutenant. They talk, talk,
+talk. He look so earnest and she--she look so beautiful. Not like a
+devil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in the morning, but like an angel.
+Sure, a woman can be both! It depends upon the man. By and by Ana go
+away, but I stay there, for I like look at them. After a while they get
+up and come out. It is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and the
+trees throw the shadows, so they cannot see me. They walk up and down,
+and by and by the Lieutenant take out his knife and cut a shoot from the
+rose-bush that climb up the house.
+
+"'These Castilian roses,' he say, very soft, but in very bad Spanish,
+'they are very beautiful and a part of Monterey--a part of you. Look, I
+am going to plant this here, and long before it grow to be a big bush I
+come back and you will wear its buds in your hair when we are married in
+that lovely old church. Now help me,' and then they kneel down and he
+stick it in the ground, and all their fingers push the earth around it.
+Then she give a little sob and say, 'You must go?'
+
+"He lift her up and put his arms around her tight. 'I must go,' he say.
+'I am not my own master, you know, and the orders have come. But my
+heart is here, in this old garden, and I come back for it.' And then she
+put her arms around him and he kiss her, and she love him so I forget to
+be sorry for Don Ramon. After all, it is the woman who should be happy.
+He hold her a long time, so long I am afraid Doņa Carmen come out to
+look for her. I lift up on my knees (I am sit down before) and look in
+the window and I see she is asleep, and I am glad. Well! After a while
+they walk up and down again, and he tell her all about his home far
+away, and about some money he go to get when the law get ready, and how
+he cannot marry on his pay. Then he say how he go to be a great general
+some day and how she will be the more beautiful woman in--how you call
+it?--Washington, I think. And she cry and say she does not care, she
+only want him. And he tell her water the rose-bush every day and think
+of him, and he will come back before it is large, and every time a bud
+come out she can know he is thinking of her very hard."
+
+"Ay, pobrecita!" said Francesca, "I wonder will he come back. These
+men!"
+
+"Surely. Are not all men mad for La Tulita?"
+
+"Yes--yes, but he go far away. To America! Dios de mi alma! And men,
+they forget." Francesca heaved a deep sigh. Her youth was far behind
+her, but she remembered many things.
+
+"He return," said Mariquita, the young and romantic.
+
+"When does he go?"
+
+Mariquita pointed to the bay. A schooner rode at anchor. "He go to Yerba
+Buena on that to-morrow morning. From there to the land of the American.
+Ay, yi! Poor La Tulita! But his linen is dry. I must take it to iron for
+I have it promised for six in the morning." And she hastily gathered the
+articles from the low bushes and hurried away.
+
+That evening as the women returned to town, talking gayly, despite the
+great baskets on their heads, they passed the hut of Faquita and paused
+at the window to inquire for the child. The little one lay gasping on
+the bed. Faquita sat beside her with bowed head. An aged crone brewed
+herbs over a stove. The dingy little house faced the hills and was dimly
+lighted by the fading rays of the sun struggling through the dark pine
+woods.
+
+"Holy Mary, Faquita!" said Francesca, in a loud whisper. "Does Liseta
+die?"
+
+Faquita sprang to her feet. Her cross old face was drawn with misery.
+"Go, go!" she said, waving her arms, "I want none of you."
+
+The next evening she sat in the same position, her eyes fixed upon the
+shrinking features of the child. The crone had gone. She heard the door
+open, and turned with a scowl. But it was La Tulita that entered and
+came rapidly to the head of the bed. The girl's eyes were swollen, her
+dress and hair disordered.
+
+"I have come to you because you are in trouble," she said. "I, too, am
+in trouble. Ay, my Faquita!"
+
+The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl down to her lap. She had
+never touched her idol before, but sorrow levels even social barriers.
+
+"Pobrecita!" she said, and the girl cried softly on her shoulder.
+
+"Will he come back, Faquita?"
+
+"Surely, niņita. No man could forget you."
+
+"But it is so far."
+
+"Think of what Don Vicente do for Doņa Ysabel, mijita."
+
+"But he is an American. Oh, no, it is not that I doubt him. He loves me!
+It is so far, like another world. And the ocean is so big and cruel."
+
+"We ask the priest to say a mass."
+
+"Ah, my Faquita! I will go to the church to-morrow morning. How glad I
+am that I came to thee." She kissed the old woman warmly, and for the
+moment Faquita forgot her trouble.
+
+But the child threw out its arms and moaned. La Tulita pushed the hair
+out of her eyes and brought the medicine from the stove, where it
+simmered unsavourily. The child swallowed it painfully, and Faquita
+shook her head in despair. At the dawn it died. As La Tulita laid her
+white fingers on the gaping eyelids, Faquita rose to her feet. Her ugly
+old face was transfigured. Even the grief had gone out of it. For a
+moment she was no longer a woman, but one of the most subtle creations
+of the Catholic religion conjoined with racial superstitions.
+
+"As the moon dieth and cometh to life again," she repeated with a sort
+of chanting cadence, "so man, though he die, will live again. Is it
+not better that she will wander forever through forests where crystal
+streams roll over golden sands, than grow into wickedness, and go
+out into the dark unrepenting, perhaps, to be bitten by serpents and
+scorched by lightning and plunged down cataracts?" She turned to La
+Tulita. "Will you stay here, seņorita, while I go to bid them make
+merry?"
+
+The girl nodded, and the woman went out. La Tulita watched the proud
+head and erect carriage for a moment, then bound up the fallen jaw of
+the little corpse, crossed its hands and placed weights on the eyelids.
+She pushed the few pieces of furniture against the wall, striving to
+forget the one trouble that had come into her triumphant young life. But
+there was little to do, and after a time she knelt by the window and
+looked up at the dark forest upon which long shafts of light were
+striking, routing the fog that crouched in the hollows. The town was as
+quiet as a necropolis. The white houses, under the black shadows of the
+hills, lay like tombs. Suddenly the roar of the surf came to her ears,
+and she threw out her arms with a cry, dropping her head upon them and
+sobbing convulsively. She heard the ponderous waves of the Pacific
+lashing the keel of a ship.
+
+She was aroused by shouting and sounds of merriment. She raised her head
+dully, but remembered in a moment what Faquita had left her to await.
+The dawn lay rosily on the town. The shimmering light in the pine woods
+was crossed and recrossed by the glare of rockets. Down the street came
+the sound of singing voices, the words of the song heralding the flight
+of a child-spirit to a better world. La Tulita slipped out of the back
+door and went to her home without meeting the procession. But before she
+shut herself in her room she awakened Ana, and giving her a purse of
+gold, bade her buy a little coffin draped with white and garlanded with
+white flowers.
+
+
+PART III
+
+"Tell us, tell us, Mariquita, does she water the rose-tree every night?"
+
+"Every night, ay, yi!"
+
+"And is it big yet? Ay, but that wall is high! Not a twig can I see!"
+
+"Yes, it grows!"
+
+"And he comes not?"
+
+"He write. I see the letters."
+
+"But what does he say?"
+
+"How can I know?"
+
+"And she goes to the balls and meriendas no more. Surely, they will
+forget her. It is more than a year now. Some one else will be La
+Favorita."
+
+"She does not care."
+
+"Hush the voices," cried Faquita, scrubbing diligently. "It is well that
+she stay at home and does not dance away her beauty before he come. She
+is like a lily."
+
+"But lilies turn brown, old Faquita, when the wind blow on them too
+long. Dost thou think he will return?"
+
+"Surely," said Faquita, stoutly. "Could any one forget that angel?"
+
+"Ay, these men, these men!" said Francesca, with a sigh.
+
+"Oh, thou old raven!" cried Mariquita. "But truly--truly--she has had no
+letter for three months."
+
+"Aha, seņorita, thou didst not tell us that just now."
+
+"Nor did I intend to. The words just fell from my teeth."
+
+"He is ill," cried Faquita, angrily. "Ay, my probrecita! Sometimes I
+think Ysabel is more happy under the rocks."
+
+"How dost thou know he is ill? Will he die?" The wash-tub mail had made
+too few mistakes in its history to admit of doubt being cast upon the
+assertion of one of its officials.
+
+"I hear Captain Brotherton read from a letter to Doņa Eustaquia. Ay,
+they are happy!"
+
+"When?"
+
+"Two hours ago."
+
+"Then we know before the town--like always."
+
+"Surely. Do we not know all things first? Hist!"
+
+The women dropped their heads and fumbled at the linen in the water. La
+Tulita was approaching.
+
+She came across the meadow with all her old swinging grace, the blue
+gown waving about her like the leaves of a California lily when the wind
+rustled the forest. But the reboso framed a face thin and pale, and the
+sparkle was gone from her eyes. She passed the tubs and greeted the old
+women pleasantly, walked a few steps up the hill, then turned as if in
+obedience to an afterthought, and sat down on a stone in the shade of a
+willow.
+
+"It is cool here," she said.
+
+"Yes, seņorita." They were not deceived, but they dared not stare at
+her, with Faquita's scowl upon them.
+
+"What news has the wash-tub mail to-day?" asked the girl, with an
+attempt at lightness. "Did an enemy invade the South this morning, and
+have you heard it already, as when General Kearney came? Is General
+Castro still in Baja California, or has he fled to Mexico? Has Doņa
+Prudencia Iturbi y Moncada given a ball this week at Santa Barbara? Have
+Don Diego and Doņa Chonita--?"
+
+"The young Lieutenant is ill," blurted out one of the old women, then
+cowered until she almost fell into her tub. Faquita sprang forward and
+caught the girl in her arms.
+
+"Thou old fool!" she cried furiously. "Thou devil! Mayst thou find a
+tarantula in thy bed to-night. Mayst thou dream thou art roasting in
+hell." She carried La Tulita rapidly across the meadow.
+
+"Ah, I thought I should hear there," said the girl, with a laugh. "Thank
+heaven for the wash-tub mail."
+
+Faquita nursed her through a long illness. She recovered both health
+and reason, and one day the old woman brought her word that the young
+Lieutenant was well again--and that his illness had been brief and
+slight.
+
+
+THE LAST
+
+"Ay, but the years go quick!" said Mariquita, as she flapped a piece of
+linen after taking it from the water. "I wonder do all towns sleep like
+this. Who can believe that once it is so gay? The balls! The grand
+caballeros! The serenades! The meriendas! No more! No more! Almost I
+forget the excitement when the Americanos coming. I no am young any
+more. Ay, yi!"
+
+"Poor Faquita, she just died of old age," said a woman who had been
+young with Mariquita, spreading an article of underwear on a bush. "Her
+life just drop out like her teeth. No one of the old women that taught
+us to wash is here now, Mariquita. We are the old ones now, and we teach
+the young, ay, yi!"
+
+"Well, it is a comfort that the great grow old like the low people. High
+birth cannot keep the skin white and the body slim. Ay, look! Who can
+think she is so beautiful before?"
+
+A woman was coming down the road from the town. A woman, whom
+passing years had browned, although leaving the fine strong features
+uncoarsened. She was dressed simply in black, and wore a small American
+bonnet. The figure had not lost the slimness of its youth, but the walk
+was stiff and precise. The carriage evinced a determined will.
+
+"Ay, who can think that once she sway like the tule!" said Mariquita,
+with a sigh. "Well, when she come to-day I have some news. A letter, we
+used to call it, dost thou remember, Brígida? Who care for the wash-tub
+mail now? These Americanos never hear of it, and our people--triste de
+mi--have no more the interest in anything."
+
+"Tell us thy news," cried many voices. The older women had never lost
+their interest in La Tulita. The younger ones had heard her story many
+times, and rarely passed the wall before her house without looking at
+the tall rose-bush which had all the pride of a young tree.
+
+"No, you can hear when she come. She will come to-day. Six months ago
+to-day she come. Ay, yi, to think she come once in six months all these
+years! And never until to-day has the wash-tub mail a letter for her."
+
+"Very strange she did not forget a Gringo and marry with a caballero,"
+said one of the girls, scornfully. "They say the caballeros were so
+beautiful, so magnificent. The Americans have all the money now, but she
+been rich for a little while."
+
+"All women are not alike. Sometimes I think she is more happy with the
+memory." And Mariquita, who had a fat lazy husband and a swarm of brown
+children, sighed heavily. "She live happy in the old house and is not so
+poor. And always she have the rose-bush. She smile, now, sometimes, when
+she water it."
+
+"Well, it is many years," said the girl, philosophically. "Here she
+come."
+
+La Tulita, or Doņa Herminia, as she now was called, walked briskly
+across the meadow and sat down on the stone which had come to be called
+for her. She spoke to each in turn, but did not ask for news. She had
+ceased long since to do that. She still came because the habit held her,
+and because she liked the women.
+
+"Ah, Mariquita," she said, "the linen is not as fine as when we were
+young. And thou art glad to get the shirts of the Americans now. My poor
+Faquita!"
+
+"Coarse things," said Mariquita, disdainfully. Then a silence fell,
+so sudden and so suggestive that Doņa Herminia felt it and turned
+instinctively to Mariquita.
+
+"What is it?" she asked rapidly. "Is there news to-day? Of what?"
+
+Mariquita's honest face was grave and important.
+
+"There is news, seņorita," she said.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+The washing-women had dropped back from the tubs and were listening
+intently.
+
+"Ay!" The oracle drew a long breath. "There is war over there, you know,
+seņorita," she said, making a vague gesture toward the Atlantic states.
+
+"Yes, I know. Is it decided? Is the North or the South victorious? I am
+glad that the wash-tub mail has not--"
+
+"It is not that, seņorita."
+
+"Then what?"
+
+"The Lieutenant--he is a great general now."
+
+"Ay!"
+
+"He has won a great battle--And--they speak of his wife, seņorita."
+
+Doņa Herminia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and
+glanced slowly about her. The blue bay, the solemn pines, the golden
+atmosphere, the cemetery on the hill, the women washing at the stone
+tubs--all was unchanged. Only the flimsy wooden houses of the Americans
+scattered among the adobes of the town and the aging faces of the women
+who had been young in her brief girlhood marked the lapse of years.
+There was a smile on her lips. Her monotonous life must have given her
+insanity or infinite peace, and peace had been her portion. In a few
+minutes she said good-by to the women and went home. She never went to
+the tubs again.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUEST OF DOŅA JACOBA
+
+
+I
+
+A forest of willows cut by a forking creek, and held apart here and
+there by fields of yellow mustard blossoms fluttering in their pale
+green nests, or meadows carpeted with the tiny white and yellow flowers
+of early summer. Wide patches of blue where the willows ended, and
+immense banks of daisies bordering fields of golden grain, bending and
+shimmering in the wind with the deep even sweep of rising tide. Then the
+lake, long, irregular, half choked with tules, closed by a marsh. The
+valley framed by mountains of purplish gray, dull brown, with patches of
+vivid green and yellow; a solitary gray peak, barren and rocky, in
+sharp contrast to the rich Californian hills; on one side fawn-coloured
+slopes, and slopes with groves of crouching oaks in their hollows;
+opposite and beyond the cold peak, a golden hill rising to a mount of
+earthy green; still lower, another peak, red and green, mulberry and
+mould; between and afar, closing the valley, a line of pink-brown
+mountains splashed with blue.
+
+Such was a fragment of Don Roberto Duncan's vast rancho, Los Quervos,
+and on a plateau above the willows stood the adobe house, white and
+red-tiled, shaped like a solid letter H. On the deep veranda, sunken
+between the short forearms of the H, Doņa Jacoba could stand and issue
+commands in her harsh imperious voice to the Indians in the rancheria
+among the willows, whilst the long sala behind overflowed with the gay
+company her famous hospitality had summoned, the bare floor and ugly
+velvet furniture swept out of thought by beautiful faces and flowered
+silken gowns.
+
+Behind the sala was an open court, the grass growing close to the great
+stone fountain. On either side was a long line of rooms, and above the
+sala was a library opening into the sleeping room of Doņa Jacoba on one
+side, and into that of Elena, her youngest and loveliest daughter, on
+the other. Beyond the house were a dozen or more buildings: the kitchen;
+a room in which steers and bullocks, sheep and pigs, were hanging;
+a storehouse containing provisions enough for a hotel; and the
+manufactories of the Indians. Somewhat apart was a large building with
+a billiard-room in its upper story and sleeping rooms below. From her
+window Elena could look down upon the high-walled corral with its
+prancing horses always in readiness for the pleasure-loving guests, and
+upon the broad road curving through the willows and down the valley.
+
+The great house almost shook with life on this brilliant day of the
+month of June, 1852. Don Roberto Duncan, into whose shrewd Scotch hands
+California had poured her wealth for forty years, had long ago taken
+to himself a wife of Castilian blood; to-morrow their eldest remaining
+daughter was to be married to a young Englishman, whose father had been
+a merchant in California when San Francisco was Yerba Buena. Not a room
+was vacant in the house. Young people had come from Monterey and San
+Francisco, Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. Beds had been put up in the
+library and billiard-room, in the store-rooms and attics. The corral was
+full of strange horses, and the huts in the willows had their humbler
+guests.
+
+Francisca sat in her room surrounded by a dozen chattering girls. The
+floor beneath the feet of the Californian heiress was bare, and the
+heavy furniture was of uncarved mahogany. But a satin quilt covered the
+bed, lavish Spanish needlework draped chest and tables, and through
+the open window came the June sunshine and the sound of the splashing
+fountain.
+
+Francisca was putting the last stitches in her wedding-gown, and the
+girls were helping, advising, and commenting.
+
+"Art thou not frightened, Panchita," demanded one of the girls, "to go
+away and live with a strange man? Just think, thou hast seen him but ten
+times."
+
+"What of that?" asked Francisca, serenely, holding the rich corded silk
+at arm's length, and half closing her eyes as she readjusted the deep
+flounce of Spanish lace. "Remember, we shall ride and dance and play
+games together for a week with all of you, dear friends, before I go
+away with him. I shall know him quite well by that time. And did not my
+father know him when he was a little boy? Surely, he cannot be a cruel
+man, or my father would not have chosen him for my husband."
+
+"I like the Americans and the Germans and the Russians," said the girl
+who had spoken, "particularly the Americans. But these English are so
+stern, so harsh sometimes."
+
+"What of that?" asked Francisca again. "Am I not used to my father?"
+
+She was a singular-looking girl, this compound of Scotch and Spanish.
+Her face was cast in her father's hard mould, and her frame was large
+and sturdy, but she had the black luxuriant hair of Spain, and much
+grace of gesture and expression.
+
+"I would not marry an Englishman," said a soft voice.
+
+Francisca raised her eyebrows and glanced coldly at the speaker, a girl
+of perfect loveliness, who sat behind a table, her chin resting on her
+clasped hands.
+
+"Thou wouldst marry whom our father told thee to marry, Elena," said her
+sister, severely. "What hast thou to say about it?"
+
+"I will marry a Spaniard," said Elena, rebelliously. "A Spaniard, and no
+other."
+
+"Thou wilt do what?" asked a cold voice from the door. The girls gave a
+little scream. Elena turned pale, even Francisca's hands twitched.
+
+Doņa Jacoba was an impressive figure as she stood in the doorway; a tall
+unbowed woman with a large face and powerful penetrating eyes. A thin
+mouth covering white teeth separated the prominent nose and square chin.
+A braid of thick black hair lay over her fine bust, and a black silk
+handkerchief made a turban for her lofty head. She wore a skirt of heavy
+black silk and a shawl of Chinese crępe, one end thrown gracefully over
+her shoulder.
+
+"What didst thou say?" she demanded again, a sneer on her lips.
+
+Elena made no answer. She stared through the window at the servants
+laying the table in the dining room on the other side of the court, her
+breath shortening as if the room had been exhausted of air.
+
+"Let me hear no more of that nonsense," continued her mother. "A strange
+remark, truly, to come from the lips of a Californian! Thy father has
+said that his daughters shall marry men of his race--men who belong to
+that island of the North; and I have agreed, and thy sisters are well
+married. No women are more virtuous, more industrious, more religious,
+than ours; but our men--our young men--are a set of drinking gambling
+vagabonds. Go to thy room and pray there until supper."
+
+Elena ran out of an opposite door, and Doņa Jacoba sat down on a
+high-backed chair and held out her hand for the wedding-gown. She
+examined it, then smiled brilliantly.
+
+"The lace is beautiful," she said. "There is no richer in California,
+and I have seen Doņa Trinidad Iturbi y Moncada's and Doņa Modeste
+Castro's. Let me see thy mantilla once more."
+
+Francisca opened a chest nearly as large as her bed, and shook out a
+long square of superb Spanish lace. It had arrived from the city of
+Mexico but a few days before. The girls clapped their admiring hands, as
+if they had not looked at it twenty times, and Doņa Jacoba smoothed it
+tenderly with her strong hands. Then she went over to the chest and
+lifted the beautiful silk and crępe gowns, one by one, her sharp eyes
+detecting no flaw. She opened another chest and examined the piles of
+underclothing and bed linen, all of finest woof, and deeply bordered
+with the drawn work of Spain.
+
+"All is well," she said, returning to her chair. "I see nothing more to
+be done. Thy brother will bring the emeralds, and the English plate will
+come before the week is over."
+
+"Is it sure that Santiago will come in time for the wedding?" asked
+a half-English granddaughter, whose voice broke suddenly at her own
+temerity.
+
+But Doņa Jacoba was in a gracious mood.
+
+"Surely. Has not Don Roberto gone to meet him? He will be here at four
+to-day."
+
+"How glad I shall be to see him!" said Francisca. "Just think, my
+friends, I have not seen him for seven years. Not since he was eleven
+years old. He has been on that cold dreadful island in the North all
+this time. I wonder has he changed!"
+
+"Why should he change?" asked Doņa Jacoba. "Is he not a Cortez and a
+Duncan? Is he not a Californian and a Catholic? Can a few years in an
+English school make him of another race? He is seven years older, that
+is all."
+
+"True," assented Francisca, threading her needle; "of course he could
+not change."
+
+Doņa Jacoba opened a large fan and wielded it with slow curves of her
+strong wrist. She had never been cold in her life, and even a June day
+oppressed her.
+
+"We have another guest," she said in a moment--"a young man, Don Dario
+Castaņares of Los Robles Rancho. He comes to buy cattle of my husband,
+and must remain with us until the bargain is over."
+
+Several of the girls raised their large black eyes with interest. "Don
+Dario Castaņares," said one; "I have heard of him. He is very rich and
+very handsome, they say."
+
+"Yes," said Doņa Jacoba, indifferently. "He is not ugly, but much too
+dark. His mother was an Indian. He is no husband, with all his leagues,
+for any Californian of pure Castilian blood."
+
+
+II
+
+Elena had gone up to her room, and would have locked the door had she
+possessed a key. As it was, she indulged in a burst of tears at the
+prospect of marrying an Englishman, then consoled herself with the
+thought that her best-beloved brother would be with her in a few hours.
+
+She bathed her face and wound the long black coils about her shapely
+head. The flush faded out of her white cheeks, and her eyelids were less
+heavy. But the sadness did not leave her eyes nor the delicate curves of
+her mouth. She had the face of the Madonna, stamped with the heritage of
+suffering; a nature so keenly capable of joy and pain that she drew both
+like a magnet, and would so long as life stayed in her.
+
+She curled herself in the window-seat, looking down the road for the
+gray cloud of dust that would herald her brother. But only black flocks
+of crows mounted screaming from the willows, to dive and rise again.
+Suddenly she became conscious that she was watched, and her gaze swept
+downward to the corral. A stranger stood by the gates, giving orders to
+a vaquero but looking hard at her from beneath his low-dropped sombrero.
+
+He was tall, this stranger, and very slight. His face was nearly as dark
+as an Indian's, but set with features so perfect that no one but Doņa
+Jacoba had ever found fault with his skin. Below his dreaming ardent
+eyes was a straight delicate nose; the sensuous mouth was half parted
+over glistening teeth and but lightly shaded by a silken mustache. About
+his graceful figure hung a dark red serape embroidered and fringed
+with gold, and his red velvet trousers were laced, and his yellow
+riding-boots gartered, with silver.
+
+Elena rose quickly and pulled the curtain across the window; the blood
+had flown to her hair, and a smile chased the sadness from her mouth.
+Then she raised her hands and pressed the palms against the slope of the
+ceiling, her dark upturned eyes full of terror. For many moments she
+stood so, hardly conscious of what she was doing, seeing only the
+implacable eyes of her mother. Then down the road came the loud regular
+hoof-falls of galloping horses, and with an eager cry she flung aside
+the curtain, forgetting the stranger.
+
+Down the road, half hidden by the willows, came two men. When they
+reached the rancheria, Elena saw the faces: a sandy-haired hard-faced
+old Scotsman, with cold blue eyes beneath shaggy red brows, and a dark
+slim lad, every inch a Californian. Elena waved her handkerchief and the
+lad his hat. Then the girl ran down the stairs and over to the willows.
+Santiago sprang from his horse, and the brother and sister clung
+together kissing and crying, hugging each other until her hair fell down
+and his hat was in the dust.
+
+"Thou hast come!" cried Elena at last, holding him at arm's length
+that she might see him better, then clinging to him again with all her
+strength. "Thou never wilt leave me again--promise me! Promise me, my
+Santiago! Ay, I have been so lonely."
+
+"Never, my little one. Have I not longed to come home that I might be
+with you? O my Elena! I know so much. I will teach you everything."
+
+"Ay, I am proud of thee, my Santiago! Thou knowest more than any boy in
+California--I know."
+
+"Perhaps that would not be much," with fine scorn. "But come, Elena mia,
+I must go to my mother; she is waiting. She looks as stern as ever; but
+how I have longed to see her!"
+
+They ran to the house, passing the stranger, who had watched them with
+folded arms and scowling brows. Santiago rushed impetuously at his
+mother; but she put out her arm, stiff and straight, and held him back.
+Then she laid her hand, with its vice-like grip, on his shoulder, and
+led him down the sala to the chapel at the end. It was arranged for the
+wedding, with all the pomp of velvet altar-cloth and golden candelabra.
+He looked at it wonderingly. Why had she brought him to look upon this
+before giving him a mother's greeting?
+
+"Kneel down," she said, "and repeat the prayers of thy Church--prayers
+of gratitude for thy safe return."
+
+The boy folded his hands deprecatingly.
+
+"But, mother, remember it is seven long years since I have said the
+Catholic prayers. Remember I have been educated in an English college,
+in a Protestant country."
+
+Her tall form curved slowly toward him, the blood blazed in her dark
+cheeks.
+
+"What!" she screamed incredulously. "Thou hast forgotten the prayers of
+thy Church--the prayers thou learned at my knee?"
+
+"Yes, mother, I have," he said desperately. "I cannot--"
+
+"God! God! Mother of God! My son says this to me!" She caught him by the
+shoulder again and almost hurled him from the room. Then she locked her
+hand about his arm and dragged him down the sala to his father's room.
+She took a greenhide reata from the table and brought it down upon his
+back with long sweeps of her powerful arm, but not another word came
+from her rigid lips. The boy quivered with the shame and pain, but made
+no resistance--for he was a Californian, and she was his mother.
+
+
+III
+
+Joaquin, the eldest son, who had been hunting bear with a number of his
+guests, returned shortly after his brother's arrival and was met at the
+door by his mother.
+
+"Where is Santiago?" he asked. "I hear he has come."
+
+"Santiago has been sent to bed, where he will remain for the present. We
+have an unexpected guest, Joaquin. He leans there against the tree--Don
+Dario Castaņares. Thou knowest who he is. He comes to buy cattle of thy
+father, and will remain some days. Thou must share thy room with him,
+for there is no other place--even on the billiard-table."
+
+Joaquin liked the privacy of his room, but he had all the hospitality of
+his race. He went at once to the stranger, walking a little heavily,
+for he was no longer young and slender, but with a cordial smile on his
+shrewd warmly coloured face.
+
+"The house is at your service, Don Dario," he said, shaking the
+newcomer's hand. "We are honoured that you come in time for my sister's
+wedding. It distresses me that I cannot offer you the best room in the
+house, but, Dios! we have a company here. I have only the half of my
+poor bed to offer you, but if you will deign to accept that--"
+
+"I am miserable, wretched, to put you to such inconvenience--"
+
+"Never think of such a thing, my friend. Nothing could give me greater
+happiness than to try to make you comfortable in my poor room. Will you
+come now and take a siesta before supper?"
+
+Dario followed him to the house, protesting at every step, and Joaquin
+threw open the door of one of the porch rooms.
+
+"At your service, seņor--everything at your service."
+
+He went to one corner of the room and kicked aside a pile of saddles,
+displaying a small hillock of gold in ten-and fifty-dollar slugs. "You
+will find about thirty thousand dollars there. We sold some cattle a
+days ago. I beg that you will help yourself. It is all at your service.
+I will now go and send you some aguardiente, for you must be thirsty."
+And he went out and left his guest alone.
+
+Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. He was in love, and the
+lady had kissed another man as if she had no love to spare. True, it was
+but her brother she had kissed, but would she have eyes for any one else
+during a stranger's brief visit? And how, in this crowded house, could
+he speak a word with her alone? And that terrible dragon of a mother!
+He sprang to his feet as an Indian servant entered with a glass of
+aguardiente. When he had burnt his throat, he felt better. "I will stay
+until I have won her, if I remain a month," he vowed. "It will be some
+time before Don Roberto will care to talk business."
+
+But Don Roberto was never too occupied to talk business. After he had
+taken his bath and siesta, he sent a servant to request Don Dario
+Castaņares to come up to the library, where he spent most of his time,
+received all his visitors, reprimanded his children, and took his
+after-dinner naps. It was a luxurious room for the Californian of that
+day. A thick red English carpet covered the floor; one side of the room
+was concealed by a crowded bookcase, and the heavy mahogany furniture
+was handsomely carved, although upholstered with horse-hair.
+
+In an hour every detail of the transaction had been disposed of, and
+Dario had traded a small rancho for a herd of cattle. The young man's
+face was very long when the last detail had been arranged, but he had
+forgotten that his host was as Californian as himself. Don Roberto
+poured him a brimming glass of angelica and gave him a hearty slap on
+the back.
+
+"The cattle will keep for a few days, Don Dario," he said, "and you
+shall not leave this house until the festivities are over. Not until
+a week from to-morrow--do you hear? I knew your father. We had many a
+transaction together, and I take pleasure in welcoming his son under my
+roof. Now get off to the young people, and do not make any excuses."
+
+Dario made none.
+
+
+IV
+
+The next morning at eight, Francisca stood before the altar in the
+chapel, looking very handsome in her rich gown and soft mantilla. The
+bridegroom, a sensible-looking young Englishman, was somewhat nervous,
+but Francisca might have been married every morning at eight o'clock.
+Behind them stood Don Roberto in a new suit of English broadcloth, and
+Doņa Jacoba in heavy lilac silk, half covered with priceless lace. The
+six bridesmaids looked like a huge bouquet, in their wide delicately
+coloured skirts. Their dark eyes, mischievous, curious, thoughtful,
+flashed more brilliantly than the jewels they wore.
+
+The sala and Don Roberto's room beyond were so crowded that some of the
+guests stood in the windows, and many could not enter the doors; every
+family within a hundred leagues had come to the wedding. The veranda was
+crowded with girls, the sparkling faces draped in black mantillas or
+bright rebosos, the full gay gowns fluttering in the breeze. Men in
+jingling spurs and all the bravery of gold-laced trousers and short
+embroidered jackets respectfully elbowed their way past brown and stout
+old women that they might whisper a word into some pretty alert little
+ear. They had all ridden many leagues that morning, but there was not
+a trace of fatigue on any face. The court behind the sala was full of
+Indian servants striving to catch a glimpse of the ceremony.
+
+Dario stood just within the front door, his eyes eagerly fixed upon
+Elena. She looked like a California lily in her white gown; even her
+head drooped a little as if a storm had passed. Her eyes were absent and
+heavy; they mirrored nothing of the solemn gayety of the morning; they
+saw only the welts on her brother's back.
+
+Dario had not seen her since Santiago's arrival. She had not appeared at
+supper, and he had slept little in consequence; in fact, he had spent
+most of the night playing _monte_ with Joaquin and a dozen other young
+men in the billiard-room.
+
+During the bridal mass the padre gave communion to the young couple, and
+to those that had made confession the night before. Elena was not of the
+number, and during the intense silence she drew back and stood and knelt
+near Dario. They were not close enough to speak, had they dared; but the
+Californian had other speech than words, and Dario and Elena made their
+confession that morning.
+
+During breakfast they were at opposite ends of the long table in the
+dining room, but neither took part in the songs and speeches, the toasts
+and laughter. Both had done some manoeuvring to get out of sight of the
+old people, and sit at one of the many other tables in the sala, on the
+corridor, in the court; but Elena had to go with the bridesmaids, and
+Joaquin insisted upon doing honour to the uninvited guest. The Indian
+servants passed the rich and delicate, the plain and peppered, dishes,
+the wines and the beautiful cakes for which Doņa Jacoba and her
+daughters were famous. The massive plate that had done duty for
+generations in Spain was on the table; the crystal had been cut in
+England. It was the banquet of a grandee, and no one noticed the silent
+lovers.
+
+After breakfast the girls flitted to their rooms and changed their
+gowns, and wound rebosos or mantillas about their heads; the men put off
+their jackets for lighter ones of flowered calico, and the whole party,
+in buggies or on horseback, started for a bull-fight which was to take
+place in a field about a mile behind the house. Elena went in a buggy
+with Santiago, who was almost as pale as she. Dario, on horseback, rode
+as near her as he dared; but when they reached the fence about the field
+careless riders crowded between, and he could only watch her from afar.
+
+The vaqueros in their broad black hats shining with varnish, their black
+velvet jackets, their crimson sashes, and short, black velvet trousers
+laced with silver cord over spotless linen, looked very picturesque as
+they dashed about the field jingling their spurs and shouting at each
+other. When the bulls trotted in and greeted each other pleasantly,
+the vaqueros swung their hissing reatas and yelled until the maddened
+animals wreaked their vengeance on each other, and the serious work of
+the day began.
+
+Elena leaned back with her fan before her eyes, but Santiago looked on
+eagerly in spite of his English training.
+
+"Caramba!" he cried, "but that old bull is tough. Look, Elena! The
+little one is down. No, no! He has the big one. Ay! yi, yi! By Jove! he
+is gone--no, he has run off--he is on him again! He has ripped him up!
+Brava! brava!"
+
+A cheer as from one throat made the mountains echo, but Elena still held
+her fan before the field.
+
+"How canst thou like such bloody sport?" she asked disgustedly. "The
+poor animals! What pleasure canst thou take to see a fine brute kicking
+in his death-agony, his bowels trailing on the ground?"
+
+"Fie, Elena! Art thou not a Californian? Dost thou not love the sport of
+thy country? Why, look at the other girls! They are mad with excitement.
+By Jove! I never saw so many bright eyes. I wonder if I shall be too
+stiff to dance to-night. Elena, she gave me a beating! But tell me,
+little one, why dost thou not like the bull-fight? I feel like another
+man since I have seen it."
+
+"I cannot be pleased with cruelty. I shall never get used to see beasts
+killed for amusement. And Don Dario Castaņares does not like it either.
+He never smiled once, nor said 'Brava!'"
+
+"Aha! And how dost thou know whether he did or not? I thought thy face
+was behind that big black fan."
+
+"I saw him through the sticks. What does 'By Jove' mean, my Santiago?"
+
+He enlightened her, then stood up eagerly. Another bull had been brought
+in, and one of the vaqueros was to fight him. During the next two hours
+Santiago gave little thought to his sister, and sometimes her long
+black lashes swept above the top of her fan. When five or six bulls had
+stamped and roared and gored and died, the guests of Los Quervos went
+home to chocolate and siesta, the others returned to their various
+ranchos.
+
+But Dario took no nap that day. Twice he had seen an Indian girl at
+Elena's window, and as the house settled down to temporary calm, he saw
+the girl go to the rancheria among the willows. He wrote a note, and
+followed her as soon as he dared. She wore a calico frock, exactly like
+a hundred others, and her stiff black hair cut close to her neck in the
+style enforced by Doņa Jacoba; but Dario recognized her imitation of
+Elena's walk and carriage. He was very nervous, but he managed to stroll
+about and make his visit appear one of curiosity. As he passed the girl
+he told her to follow him, and in a few moments they were alone in
+a thicket. He had hard work to persuade her to take the note to her
+mistress, for she stood in abject awe of Doņa Jacoba; but love of Elena
+and sympathy for the handsome stranger prevailed, and the girl went off
+with the missive.
+
+The staircase led from Don Roberto's room to Doņa Jacoba's; but the
+lady's all-seeing eyes were closed, and the master was snoring in his
+library. Malia tiptoed by both, and Elena, who had been half asleep, sat
+up, trembling with excitement, and read the impassioned request for an
+interview. She lifted her head and listened, panting a little. Then
+she ran to the door and looked into the library. Her father was sound
+asleep; there could he no doubt of that. She dared not write an answer,
+but she closed the door and put her lips to the girl's ear.
+
+"Tell him," she murmured, horrified at her own boldness--"tell him to
+take me out for the contradanza tonight. There is no other chance." And
+the girl went back and delivered the message.
+
+
+V
+
+The guests and family met again at supper; but yards of linen and mounds
+of plate, spirited, quickly turning heads, flowered muslin gowns and
+silken jackets, again separated Dario and Elena. He caught a glimpse now
+and again of her graceful head turning on its white throat, or of her
+sad pure profile shining before her mother's stern old face.
+
+Immediately after supper the bride and groom led the way to the sala,
+the musicians tuned their violins and guitars, and after an hour's
+excited comment upon the events of the day the dancing began. Doņa
+Jacoba could be very gracious when she chose, and she moved among her
+guests like a queen to-night, begging them to be happy, and electrifying
+them with her brilliant smile. She dispelled their awe of her with
+magical tact, and when she laid her hand on one young beauty's shoulder,
+and told her that her eyes put out the poor candles of Los Quervos, the
+girl was ready to fling herself on the floor and kiss the tyrant's feet.
+Elena watched her anxiously. Her father petted her in his harsh abrupt
+way. If she had ever received a kiss from her mother, she did not
+remember it; but she worshipped the blinding personality of the woman,
+although she shook before the relentless will. But that her mother was
+pleased to be gracious tonight was beyond question, and she gave Dario a
+glance of timid encouragement, which brought him to her side at once.
+
+"At your feet, seņorita," he said; "may I dare to beg the honour of the
+contradanza?"
+
+She bent her slender body in a pretty courtesy. "It is a small favour to
+grant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence."
+
+He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the graceful
+swaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventional
+remarks.
+
+"You did not like bull-fighting, seņorita?"
+
+"He watched me," she thought. "No, seņor. I like nothing that is cruel."
+
+"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful,
+seņorita."
+
+"I am but a little country girl, seņor. You must have seen far more
+beautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"
+
+"Yes, seņorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even Doņa
+Modeste Castro. Once, too--that was before the Americans came--I saw the
+Seņorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a church
+and murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you,
+seņorita."
+
+The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. "He must love me," she
+told herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin
+says she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen."
+
+"You compliment me, seņor," she answered vaguely. "She had wonderful
+green eyes. So has the Seņora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so many
+other girls'."
+
+"They are the most beautiful eyes in California. They are like the
+Madonna's. I do not care for green eyes." His black ones flashed their
+language to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been unhappy. She
+barely remembered where she was, forgot that she was a helpless bird in
+a golden cage. Her mate had flown through the open door.
+
+The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario held her in his arms his
+last remnant of prudence gave way.
+
+"Elena, Elena," he murmured passionately, "I love thee. Dost thou not
+know it? Dost thou not love me a little? Ay, Elena! I have not slept one
+hour since I saw thee."
+
+She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still dwelt in their
+depths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust. She had no
+coquetry in her straightforward and simple nature.
+
+"Yes," she whispered, "I love thee."
+
+"And thou art happy, querida mia? Thou art happy here in my arms?"
+
+She let her cheek rest for a moment against his shoulder. "Yes, I am
+very happy."
+
+"And thou wilt marry me?"
+
+The words brought her back to reality, and the light left her face.
+
+"Ay," she said, "why did you say that? It cannot ever be."
+
+"But it shall be! Why not? I will speak with Don Roberto in the
+morning."
+
+The hand that lay on his shoulder clutched him suddenly. "No, no," she
+said hurriedly; "promise me that you will not speak to him for two or
+three days at least. My father wants us all to marry Englishmen. He is
+kind, and he loves me, but he is mad for Englishmen. And we can be happy
+meanwhile."
+
+The music stopped, and he could only murmur his promises before leading
+her back to her mother.
+
+He dared not take her out again, but he danced with no one else in spite
+of many inviting eyes, and spent the rest of the night on the corridor,
+where he could watch her unobserved. The walls were so thick at Los
+Quervos that each window had a deep seat within and without. Dario
+ensconced himself, and was comfortable, if tumultuous.
+
+
+VI
+
+With dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon Los Quervos. But at
+twelve gay voices and laughter came through every window. The family and
+guests were taking their cold bath, ready for another eighteen hours of
+pleasure.
+
+Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates of the corral were
+thrown open and a band of horses, golden bronze in colour, with silvern
+mane and tail, silken embroidered saddles on their slender backs,
+trotted up to the door. The beautiful creatures shone in the sun like
+burnished armour; they arched their haughty necks and lifted their small
+feet as if they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son.
+
+The girls wore short riding-skirts, gay sashes, and little round
+hats. The men wore thin jackets of brightly coloured silk, gold-laced
+knee-breeches, and silver spurs. They tossed the girls upon their
+saddles, vaulted into their own, and all started on a wild gallop for
+the races.
+
+Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride by Elena's side. It was
+impossible to exchange a word with her, for keen and mischievous ears
+were about them; but they were close together, and a kind of ecstasy
+possessed them both. The sunshine was so golden, the quivering visible
+air so full of soft intoxication! They were filled with a reckless
+animal joy of living--the divine right of youth to exist and be happy.
+The bars of Elena's cage sank into the warm resounding earth; she wanted
+to cry aloud her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as it
+passed. Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full. She looked at Dario, and
+he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks.
+
+The representatives of many ranchos, their wives and daughters, awaited
+the party from Los Quervos. But none pushed his way between Dario and
+Elena that day. And they both enjoyed the races; they were in a mood to
+enjoy anything. They became excited and shouted with the rest as the
+vaqueros flew down the field. Dario bet and lost a ranchita, then bet
+and won another. He won a herd of cattle, a band of horses, a saddle-bag
+of golden slugs. Surely, fortune smiled on him from the eyes of Elena.
+When the races were over they galloped down to the ocean and over the
+cliffs and sands, watching the ponderous waves fling themselves on the
+rocks, then retreat and rear their crests, to thunder on again.
+
+"The fog!" cried some one. "The fog!" And with shrieks of mock terror
+they turned their horses' heads and raced down the valley, the fog after
+them like a phantom tidal wave; but they outstripped it, and sprang from
+their horses at the corridor of Los Quervos with shouts of triumph and
+lightly blown kisses to the enemy.
+
+After supper they found eggs piled upon silver dishes in the sala, and
+with cries of "Cascaron! Cascaron!" they flung them at each other, the
+cologne and flour and tinsel with which the shells were filled deluging
+and decorating them.
+
+Doņa Jacoba again was in a most gracious mood, and leaned against the
+wall, an amused smile on her strong serene face. Her husband stood by
+her, and she indicated Elena by a motion of her fan.
+
+"Is she not beautiful to-night, our little one?" she asked proudly.
+"See how pink her cheeks are! Her eyes shine like stars. She is the
+handsomest of all our children, viejo."
+
+"Yes," he said, something like tenderness in his cold blue eyes, "there
+is no prettier girl on twenty ranchos. She shall marry the finest
+Englishman of them all."
+
+Elena threw a cascaron directly into Dario's mouth, and although the
+cologne scalded his throat, he heroically swallowed it, and revenged
+himself by covering her black locks with flour. The guests, like the
+children they were, chased each other all over the house, up and down
+the stairs; the men hid under tables, only to have a sly hand break a
+cascaron on the back of their heads, and to receive a deluge down the
+spinal column. The bride chased her dignified groom out into the yard,
+and a dozen followed. Then Dario found his chance.
+
+Elena was after him, and as they passed beneath a tree he turned like a
+flash and caught her in his arms and kissed her. For a second she tried
+to free herself, mindful that her sisters had not kissed their lovers
+until they stood with them in the chapel; but she was made for love, and
+in a moment her white arms were clinging about his neck. People were
+shouting around them; there was time for but few of the words Dario
+wished to say.
+
+"Thou must write me a little note every day," he commanded. "Thy
+brother's coat, one that he does not wear, hangs behind the door in my
+room. To-morrow morning thou wilt find a letter from me in the pocket.
+Let me find one there, too. Kiss me again, consuelo de mi alma!" and
+they separated suddenly, to speak no more that night.
+
+
+VII
+
+The next morning, when Elena went to Joaquin's room to make the bed,
+she found Dario's note in the pocket of the coat, but she had had no
+opportunity to write one herself. Nor did she have time to read his
+until after dinner, although it burned her neck and took away her
+appetite. When the meal was over, she ran down to the willows and read
+it there, then went straight to the favourite lounging-place of an old
+vaquero who had adored her from the days when she used to trot about the
+rancho holding his forefinger, or perch herself upon his shoulder and
+command him to gallop.
+
+He was smoking his pipe, and he looked up in some wonder as she stood
+before him, flushed and panting, her eyes-darting apprehensive glances.
+
+"Pedro," she said imperiously, "get down on thy hands and knees."
+
+Pedro was the colour of tanned leather and very hairy, but his face
+beamed with good-nature. He put his pipe between his teeth and did as
+he was bidden. Elena produced the pencil and paper she had managed
+to purloin from her father's table, and kneeling beside her faithful
+vaquero, wrote a note on his back. It took her a long time to coin that
+simple epistle, for she never had written a love-letter before. But
+Pedro knelt like a rock, although his old knees ached. When the note was
+finished she thrust it into her gown, and patted Pedro on the head.
+
+"I love thee, my old man. I will make thee a new salve for thy
+rheumatism, and a big cake."
+
+As she approached the house her mother stood on the corridor watching
+the young people mount, and Elena shivered as she met a fiery and
+watchful eye. Yesterday had been a perfect day, but the chill of fear
+touched this. She sprang on her horse and went with the rest to the
+games. Her brother Joaquin kept persistently by her side, and Dario
+thought it best not to approach her. She took little interest in the
+games. The young men climbed the greased pole amidst soft derisive
+laughter. The greased pig was captured by his tail in a tumult of
+excitement, which rivalled the death of the bull, but Elena paid no
+attention. It was not until Dario, restive with inaction, entered the
+lists for the buried rooster, and by its head twisted it from the ground
+as his horse flew by, that she was roused to interest; and as many had
+failed, and as his was the signal victory of the day, he rode home
+somewhat consoled.
+
+That night, as Dario and Elena danced the contradanza together, they
+felt the eyes of Dona Jacoba upon them, but he dared to whisper:--
+
+"To-morrow morning I speak with thy father. Our wedding-day must be set
+before another sun goes down."
+
+"No, no!" gasped Elena; but for once Dario would not listen.
+
+
+VIII
+
+As soon as Elena had left his room next morning, Dario returned and read
+the note she had put in her brother's pocket. It gave him courage, his
+dreamy eyes flashed, his sensitive mouth curved proudly. As soon as
+dinner was over he followed Don Roberto up to the library. The old man
+stretched himself out in the long brass and leather chair which had been
+imported from England for his comfort, and did not look overjoyed when
+his guest begged a few moments' indulgence.
+
+"I am half asleep," he said. "Is it about those cattle? Joaquin knows as
+much about them as I do."
+
+Dario had not been asked to sit down, and he stood before Don Roberto
+feeling a little nervous, and pressing his hand against the mantelpiece.
+
+"I do not wish to speak of cattle, seņor."
+
+"No? What then?" The old man's face was flushed with wine, and his
+shaggy brows were drooping heavily.
+
+"It is--it is about Elena."
+
+The brows lifted a little.
+
+"Elena?"
+
+"Yes, seņor. We love each other very much. I wish to ask your permission
+that we may be married."
+
+The brows went up with a rush; the stiff hairs stood out like a roof
+above the cold angry eyes. For a moment Don Roberto stared at the
+speaker as if he had not heard; then he sprang to his feet, his red face
+purple.
+
+"Get out of my house, you damned vagabond!" he shouted. "Go as fast as
+God Almighty'll let you. You marry my daughter,--you damned Indian! I
+wouldn't give her to you if you were pure-blooded Castilian, much less
+to a half-breed whelp. And you have dared to make love to her. Go! Do
+you hear? Or I'll kick you down the stairs!"
+
+Dario drew himself up and looked back at his furious host with a pride
+that matched his own. The blood was smarting in his veins, but he made
+no sign and walked down the stair.
+
+Don Roberto went at once in search of his wife. Failing to find her, he
+walked straight into the sala, and taking Elena by the arm before the
+assembled guests, marched her upstairs and into her room, and locked the
+door with his key.
+
+Elena fell upon the floor and sobbed with rebellious mortification and
+terror. Her father had not uttered a word, but she knew the meaning of
+his summary act, and other feelings soon gave way to despair. That she
+should never see Dario Castaņares again was certain, and she wept and
+prayed with all the abandon of her Spanish nature. A picture of the
+Virgin hung over the bed, and she raised herself on her knees and lifted
+her clasped hands to it beseechingly. With her tumbled hair and white
+face, her streaming upturned eyes and drawn mouth, she looked more like
+the Mater Dolorosa than the expressionless print she prayed to.
+
+"Mary! Mother!" she whispered, "have mercy on thy poor little daughter.
+Give him to me. I ask for nothing else in this world. I do not care for
+gold or ranchos, only to be his wife. I am so lonely, my mother, for
+even Santiago thinks of so many other things than of me. I only want to
+be loved, and no one else will ever love me who can make me love him.
+Ay! give him to me! give him to me!" And she threw herself on her face
+once more, and sobbed until her tears were exhausted. Then she dragged
+herself to the window and leaned over the deep seat. Perhaps she might
+have one glimpse of him as he rode away.
+
+She gave a little cry of agony and pleasure. He was standing by the
+gates of the corral whilst the vaqueros rounded up the cattle he had
+bought. His arms were folded, his head hung forward. As he heard her
+cry, he lifted his face, and Elena saw the tears in his eyes. For the
+moment they gazed at each other, those lovers of California's long-ago,
+while the very atmosphere quivering between them seemed a palpable
+barrier. Elena flung out her arms with a sudden passionate gesture; he
+gave a hoarse cry, and paced up and down like a race-horse curbed with a
+Spanish bit. How to have one last word with her? If she were behind the
+walls of the fort of Monterey it would be as easy. He dared not speak
+from where he was. Already the horses were at the door to carry the
+eager company to a fight between a bull and a bear. But he could write a
+note if only he had the materials. It was useless to return to his room,
+for Joaquin was there; and he hoped never to see that library again. But
+was there ever a lover in whom necessity did not develop the genius of
+invention? Dario flashed upward a glance of hope, then took from his
+pocket a slip of the rice-paper used for making cigaritos. He burnt a
+match, and with the charred stump scrawled a few lines.
+
+
+"Elena! Mine! Star of my life! My sweet! Beautiful and idolized.
+Farewell! Farewell, my darling! My heart is sad. God be with thee.
+
+"DARIO."
+
+
+He wrapped the paper about a stone, and tied it with a wisp of grass.
+With a sudden flexile turn of a wrist that had thrown many a reata, he
+flung it straight through the open window. Elena read the meaningless
+phrases, then fell insensible to the floor.
+
+
+IX
+
+It was the custom of Doņa Jacoba personally to oversee her entire
+establishment every day, and she always went at a different hour, that
+laziness might never feel sure of her back. To-day she visited the
+rancheria immediately after dinner, and looked through every hut with
+her piercing eyes. If the children were dirty, she peremptorily ordered
+their stout mammas to put them into the clean clothes which her bounty
+had provided. If a bed was unmade, she boxed the ears of the owner and
+sent her spinning across the room to her task. But she found little to
+scold about; her discipline was too rigid. When she was satisfied that
+the huts were in order, she went down to the great stone tubs sunken
+in the ground, where the women were washing in the heavy shade of the
+willows. In their calico gowns they made bright bits of colour against
+the drooping green of the trees.
+
+"Maria," she cried sharply, "thou art wringing that fine linen too
+harshly. Dost thou wish to break in pieces the bridal clothes of thy
+seņorita? Be careful, or I will lay the whip across thy shoulders."
+
+She walked slowly through the willows, enjoying the shade. Her fine old
+head was held sternly back, and her shoulders were as square as her
+youngest son's; but she sighed a little, and pressed a willow branch
+to her face with a caressing motion. She looked up to the gray
+peak standing above its fellows, bare, ugly, gaunt. She was not an
+imaginative woman, but she always had felt in closer kinship with that
+solitary peak than with her own blood. As she left the wood and saw
+the gay cavalcade about to start--the burnished horses, the dashing
+caballeros, the girls with their radiant faces and jaunty habits--she
+sighed again. Long ago she had been the bride of a brilliant young
+Mexican officer for a few brief years; her youth had gone with his life.
+
+She avoided the company and went round to the buildings at the back
+of the house. Approving here, reproaching there, she walked leisurely
+through the various rooms where the Indians were making lard, shoes,
+flour, candles. She was in the chocolate manufactory when her husband
+found her.
+
+"Come--come at once," he said. "I have good news for thee."
+
+She followed him to his room, knowing by his face that tragedy had
+visited them. But she was not prepared for the tale he poured forth with
+violent interjections of English and Spanish oaths. She had detected
+a flirtation between her daughter and the uninvited guest, and not
+approving of flirtations, had told Joaquin to keep his eyes upon them
+when hers were absent; but that the man should dare and the girl should
+stoop to think of marriage wrought in her a passion to which her
+husband's seemed the calm flame of a sperm-candle.
+
+"What!" she cried, her hoarse voice breaking. "What! A half-breed
+aspire to a Cortez!" She forgot her husband's separateness with true
+Californian pride. "My daughter and the son of an Indian! Holy God! And
+she has dared!--she has dared! The little imbecile! The little--But,"
+and she gave a furious laugh, "she will not forget again."
+
+She caught the greenhide reata from the nail and went up the stair.
+Crossing the library with heavy tread, as if she would stamp her rage
+through the floor, she turned the key in the door of her daughter's room
+and strode in. The girl still lay on the floor, although consciousness
+had returned. As Elena saw her mother's face she cowered pitifully.
+That terrible temper seldom dominated the iron will of the woman, but
+Santiago had shaken it a few days ago, and Elena knew that her turn had
+come.
+
+Doņa Jacoba shut the door and towered above her daughter, red spots on
+her face, her small eyes blazing, an icy sneer on her mouth. She did not
+speak a word. She caught the girl by her delicate shoulder, jerked her
+to her feet, and lashed her with the heavy whip until screams mingled
+with the gay laughter of the parting guests. When she had beaten her
+until her own arm ached, she flung her on the bed and went out and
+locked the door.
+
+Elena was insensible again for a while, then lay dull and inert for
+hours. She had a passive longing for death. After the suffering and the
+hideous mortification of that day there seemed no other climax. The
+cavalcade rode beneath her windows once more, with their untired
+laughter, their splendid vitality. They scattered to their rooms to don
+their bright evening gowns, then went to the dining room and feasted.
+
+After supper Francisca unlocked Elena's door and entered with a little
+tray on her hand. Elena refused to eat, but her sister's presence roused
+her, and she turned her face to the wall and burst into tears.
+
+"Nonsense!" said Francisca, kindly. "Do not cry, my sister. What is
+a lover? The end of a little flirtation? My father will find thee a
+husband--a strong fair English husband like mine. Dost thou not prefer
+blondes to brunettes, my sister? I am sorry my mother beat thee, but she
+has such a sense of her duty. She did it for thy good, my Elena. Let me
+dress thee in thy new gown, the white silk with the pale blue flowers.
+It is high in the neck and long in the sleeves, and will hide the marks
+of the whip. Come down and play cascarones and dance until dawn and
+forget all about it."
+
+But Elena only wept on, and Francisca left her for more imperative
+duties.
+
+The next day the girl still refused to eat, although Doņa Jacoba opened
+her mouth and poured a cup of chocolate down her throat. Late in the
+afternoon Santiago slipped into the room and bent over her.
+
+"Elena," he whispered hurriedly. "Look! I have a note for thee."
+
+Elena sat upright on the bed, and he thrust a piece of folded paper into
+her hand. "Here it is. He is in San Luis Obispo and says he will stay
+there. Remember it is but a few miles away. My--"
+
+Elena sank back with a cry, and Santiago blasphemed in English. Doņa
+Jacoba unlocked her daughter's hand, took the note, and led Santiago
+from the room. When she reached her own, she opened a drawer and handed
+him a canvas bag full of gold.
+
+"Go to San Francisco and enjoy yourself," she said. "Interfere no
+farther between your sister and your parents, unless you prefer that
+reata to gold. Your craft cannot outwit mine, and she will read no
+notes. You are a foolish boy to set your sense against your mother's. I
+may seem harsh to my children, but I strive on my knees for their good.
+And when I have made up my mind that a thing is right to do, you know
+that my nature is of iron. No child of mine shall marry a lazy vagabond
+who can do nothing but lie in a hammock and bet and gamble and make
+love. And a half-breed! Mother of God! Now go to San Francisco, and send
+for more money when this is gone."
+
+Santiago obeyed. There was nothing else for him to do.
+
+Elena lay in her bed, scarcely touching food. Poor child! her nature
+demanded nothing of life but love, and that denied her, she could
+find no reason for living. She was not sport-loving like Joaquín, nor
+practical like Francisca, nor learned like Santiago, nor ambitious
+to dance through life like her many nieces. She was but a clinging
+unreasoning creature, with warm blood and a great heart. But she no
+longer prayed to have Dario given her. It seemed to her that after such
+suffering her saddened and broken spirit would cast its shadows over her
+happiest moments, and she longed only for death.
+
+Her mother, becoming alarmed at her increasing weakness, called in an
+old woman who had been midwife and doctor of the county for half a
+century. She came, a bent and bony woman who must have been majestic in
+her youth. Her front teeth were gone, her face was stained with dark
+splashes like the imprint of a pre-natal hand. Over her head she wore a
+black shawl; and she looked enough like a witch to frighten her patients
+into eternity had they not been so well used to her. She prodded Elena
+all over as if the girl were a loaf of bread and her knotted fingers
+sought a lump of flour in the dough.
+
+"The heart," she said to Doņa Jacoba with sharp emphasis, her back teeth
+meeting with a click, as if to proclaim their existence. "I have no
+herbs for that," and she went back to her cabin by the ocean.
+
+That night Elena lifted her head suddenly. From the hill opposite her
+window came the sweet reverberation of a guitar: then a voice, which,
+though never heard by her in song before, was as unmistakable as if it
+had serenaded beneath her window every night since she had known Darío
+Castaņares.
+
+  EL ULTIMO ADIÓS
+
+  "Si dos con el alma
+  Se amaron en vida,
+  Y al fin se separan
+  En vida las dos;
+  Sabeis que es tan grande
+  Le pena sentida
+  Que con esa palabra
+  Se dicen adios.
+  Y en esa palabra
+  Que breve murmura,
+  Ni verse prometen
+  Niamarse se juran;
+  Que en esa palabra
+  Se dicen adios.
+  No hay queja mas honda,
+  Suspiro mas largo;
+  Que aquellas palabras
+  Que dicen adios.
+  Al fin ha llegado,
+  La muerte en la vida;
+  Al fin para entrambos
+  Muramos los dos:
+  Al fin ha llegado
+  La hora cumplida,
+  Del ultimo adios.
+  Ya nunca en la vida,
+  Gentil compaņera
+  Ya nunca volveremos
+  A vernos los dos:
+  Por eso es tan triste
+  Mi acento postrere,
+  Por eso es tan triste
+  El ultimo adios."--
+
+They were dancing downstairs; laughter floated through the open windows.
+Francisca sang a song of the bull-fight, in her strong high voice; the
+frogs chanted their midnight mass by the creek in the willows; the
+coyotes wailed; the owls hooted. But nothing could drown that message of
+love. Elena lit a candle and held it at arm's length before the window.
+She knew that its ray went straight through the curtains to the singer
+on the hill, for his voice broke suddenly, then swelled forth in
+passionate answer. He sat there until dawn singing to her; but the next
+night he did not come, and Elena knew that she had not been his only
+audience.
+
+
+X
+
+The week of festivity was over; the bridal pair, the relatives, the
+friends went away. Quiet would have taken temporary possession of Los
+Quervos had it not been for the many passing guests lavishly entertained
+by Don Roberto.
+
+And still Elena lay in her little iron bed, refusing to get out of it,
+barely eating, growing weaker and thinner every day. At the end of three
+weeks Doņa Jacoba was thoroughly alarmed, and Don Roberto sent Joaquin
+to San Francisco for a physician.
+
+The man of science came at the end of a week. He asked many questions,
+and had a long talk with his patient. When he left the sick-room, he
+found Don Roberto and Doņa Jacoba awaiting him in the library. They were
+ready to accept his word as law, for he was an Englishman, and had won
+high reputation during his short stay in the new country.
+
+He spoke with curt directness. "My dear sir, your child is dying because
+she does not wish to live. People who write novels call it dying of a
+broken heart; but it does not make much difference about the name.
+Your child is acutely sensitive, and has an extremely delicate
+constitution--predisposition to consumption. Separation from the young
+man she desires to marry has prostrated her to such an extent that she
+is practically dying. Under existing circumstances she will not live
+two months, and, to be brutally frank, you will have killed her. I
+understand that the young man is well-born on his father's side, and
+possessed of great wealth. I see no reason why she should not marry him.
+I shall leave her a tonic, but you can throw it out of the window unless
+you send for the young man," and he walked down the stair and made ready
+for his departure.
+
+Don Roberto translated the verdict to his wife. She turned very gray,
+and her thin lips pressed each other. But she bent her head. "So be it,"
+she said; "I cannot do murder. Send for Dario Castaņares."
+
+"And tell him to take her to perdition," roared the old man. "Never let
+me see her again."
+
+He went down the stair, filled a small bag with gold, and gave it to the
+doctor. He found Joaquin and bade him go for Dario, then shut himself in
+a remote room, and did not emerge until late that day.
+
+Doņa Jacoba sent for the maid, Malia.
+
+"Bring me one of your frocks," she said, "a set of your undergarments, a
+pair of your shoes and stockings." She walked about the room until
+the girl's return, her face terrible in its repressed wrath, its gray
+consciousness of defeat. When Malia came with the garments she told her
+to follow, and went into Elena's room and stood beside the bed.
+
+"Get up," she said. "Dress thyself in thy bridal clothes. Thou art going
+to marry Dario Castaņares to-day."
+
+The girl looked up incredulously, then closed her eyes wearily.
+
+"Get up," said her mother. "The doctor has said that we must let our
+daughter marry the half-breed or answer to God for her murder." She
+turned to the maid: "Malia, go downstairs and make a cup of chocolate
+and bring it up. Bring, too, a glass of angelica."
+
+But Elena needed neither. She forgot her desire for death, her
+misgivings of the future; she slipped out of bed, and would have taken a
+pair of silk stockings from the chest, but her mother stopped her with
+an imperious gesture, and handed her the coarse shoes and stockings the
+maid had brought. Elena raised her eyes wonderingly, but drew them
+on her tender feet without complaint. Then her mother gave her the
+shapeless undergarments, the gaudy calico frock, and she put them on.
+When the maid returned with the chocolate and wine, she drank both. They
+gave her colour and strength; and as she stood up and faced her mother,
+she had never looked more beautiful nor more stately in the silken gowns
+that were hers no longer.
+
+[Illustration: "HE BENT DOWN AND CAUGHT HER IN HIS ARMS."]
+
+"There are horses' hoofs," said Doņa Jacoba. "Leave thy father's house
+and go to thy lover."
+
+Elena followed her from the room, walking steadily, although she was
+beginning to tremble a little. As she passed the table in the library,
+she picked up an old silk handkerchief of her father's and tied it about
+her head and face. A smile was on her lips, but no joy could crowd the
+sadness from her eyes again. Her spirit was shadowed; her nature had
+come to its own.
+
+They walked through the silent house, and to Elena's memory came the
+picture of that other bridal, when the very air shook with pleasure and
+the rooms were jewelled with beautiful faces; but she would not have
+exchanged her own nuptials for her sister's calm acceptance.
+
+When she reached the veranda she drew herself up and turned to her
+mother with all that strange old woman's implacable bearing.
+
+"I demand one wedding present," she said. "The greenhide reata. I wish
+it as a memento of my mother."
+
+Doņa Jacoba, without the quiver of a muscle, walked into her husband's
+room and returned with the reata and handed it to her. Then Elena turned
+her back upon her father's house and walked down the road through the
+willows. Darío did not notice the calico frock or the old handkerchief
+about her head. He bent down and caught her in his arms and kissed her,
+then lifting her to his saddle, galloped down the road to San Luis
+Obispo. Doņa Jacoba turned her hard old face to the wall.
+
+
+
+
+A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA[1]
+
+[Footnote 1: Pronounced a-oo-lo-hia.]
+
+
+I
+
+Dona Pomposa crossed her hands on her stomach and twirled her thumbs. A
+red spot was in each coffee-coloured cheek, and the mole in her scanty
+eyebrow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut line, and her
+angry little eyes were fixed upon a girl who sat by the window strumming
+a guitar, her chin raised with an air of placid impertinence.
+
+"Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more glances at Juan Tornel!"
+commanded Doņa Pomposa. "Thou little brat! Dost thou think that I am
+one to let my daughter marry before she can hem? Thank God we have more
+sense than our mothers! No child of mine shall marry at fifteen. Now
+listen--thou shalt be locked in a dark room if I am kept awake again
+by that hobo serenading at thy window. To-morrow, when thou goest to
+church, take care that thou throwest him no glance. Dios de mi alma!
+I am worn out! Three nights have I been awakened by that _tw-a-n-g,
+tw-a-n-g."_
+
+"You need not be afraid," said her daughter, digging her little heel
+into the floor. "I shall not fall in love. I have no faith in men."
+
+Her mother laughed outright in spite of her anger.
+
+"Indeed, my Eulogia! Thou art very wise. And why, pray, hast thou no
+faith in men?"
+
+Eulogia tossed the soft black braid from her shoulder, and fixed her
+keen roguish eyes on the old lady's face.
+
+"Because I have read all the novels of the Seņor Dumas, and I well know
+all those men he makes. And they never speak the truth to women; always
+they are selfish, and think only of their own pleasure. If the women
+suffer, they do not care; they do not love the women--only themselves.
+So I am not going to be fooled by the men. I shall enjoy life, but I
+shall think of _myself_, not of the men."
+
+Her mother gazed at her in speechless amazement. She never had read a
+book in her life, and had not thought of locking from her daughter
+the few volumes her dead husband had collected. Then she gasped with
+consternation.
+
+"Por Dios, seņorita, a fine woman thou wilt make of thyself with such
+ideas! a nice wife and mother--when the time comes. What does Padro
+Flores say to that, I should like to know? It is very strange that he
+has let you read those books."
+
+"I have never told him," said Eulogia, indifferently.
+
+"What!" screamed her mother. "You never told at confession?"
+
+"No, I never did. It was none of his business what I read. Reading is no
+sin. I confessed all--"
+
+"Mother of God!" cried Doņa Pomposa, and she rushed at Eulogia with
+uplifted hand; but her nimble daughter dived under her arm with a
+provoking laugh, and ran out of the room.
+
+That night Eulogia pushed aside the white curtain of her window and
+looked out. The beautiful bare hills encircling San Luis Obispo were
+black in the silvered night, but the moon made the town light as day.
+The owls were hooting on the roof of the mission; Eulogia could see them
+flap their wings. A few Indians were still moving among the dark huts
+outside the walls, and within, the padre walked among his olive trees.
+Beyond the walls the town was still awake. Once a horseman dashed
+down the street, and Eulogia wondered if murder had been done in the
+mountains; the bandits were thick in their fastnesses. She did wish
+she could see one. Then she glanced eagerly down the road beneath
+her window. In spite of the wisdom she had accepted from the French
+romanticist, her fancy was just a little touched by Juan Tornel. His
+black flashing eyes could look so tender, and he rode so beautifully.
+She twitched the curtain into place and ran across the room, her feet
+pattering on the bare floor, jumped into her little iron bed, and drew
+the dainty sheet to her throat. A ladder had fallen heavily against the
+side of the house.
+
+She heard an agile form ascend and seat itself on the deep window-sill.
+Then the guitar vibrated under the touch of master fingers, and a rich
+sweet tenor sang to her:--
+
+EL CORAZON
+
+  "El corazon del amor palpita,
+  Al oir de tu dulce voz,
+  Cuando mi sangre
+  Se pone en agitación,
+  Tu eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la gloria mia,
+  Tu eres mi dulce bien.
+
+  "Negro tienes el cabello,
+  Talle lineas hermosas,
+  Mano blanca, pie precioso,
+  No hay que decir en ti:--Tu
+  eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la prenda mía,
+  Tu me harás morir.
+
+  "Que importa que noche y dia,
+  En ti sola estoy pensando,
+  El corazón palpitante
+  No cesa de repetir:--
+  Tu eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la prenda mía,
+  Tu me harás morir--Eulogia!"
+
+Eulogia lay as quiet as a mouse in the daytime, not daring to applaud,
+hoping fatigue had sent her mother to sleep. Her lover tuned his guitar
+and began another song, but she did not hear it; she was listening to
+footfalls in the garret above. With a presentiment of what was about
+to happen she sprang out of bed with a warning cry; but she was too
+late. There was a splash and rattle on the window-seat, a smothered
+curse, a quick descent, a triumphant laugh from above. Eulogia stamped
+her foot with rage. She cautiously raised the window and passed her hand
+along the outer sill. This time she beat the casement with both hands:
+they were covered with warm ashes.
+
+"Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?" said a voice behind her,
+and Eulogia sat down on the window-seat and swung her feet in silent
+wrath.
+
+Doņa Pomposa wore a rather short night-gown, and her feet were encased
+in a pair of her husband's old boots. Her hair was twisted under a red
+silk kerchief, and again she crossed her hands on her stomach, but the
+thumbs upheld a candle. Eulogia giggled suddenly.
+
+"What dost thou laugh at, seņorita? At the way I have served thy lover?
+Dost thou think he will come soon again?"
+
+"No, mamma, you have proved the famous hospitality of the Californians
+which the Americans are always talking about. You need have no more
+envy of the magnificence of Los Quervos." And then she kicked her heels
+against the wall.
+
+"Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, thou impertinent little brat; but
+Juan Tornel will serenade under thy window no more. Dios! the ashes must
+look well on his pretty mustachios. Go to bed. I will put thee to board
+in the convent to-morrow." And she shuffled out of the room, her ample
+figure swinging from side to side like a large pendulum.
+
+
+II
+
+The next day Eulogia was sitting on her window-seat, her chin resting on
+her knees, a volume of Dumas beside her, when the door was cautiously
+opened and her Aunt Anastacia entered the room. Aunt Anastacia was
+very large; in fact she nearly filled the doorway; she also disdained
+whalebones and walked with a slight roll. Her ankles hung over her feet,
+and her red cheeks and chin were covered with a short black down. Her
+hair was twisted into a tight knot and protected by a thick net, and she
+wore a loose gown of brown calico, patterned with large red roses. But
+good-nature beamed all over her indefinite features, and her little eyes
+dwelt adoringly upon Eulogia, who gave her an absent smile.
+
+"Poor little one," she said in her indulgent voice. "But it was cruel in
+my sister to throw ashes on thy lover. Not but what thou art too young
+for lovers, my darling,--although I had one at twelve. But times have
+changed. My little one--I have a note for thee. Thy mother is out, and
+he has gone away, so there can be no harm in reading it--"
+
+"Give it to me at once"--and Eulogia dived into her aunt's pocket and
+found the note.
+
+"Beautiful and idolized Eulogia.--Adios! Adios! I came a stranger to
+thy town. I fell blinded at thy feet. I fly forever from the scornful
+laughter in thine eyes. Ay, Eulogia, how couldst thou? But no! I will
+not believe it was thou! The dimples that play in thy cheeks, the sparks
+that fly in thine eyes--Dios de mi vida! I cannot believe that they come
+from a malicious soul. No, enchanting Eulogia! Consolation of my soul!
+It was thy mother who so cruelly humiliated me, who drives me from thy
+town lest I be mocked in the streets. Ay, Eulogia! Ay, misericordia!
+Adios! Adios!
+
+"JUAN TORNEL."
+
+
+Eulogia shrugged her shoulders. "Well, my mother is satisfied, perhaps.
+She has driven him away. At least, I shall not have to go to the
+convent."
+
+"Thou art so cold, my little one," said Aunt Anastacia, disapprovingly.
+"Thou art but fifteen years, and yet thou throwest aside a lover as if
+he were an old reboso. Madre de Dios! In your place I should have wept
+and beaten the air. But perhaps that is the reason all the young men are
+wild for thee. Not but that I had many lovers--"
+
+"It is too bad thou didst not marry one," interrupted Eulogia,
+maliciously. "Perhaps thou wouldst"--and she picked up her book--"if
+thou hadst read the Seņor Dumas."
+
+"Thou heartless baby!" cried her indignant aunt, "when I love thee so,
+and bring thy notes at the risk of my life, for thou knowest that thy
+mother would pull the hair from my head. Thou little brat! to say I
+could not marry, when I had twenty--"
+
+Eulogia jumped up and pecked her on the chin like a bird. "Twenty-five,
+my old mountain. I only joked with thee. Thou didst not marry because
+thou hadst more sense than to trot about after a man. Is it not so, my
+old sack of flour? I was but angry because I thought thou hadst helped
+my mother last night."
+
+"Never! I was sound asleep."
+
+"I know, I know. Now trot away. I hear my mother coming," and Aunt
+Anastacia obediently left her niece to the more congenial company of the
+Seņor Dumas.
+
+
+III
+
+The steep hills of San Luis Obispo shot upward like the sloping sides of
+a well, so round was the town. Scarlet patches lay on the slopes--the
+wide blossoms of the low cacti. A gray-green peak and a mulberry peak
+towered, kithless and gaunt, in the circle of tan-coloured hills brushed
+with purple. The garden of the mission was green with fruit trees and
+silver with olive groves. On the white church and long wing lay the red
+tiles; beyond the wall the dull earth huts of the Indians. Then the
+straggling town with its white adobe houses crouching on the grass.
+
+Eulogia was sixteen. A year had passed since Juan Tornel serenaded
+beneath her window, and, if the truth must be told, she had almost
+forgotten him. Many a glance had she shot over her prayer-book in the
+mission church; many a pair of eyes, dreamy or fiery, had responded. But
+she had spoken with no man. After a tempestuous scene with her mother,
+during which Aunt Anastacia had wept profusely, a compromise had been
+made: Eulogia had agreed to have no more flirtations until she was
+sixteen, but at that age she should go to balls and have as many lovers
+as she pleased.
+
+She walked through the olive groves with Padre Moraga on the morning of
+her sixteenth birthday. The new padre and she were the best of friends.
+
+"Well," said the good old man, pushing the long white hair from his dark
+face--it fell forward whenever he stooped--"well, my little one, thou
+goest to thy first ball to-night. Art thou happy?"
+
+Eulogia lifted her shoulder. Her small nose also tilted.
+
+"Happy? There is no such thing as happiness, my father. I shall dance,
+and flirt, and make all the young men fall in love with me. I shall
+enjoy myself, that is enough."
+
+The padre smiled; he was used to her.
+
+"Thou little wise one!" He collected himself suddenly. "But thou art
+right to build thy hopes of happiness on the next world alone." Then
+he continued, as if he merely had broken the conversation to say the
+Angelus: "And thou art sure that thou wilt be La Favorita? Truly, thou
+hast confidence in thyself--an inexperienced chit who has not half the
+beauty of many other girls."
+
+"Perhaps not; but the men shall love me better, all the same. Beauty is
+not everything, my father. I have a greater attraction than soft eyes
+and a pretty mouth."
+
+"Indeed! Thou baby! Why, thou art no bigger than a well-grown child, and
+thy mouth was made for a woman twice thy size. Where dost thou keep that
+extraordinary charm?" Not but that he knew, for he liked her better
+than any girl in the town, but he felt it his duty to act the part of
+curb-bit now and again.
+
+"You know, my father," said Eulogia, coolly; "and if you have any doubt,
+wait until to-morrow."
+
+The ball was given in the long sala of Doņa Antonia Ampudia, on the edge
+of the rambling town. As the night was warm, the young people danced
+through the low windows on to the wide corridor; and, if watchful eyes
+relaxed their vigilance, stepped off to the grass and wandered among
+the trees. The brown old women in dark silks sat against the wall, as
+dowagers do to-day. Most of the girls wore bright red or yellow gowns,
+although softer tints blossomed here and there. Silken black hair was
+braided close to the neck, the coiffure finished with a fringe of
+chenille. As they whirled in the dance, their full bright gowns looked
+like an agitated flower-bed suddenly possessed by a wandering tribe of
+dusky goddesses.
+
+Eulogia came rather late. At the last moment her mother had wavered in
+her part of the contract, and it was not until Eulogia had sworn by
+every saint in the calendar that she would not leave the sala, even
+though she stifled, that Doņa Pomposa had reluctantly consented to take
+her. Eulogia's perfect little figure was clad in a prim white silk gown,
+but her cold brilliant eyes were like living jewels, her large mouth was
+as red as the cactus patches on the hills, and a flame burned in either
+cheek. In a moment she was surrounded by the young men who had been
+waiting for her. It might be true that twenty girls in the room were
+more beautiful than she, but she had a quiet manner more effective than
+animation, a vigorous magnetism of which she was fully aware, and a cool
+coquetry which piqued and fired the young men, who were used to more
+sentimental flirtations.
+
+She danced as airily as a flower on the wind, but with untiring
+vitality.
+
+"Seņorita!" exclaimed Don Carmelo Peņa, "thou takest away my breath.
+Dost thou never weary?"
+
+"Never. I am not a man."
+
+"Ay, seņorita, thou meanest--"
+
+"That women were made to make the world go round, and men to play the
+guitar."
+
+"Ay, I can play the guitar. I will serenade thee to-morrow night."
+
+"Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for thy pains. Better stay at home, and
+prepare thy soul with three-card _monte_"
+
+"Ay, seņorita, but thou art cruel! Does no man please thee?"
+
+"_Men_ please me. How tiresome to dance with a woman!"
+
+"And that is all the use thou hast for us? For us who would die for
+thee?"
+
+"In a barrel of aguardiente? I prefer thee to dance with. To tell the
+truth, thy step suits mine."
+
+"Ay, seņorita mia! thou canst put honey on thy tongue. God of my life,
+seņorita--I fling my heart at thy feet!"
+
+"I fear to break it, seņor, for I have faith that it is made of thin
+glass. It would cut my feet. I like better this smooth floor. Who is
+that standing by the window? He has not danced to-night?"
+
+"Don Pablo Ignestria of Monterey. He says the women of San Luis are not
+half so beautiful nor so elegant as the women of Monterey; he says they
+are too dark and too small. He does not wish to dance with any one; nor
+do any of the girls wish to dance with him. They are very angry."
+
+"I wish to dance with him. Bring him to me."
+
+"But, seņorita, I tell thee thou wouldst not like him. Holy heaven! Why
+do those eyes flash so? Thou lookest as if thou wouldst fight with thy
+little fists."
+
+"Bring him to me."
+
+Don Carmelo walked obediently over to Don Pablo, although burning with
+jealousy.
+
+"Seņor, at your service," he said. "I wish to introduce you to the most
+charming seņorita in the room."
+
+"Which?" asked Ignestria, incuriously.
+
+Don Carmelo indicated Eulogia with a grand sweep of his hand.
+
+"That little thing? Why, there are a dozen prettier girls in the room
+than she, and I have not cared to meet any of them!"
+
+"But she has commanded me to take you to her, seņor, and--look at the
+men crowding about her--do you think I dare to disobey?"
+
+The stranger's dark gray eyes became less insensible. He was a handsome
+man, with a tall figure, and a smooth strong face; but about him hung
+the indolence of the Californian.
+
+"Very well," he said, "take me to her."
+
+He asked her to dance, and after a waltz Eulogia said she was tired, and
+they sat down within a proper distance of Doņa Pomposa's eagle eye.
+
+"What do you think of the women of San Luis Obispo?" asked Eulogia,
+innocently. "Are not they handsome?"
+
+"They are not to be compared with the women of Monterey--since you ask
+me."
+
+"Because they find the men of San Luis more gallant than the Seņor Don
+Pablo Ignestria!"
+
+"Do they? One, I believe, asked to have me introduced to her!"
+
+"True, seņor. I wished to meet you that you might fall in love with me,
+and that the ladies of San Luis might have their vengeance."
+
+He stared at her.
+
+"Truly, seņorita, but you do not hide your cards. And why, then, should
+I fall in love with you?"
+
+"Because I am different from the women of Monterey."
+
+"A good reason why I should not. I have been in every town in
+California, and I admire no women but those of my city."
+
+"And because you will hate me first."
+
+"And if I hate you, how can I love you?"
+
+"It is the same. You hate one woman and love another. Each is the same
+passion, only to a different person out goes a different side. Let the
+person loved or hated change his nature, and the passion will change."
+
+He looked at her with more interest.
+
+"In truth I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, seņorita.
+But that wisdom was not born in your little head; for sixteen years, I
+think, have not sped over it, no? It went in, if I mistake not, through
+those bright eyes."
+
+"Yes, seņor, that is true. I am not content to be just like other girls
+of sixteen. I want to _know_--_to know._ Have you ever read any books,
+seņor?"
+
+"Many." He looked at her with a lively interest now. "What ones have you
+read?"
+
+"Only the beautiful romances of the Seņor Dumas. I have seen no others,
+for there are not many books in San Luis. Have you read others?"
+
+"A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish books--'Don Quixote de la
+Mancha' and 'Gil Blas,' and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote--a man of
+England, and some lives of famous men, seņorita. A great man lent them
+to me--the greatest of our Governors--Alvarado."
+
+"And you will lend them to me?" cried Eulogia, forgetting her coquetry,
+"I want to read them."
+
+"Aha! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break in
+two. By the holy Evangelists, seņorita, thou shalt have every book I
+possess."
+
+"Will the Seņorita Doņa Eulogia favour us with a song?"
+
+Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathful
+eyes fixed upon Don Pablo.
+
+"Yes," said Eulogia.
+
+She took the guitar and sang a love-song in a manner which can best be
+described as no manner at all; her expression never changed, her voice
+never warmed. At first the effect was flat, then the subtle fascination
+of it grew until the very memory of impassioned tones was florid and
+surfeiting. When she finished, Ignestria's heart was hammering upon the
+steel in which he fancied he had prisoned it.
+
+
+IV
+
+"Well," said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks later, "am I not La
+Favorita?"
+
+"Thou art, thou little coquette. Thou hast a power over men which thou
+must use with discretion, my Eulogia. Tell thy beads three times a day
+and pray that thou mayest do no harm."
+
+"I wish to do harm, my father, for men have broken the hearts of women
+for ages--"
+
+"Chut, chut, thou baby! Men are not so black as they are painted. Harm
+no one, and the world will be better that thou hast lived in it."
+
+"If I scratch, fewer women will be scratched," and she raised her
+shoulders beneath the flowered muslin of her gown, swung her guitar
+under her arm, and walked down the grove, the silver leaves shining
+above her smoky hair.
+
+The padre had bidden all the young people of the upper class to a picnic
+in the old mission garden. Girls in gay muslins and silk rebosos were
+sitting beneath the arches of the corridor or flitting under the trees
+where the yellow apricots hung among the green leaves. Languid and
+sparkling faces coquetted with caballeros in bright calico jackets and
+knee-breeches laced with silken cord, their slender waists girt with
+long sashes hanging gracefully over the left hip. The water rilled in
+the winding creek, the birds carolled in the trees; but above all rose
+the sound of light laughter and sweet strong voices.
+
+They took their dinner behind the arches, at a table the length of the
+corridor, and two of the young men played the guitar and sang, whilst
+the others delighted their keen palates with the goods the padre had
+provided.
+
+Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he very often managed to fill; but he
+never had seen her for a moment alone.
+
+"I must go soon, Eulogia," he murmured, as the voices waxed louder.
+"Duty calls me back to Monterey."
+
+"I am glad to know thou hast a sense of thy duty."
+
+"Nothing but that would take me away from San Luis Obispo. But both my
+mother and--and--a dear friend are ill, and wish to see me."
+
+"Thou must go to-night. How canst thou eat and be gay when thy mother
+and--and--a dear friend are ill?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! wouldst thou scoff over my grave? I go, but it is for thee
+to say if I return."
+
+"Do not tell me that thou adorest me here at the table. I shall blush,
+and all will be about my smarting ears like the bees down in the padre's
+hive."
+
+"I shall not tell thee that before all the world, Eulogia. All I ask
+is this little favour: I shall send thee a letter the night I leave.
+Promise me that thou wilt answer it--to Monterey."
+
+"No, sir! Long ago, when I was twelve, I made a vow I would never write
+to a man. I never break that vow."
+
+"Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia."
+
+"And why for you, seņor? Half the trouble in the world has been made on
+paper."
+
+"Oh, thou wise one! What trouble can a piece of paper make when it lies
+on a man's heart?"
+
+"It can crackle when another head lies on it."
+
+"No head will ever lie here but--"
+
+"Mine?"
+
+"Eulogia!"
+
+"To thee, Seņorita Doņa Eulogia," cried a deep voice. "May the jewels in
+thine eyes shine by the stars when thou art above them. May the tears
+never dim them while they shine for us below," and a caballero pushed
+back his chair, leaned forward, and touched her glass with his, then
+went down on one knee and drank the red wine.
+
+Eulogia threw him a little absent smile, sipped her wine, and went on
+talking to Ignestria in her soft monotonous voice.
+
+"My friend--Graciosa La Cruz--went a few weeks ago to Monterey for a
+visit. You will tell her I think of her, no?"
+
+"I will dance with her often because she is your friend--until I return
+to San Luis Obispo."
+
+"Will that be soon, seņor?"
+
+"I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. Thou wilt answer my
+letter--promise me, Eulogia."
+
+"I will not, seņor. I intend to be wiser than other women. At the very
+least, my follies shall not burn paper. If you want an answer, you will
+return."
+
+"I will _not_ return without that answer. I never can see thee alone,
+and if I could, thy coquetry would not give me a plain answer. I must
+see it on paper before I will believe."
+
+"Thou canst wait for the day of resurrection for thy knowledge, then!"
+
+
+V
+
+Once more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure through Eulogia's
+doorway and handed her a letter.
+
+"From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby," she said. "Oh, what a man! what a
+caballero! And so smart. He waited an hour by the creek in the mission
+gardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then he brought the note to
+me. He begged to see thee, but I dared not grant that, niņita, for thy
+mother will be back in ten minutes."
+
+"Go downstairs and keep my mother there," commanded Eulogia, and Aunt
+Anastacia rolled off, whilst her niece with unwonted nervousness opened
+the letter.
+
+"Sweet of my soul! Day-star of my life! I dare not speak to thee of love
+because, strong man as I am, still am I a coward before those mocking
+eyes. Therefore if thou laugh the first time thou readest that I love
+thee, I shall not see it, and the second time thou mayest be more kind.
+Beautiful and idolized Eulogia, men have loved thee, but never will be
+cast at thy little feet a heart stronger or truer than mine. Ay, dueņo
+adorada, I love thee! Without hope? No! I believe that thou lovest me,
+thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to think that the
+heart thou hast sealed can open to let love in. But, Eulogia! Star of my
+eyes! I love thee so I will break that heart in pieces, and give thee
+another so soft and warm that it will beat all through the old house to
+which I will take thee. For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette?
+Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with thee in the mission
+while the good padre asks the saints to bless us? Eulogia, thou hast
+sworn thou wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my little
+one. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives in thine.
+
+"I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I kiss--ay, Eulogia!
+Adios! Adios!
+
+"PABLO."
+
+
+Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, after
+an entire day of agonized composition, she sent these lines:--
+
+"You can come back to San Luis Obispo.
+
+"EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE CARILLO."
+
+
+VI
+
+Another year had passed. No answer had come from Pablo Ignestria. Nor
+had he returned to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent
+her letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, containing the
+information that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love for
+him had been the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Her
+flirtations had earned her far and wide the title of Doņa Coquetta, and
+she was cooler, calmer, and more audacious than ever.
+
+"Dost thou never intend to marry?" demanded Doņa Pomposa one day, as she
+stood over the kitchen stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan full
+of lard.
+
+Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her small feet. "Why do you
+wish me to marry? I am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castaņares so
+happy with the man who was mad for her that I should hasten to be a
+neglected wife? Poor my Elena! Four years, and then consumption and
+death. Three children and an indifferent husband, who was dying of love
+when he could not get her."
+
+"Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because thou hast just heard of
+Elena's death. But there are many others."
+
+"Did you hear of the present she left her mother?"
+
+"No." Doņa Pomposa dropped her spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip.
+"What was it?"
+
+"You know that a year ago Elena went home to Los Quervos and begged Don
+Roberto and Doņa Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, and
+were glad to do it. Doņa Jacoba was with her when she was so ill at the
+last, and just before she died Elena said: 'Mother, in that chest you
+will find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I have in the
+world, and I leave it to you. Do not take it until I am dead.' And what
+do you think it was? The greenhide reata."
+
+"Mother of God! But Jacoba must have felt as if she were already in
+purgatory."
+
+"It is said that she grew ten years older in the night."
+
+"May the saints be praised, my child can leave me no such gift. But all
+men are not like Dario Castaņares. I would have thee marry an American.
+They are smart and know how to keep the gold. Remember, I have little
+now, and thou canst not be young forever."
+
+"I have seen no American I would marry."
+
+"There is Don Abel Hudson."
+
+"I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet and his face is handsome,
+but always when I meet him I feel a little afraid, although it goes away
+in a minute. The Seņor Dumas says that a woman's instincts--"
+
+"To perdition with Seņor Dumas! Does he say that a chit's instincts are
+better than her mother's? Don Abel throws about the money like rocks.
+He has the best horses at the races. He tells me that he has a house in
+Yerba Buena--"
+
+"San Francisco. And I would not live in that bleak and sandy waste. Did
+you notice how he limped at the ball last night?"
+
+"No. What of that? But I am not in love with Don Abel Hudson if thou art
+so set against him. It is true that no one knows just who he is, now I
+think of it. I had not made up my mind that he was the husband for thee.
+But let it be an American, my Eulogia. Even when they have no money they
+will work for it, and that is what no Californian will do--"
+
+But Eulogia had run out of the room: she rarely listened to the end of
+her mother's harangues. She draped a reboso about her head, and went
+over to the house of Graciosa La Cruz. Her friend was sitting by her
+bedroom window, trimming a yellow satin bed-spread with lace, and
+Eulogia took up a half-finished sheet and began fastening the drawn
+threads into an intricate pattern.
+
+"Only ten days more, my Graciosa," she said mischievously. "Art thou
+going to run back to thy mother in thy night-gown, like Josefita
+Olvera?"
+
+"Never will I be such a fool! Eulogia, I have a husband for thee."
+
+"To the tunnel of the mission with husbands! I shall be an old maid like
+Aunt Anastacia, fat, with black whiskers."
+
+Graciosa laughed. "Thou wilt marry and have ten children."
+
+"By every station in the mission I will not. Why bring more women into
+the world to suffer?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! thou art always saying things I cannot understand and that
+thou shouldst not think about. But I have a husband for thee. He came
+from Los Angeles this morning, and is a friend of my Carlos. His name is
+not so pretty--Tomas Garfias. There he rides now."
+
+Eulogia looked out of the window with little curiosity. A small young
+man was riding down the street on a superb horse coloured like golden
+bronze, with silver mane and tail. His saddle of embossed leather was
+heavily mounted with silver; the spurs were inlaid with gold and silver,
+and the straps of the latter were worked with gleaming metal threads. He
+wore a light red serape, heavily embroidered and fringed. His botas of
+soft deerskin, dyed a rich green and stamped with Aztec Eagles, were
+tied at the knee by a white silk cord wound about the leg and finished
+with heavy silver tassels. His short breeches were trimmed with gold
+lace. As he caught Graciosa's eye he raised his sombrero, then rode
+through the open door of a neighbouring saloon and tossed off an
+American drink without dismounting from his horse.
+
+Eulogia lifted her shoulders. "I like his saddle and his horse, but he
+is too small. Still, a new man is not disagreeable. When shall I meet
+him?"
+
+"To-night, my Eulogia. He goes with us to Miramar."
+
+
+VII
+
+A party of young people started that night for a ball at Miramar, the
+home of Don Polycarpo Quijas. Many a caballero had asked the lady of
+his choice to ride on his saddle while he rode on the less comfortable
+aquera behind and guided his horse with arm as near her waist as he
+dared. Doņa Pomposa, with a small brood under her wing, started last of
+all in an American wagon. The night was calm, the moon was high, the
+party very gay.
+
+Abel Hudson and the newcomer, Don Tomas Garfias, sat on either side of
+Eulogia, and she amused herself at the expense of both.
+
+"Don Tomas says that he is handsomer than the men of San Luis," she said
+to Hudson. "Do not you think he is right? See what a beautiful curl his
+mustachios have, and what a droop his eyelids. Holy Mary!--how that
+yellow ribbon becomes his hair! Ay, seņor! Why have you come to dazzle
+the eyes of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?"
+
+"Ah, seņorita," said the little dandy, "it will do their eyes good to
+see an elegant young man from the city. And they should see my sister.
+She would teach them how to dress and arrange their hair."
+
+"Bring her to teach us, seņor, and for reward we will find her a tall
+and modest husband such as the girls of San Luis Obispo admire. Don
+Abel, why do you not boast of your sisters? Have you none, nor mother,
+nor father, nor brother? I never hear you speak of them. Maybe you grow
+alone out of the earth."
+
+Hudson's gaze wandered to the canon they were approaching. "I am alone,
+seņorita; a lonely man in a strange land."
+
+"Is that the reason why you are such a traveller, seņor? Are you never
+afraid, in your long lonely rides over the mountains, of that dreadful
+bandit, John Power, who murders whole families for the sack of gold they
+have under the floor? I hope you always carry plenty of pistols, seņor."
+
+"True, dear seņorita. It is kind of you to put me on my guard. I never
+had thought of this man."
+
+"This devil, you mean. When last night I saw you come limping into the
+room--"
+
+"Ay, yi, yi, Dios!" "Maria!" "Dios de mi alma!" "Dios de mi vida!"
+"Cielo santo!"
+
+A wheel had given way, and the party was scattered about the road.
+
+No one was hurt, but loud were the lamentations. No Californian had ever
+walked six miles, and the wheel was past repair. But Abel Hudson came to
+the rescue.
+
+"Leave it to me," he said. "I pledge myself to get you there," and he
+went off in the direction of a ranch-house.
+
+"Ay! the good American! The good American!" cried the girls. "Eulogia!
+how canst thou be so cold to him? The handsome stranger with the kind
+heart!"
+
+"His heart is like the Sacramento Valley, veined with gold instead of
+blood." "Holy Mary!" she cried some moments later, "what is he bringing?
+The wagon of the country!"
+
+Abel Hudson was standing erect on the low floor of a wagon drawn by two
+strong black mules. The wagon was a clumsy affair,--a large wooden frame
+covered with rawhide, and set upon a heavy axle. The wheels were made of
+solid sections of trees, and the harness was of greenhide. An Indian boy
+sat astride one of the mules. On either side rode a vaquero, with his
+reata fastened to the axle-tree.
+
+"This is the best I can do," said Hudson. "There is probably not another
+American wagon between San Luis and Miramar. Do you think you can stand
+it?"
+
+The girls shrugged their pretty shoulders. The men swore into their
+mustachios. Doņa Pomposa groaned at the prospect of a long ride in a
+springless wagon. But no one was willing to return, and when Eulogia
+jumped lightly in, all followed, and Hudson placed them as comfortably
+as possible, although they were obliged to sit on the floor.
+
+The wagon jolted down the caņon, the mules plunging, the vaqueros
+shouting; but the moon glittered like a silvered snow peak, the wild
+green forest was about them, and even Eulogia grew a little sentimental
+as Abel Hudson's blue eyes bent over hers and his curly head cut off
+Doņa Pomposa's view.
+
+"Dear seņorita," he said, "thy tongue is very sharp, but thou hast a
+kind heart. Hast thou no place in it for Abel Hudson?"
+
+"In the sala, seņor--where many others are received--with mamma and Aunt
+Anastacia sitting in the corner."
+
+He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest! But I would take all the rooms, and
+turn every one out, even to Doņa Pomposa and Doņa Anastacia!"
+
+"And leave me alone with you! God of my soul! How I should yawn!"
+
+"Oh, yes, Doņa Coquetta, I am used to such pretty little speeches. When
+you began to yawn I should ride away, and you would be glad to see me
+when I returned."
+
+"What would you bring me from the mountains, seņor?"
+
+He looked at her steadily. "Gold, seņorita. I know of many rich veins.
+I have a little caņon suspected by no one else, where I pick out a sack
+full of gold in a day. Gold makes the life of a beloved wife very sweet,
+seņorita."
+
+"In truth I should like the gold better than yourself, seņor," said
+Eulogia, frankly. "For if you will have the truth--Ay! Holy heaven! This
+is worse than the other!"
+
+A lurch, splash, and the party with shrill cries sprang to their feet;
+the low cart was filling with water. They had left the caņon and were
+crossing a slough; no one had remembered that it would be high tide. The
+girls, without an instant's hesitation, whipped their gowns up round
+their necks; but their feet were wet and their skirts draggled. They
+made light of it, however, as they did of everything, and drove up to
+Miramar amidst high laughter and rattling jests.
+
+Doņa Luisa Quijas, a handsome shrewd-looking woman, magnificently
+dressed in yellow satin, the glare and sparkle of jewels on her neck,
+came out upon the corridor to meet them.
+
+"What is this? In a wagon of the country! An accident? Ay, Dios de mi
+vida, the slough! Come in--quick! quick! I will give you dry clothes.
+Trust these girls to take care of their gowns. Mary! What wet feet!
+Quick! quick! This way, or you will have red noses to-morrow," and she
+led them down the corridor, past the windows through which they could
+see the dancers in the sala, and opened the door of her bedroom.
+
+"There, my children, help yourselves," and she pulled out the capacious
+drawers of her chest. "All is at your service." She lifted out an armful
+of dry underclothing, then went to the door of an adjoining room and
+listened, her hand uplifted.
+
+"Didst thou have to lock him up?" asked Doņa Pomposa, as she drew on a
+pair of Doņa Luisa's silk stockings.
+
+"Yes! yes! And such a time, my friend! Thou knowest that after I fooled
+him the last time he swore I never should have another ball. But, Dios
+de mi alma! I never was meant to be bothered with a husband, and have I
+not given him three children twenty times handsomer than himself? Is not
+that enough? By the soul of Saint Luis the Bishop, I will continue to
+promise, and then get absolution at the mission, but I will not perform!
+Well, he was furious, my friend; he had spent a sack of gold on that
+ball, and he swore I never should have another. So this time I invited
+my guests, and told him nothing. At seven to-night I persuaded him into
+his room, and locked the door. But, madre de Dios! Diego had forgotten
+to screw down the window, and he got out. I could not get him back,
+Pomposa, and his big nose was purple with rage. He swore that he would
+turn every guest away from the door; he swore that he would be taking
+a bath on the corridor when they came up, and throw insults in their
+faces. Ay, Pomposa! I went down on my knees. I thought I should not have
+my ball--such cakes as I had made, and such salads! But Diego saved me.
+He went into Don Polycarpo's room and cried 'Fire!' Of course the old
+man ran there, and then we locked him in. Diego had screwed down the
+window first. Dios de mi vida! but he is terrible, that man! What have I
+done to be punished with him?"
+
+"Thou art too handsome and too cruel, my Luisa. But, in truth, he is an
+old wild-cat. The saints be praised that he is safe for the night. Did
+he swear?"
+
+"Swear! He has cursed the skin off his throat and is quiet now. Come, my
+little ones, are you ready? The caballeros are dry in Diego's clothes by
+this time, and waiting for their waltzes;" and she drove them through
+the door into the sala with a triumphant smile on her dark sparkling
+face.
+
+The rest of the party had been dancing for an hour, and all gathered
+about the girls to hear the story of the accident, which was told
+with many variations. Eulogia as usual was craved for dances, but she
+capriciously divided her favours between Abel Hudson and Don Tomas
+Garfias. During the intervals, when the musicians were silent and the
+girls played the guitar or threw cascarones at their admirers, she sat
+in the deep window-seat watching the ponderous waves of the Pacific hurl
+themselves against the cliffs, whilst Hudson pressed close to her side,
+disregarding the insistence of Garfias. Finally, the little Don from the
+City of the Angels went into the dining room to get a glass of angelica,
+and Hudson caught at his chance.
+
+"Seņorita," he exclaimed, interrupting one of her desultory remarks,
+"for a year I have loved you, and, for many reasons, I have not dared to
+tell you. I must tell you now. I have no reason to think you care more
+for me than for a dozen other men, but if you will marry me, seņorita,
+I will build you a beautiful American house in San Luis Obispo, and you
+can then be with your friends when business calls me away."
+
+"And where will you live when you are away from me?" asked Eulogia,
+carelessly. "In a cave in the mountains? Be careful of the bandits."
+
+"Seņorita," he replied calmly, "I do not know what you mean by the
+things you say sometimes. Perhaps you have the idea that I am another
+person--John Power, or Pio Lenares, for instance. Do you wish me to
+bring you a certificate to the effect that I am Abel Hudson? I can do
+so, although I thought that Californians disdained the written form
+and trusted to each other's honour, even to the selling of cattle and
+lands."
+
+"You are not a Californian."
+
+"Ah, seņorita--God! what is that?"
+
+A tremendous knocking at the outer door sounded above the clear soprano
+of Graciosa La Cruz.
+
+"A late guest, no doubt. You are white like the wall. I think the low
+ceilings are not so good for your health, seņor, as the sharp air of the
+mountains. Ay, Dios!" The last words came beneath her breath, and
+she forgot Abel Hudson. The front doors had been thrown open, and a
+caballero in riding-boots and a dark scrape wound about his tall figure
+had entered the room and flung his sombrero and saddle-bags into a
+corner. It was Pablo Ignestria.
+
+"At your feet, seņora," he said to Doņa Luisa, who held out both hands,
+welcome on her charming face. "I am an uninvited guest, but when I
+arrived at San Luis and found that all the town had come to one of Doņa
+Luisa's famous balls, I rode on, hoping that for friendship's sake she
+would open her hospitable doors to a wanderer, and let him dance off the
+stiffness of a long ride."
+
+"You are welcome, welcome, Pablo," said Doņa Luisa. "Go to the dining
+room and get a glass of aguardiente; then come back and dance until
+dawn."
+
+Ignestria left the room with Diego Quijas, but returned in a few moments
+and walked directly over to Eulogia, ignoring the men who stood about
+her.
+
+"Give me this dance," he whispered eagerly. "I have something to say to
+thee. I have purposely come from Monterey to say it."
+
+Eulogia was looking at him with angry eyes, her brain on fire. But
+curiosity triumphed, and she put her hand on his shoulder as the
+musicians swept their guitars with lithe fingers, scraped their violins,
+and began the waltz.
+
+"Eulogia!" exclaimed Ignestria; "dost thou suspect why I have returned?"
+
+"Why should I suspect what I have not thought about?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! Art thou as saucy as ever? But I will tell thee, beloved
+one. The poor girl who bore my name is dead, and I have come to beg an
+answer to my letter. Ay, little one, I _feel_ thy love. Why couldst thou
+not have sent me one word? I was so angry when passed week after week
+and no answer came, that in a fit of spleen I married the poor sick
+girl. And what I suffered, Eulogia, after that mad act! Long ago I told
+myself that I should have come back for my answer, that you had sworn
+you would write no letter; I should have let you have your little
+caprices, but I did not reason until--"
+
+"I answered your letter!" exclaimed Eulogia, furiously. "You know that
+I answered it! You only wished to humble me because I had sworn I would
+write to no man. Traitor! I hate you! You were engaged to the girl all
+the time you were here."
+
+"Eulogia! Believe! Believe!"
+
+"I would not believe you if you kissed the cross! You said to yourself,
+'That little coquette, I will teach her a lesson. To think the little
+chit should fancy an elegant Montereņo could fall in love with her!' Ah!
+ha! Oh, Dios! I hate thee, thou false man-of-the-world! Thou art the
+very picture of the men I have read about in the books of the Seņor
+Dumas; and yet I was fooled by thy first love-word! But I never loved
+you. Never, never! It was only a fancy--because you were from Monterey.
+I am glad you did not get my letter, for I hate you! Mother of Christ! I
+hate you!"
+
+He whirled her into the dining room. No one else was there. He kissed
+her full on the mouth.
+
+"Dost thou believe me now?" he asked.
+
+She raised her little hand and struck him on the face, but the sting was
+not hotter than her lips had been.
+
+"May the saints roll you in perdition!" she cried hoarsely. "May they
+thrust burning coals into the eyes that lied to me! May the devils bite
+off the fingers that made me shame myself! God! God! I hate you! I--I,
+who have fooled so many men, to have been rolled in the dust by you!"
+
+He drew back and regarded her sadly.
+
+"I see that it is no use to try to convince you," he said; "and I have
+no proof to show that I never received your letter. But while the stars
+jewel the heavens, Eulogia, I shall love thee and believe that thou
+lovest me."
+
+He opened the door, and she swept past him into the sala. Abel Hudson
+stepped forward to offer his arm, and for the moment Pablo forgot
+Eulogia.
+
+"John Power!" he cried.
+
+Hudson, with an oath, leaped backward, sprang upon the window-seat, and
+smashing the pane with his powerful hand disappeared before the startled
+men thought of stopping him.
+
+"Catch him! Catch him!" cried Ignestria, excitedly. "It is John Power.
+He stood me up a year ago."
+
+He whipped his pistol from the saddle-bags in the corner, and opening
+the door ran down the road, followed by the other men, shouting and
+firing their pistols into the air. But they were too late. Power had
+sprung upon Ignestria's horse, and was far on his way.
+
+
+VIII
+
+The next day Eulogia went with her mother and Aunt Anastacia to pay a
+visit of sympathy to Doņa Jacoba at Los Quervos. Eulogia's eyes were not
+so bright nor her lips so red as they had been the night before, and
+she had little to say as the wagon jolted over the rough road, past the
+cypress fences, then down between the beautiful tinted hills of Los
+Quervos. Doņa Pomposa sat forward on the high seat, her feet dangling
+just above the floor, her hands crossed as usual over her stomach, a
+sudden twirl of thumbs punctuating her remarks. She wore a loose black
+gown trimmed with ruffles, and a black reboso about her head. Aunt
+Anastacia was attired in a like manner, but clutched the side of the
+wagon with one hand and an American sunshade with the other.
+
+"Poor Jacoba!" exclaimed Doņa Pomposa; "her stern heart is heavy this
+day. But she has such a sense of her duty, Anastacia. Only that makes
+her so stern."
+
+"O-h-h-h, y-e-e-s." When Aunt Anastacia was preoccupied or excited,
+these words came from her with a prolonged outgoing and indrawing.
+
+"I must ask her for the recipe for those cakes--the lard ones,
+Anastacia. I have lost it."
+
+"O-h-h, y-e-e-s. I love those cakes. Madre de Dios! It is hot!"
+
+"I wonder will she give Eulogia a mantilla when the chit marries. She
+has a chest full."
+
+"Surely. Jacoba is generous."
+
+"Poor my friend! Ay, her heart--Holy Mary! What is that?"
+
+She and Aunt Anastacia stumbled to their feet. The sound of pistol shots
+was echoing between the hills. Smoke was rising from the willow forest
+that covered the centre of the valley.
+
+The Indian whipped up his horses with an excited grunt, the two old
+women reeling and clutching wildly at each other. At the same time they
+noticed a crowd of horsemen galloping along the hill which a sudden turn
+in the road had opened to view.
+
+"It is the Vigilantes," said Eulogia, calmly, from the front seat. "They
+are after John Power and Pio Lenares and their lieutenants. After that
+awful murder in the mountains the other day, the men of San Luis and the
+ranchos swore they would hunt them out, and this morning they traced
+them to Los Quervos. I suppose they have made a barricade in the
+willows, and the Vigilantes are trying to fire them out."
+
+"Heart of Saint Peter! Thou little brat! Why didst thou not tell us of
+this before, and not let us come here to be shot by flying bullets?"
+
+"I forgot," said Eulogia, indifferently.
+
+They could see nothing; but curiosity, in spite of fear, held them to
+the spot. Smoke and cries, shouts and curses, came from the willows;
+flocks of agitated crows circled screaming through the smoke. The men
+on the hill, their polished horses and brilliant attire flashing in the
+sun, kept up a ceaseless galloping, hallooing, and waving of sombreros.
+The beautiful earth-green and golden hills looked upon a far different
+scene from the gay cavalcades to which they were accustomed. Even Don
+Roberto Duncan, a black silk handkerchief knotted about his head, was
+dashing, on his gray horse, up and down the valley between the hills and
+the willows, regardless of chance bullets. And over all shone the same
+old sun, indifferent alike to slaughter and pleasure.
+
+"Surely, Anastacia, all those bullets must shoot some one."
+
+"O--h--h, y--e--e--s." Her sister was grasping the sunshade with both
+hands, her eyes starting from her head, although she never removed their
+gaze from the central volume of smoke.
+
+"Ay, we can sleep in peace if those murdering bandits are killed!"
+exclaimed Doņa Pomposa. "I have said a rosary every night for five years
+that they might be taken. And, holy heaven! To think that we have been
+petting the worst of them as if he were General Castro or Juan Alvarado.
+To think, my Eulogia!--that thirsty wild-cat has had his arm about thy
+waist more times than I can count."
+
+"He danced very well--aha!"
+
+Aunt Anastacia gurgled like an idiot. Doņa Pomposa gave a terrific
+shriek, which Eulogia cut in two with her hand. A man had crawled out of
+the brush near them. His face was black with powder, one arm hung limp
+at his side. Doņa Pomposa half raised her arm to signal the men on the
+hill, but her daughter gave it such a pinch that she fell back on the
+seat, faint for a moment.
+
+"Let him go," said Eulogia. "Do you want to see a man cut in pieces
+before your eyes? You would have to say rosaries for the rest of your
+life." She leaned over the side of the wagon and spoke to the dazed man,
+whose courage seemed to have deserted him.
+
+"Don Abel Hudson, you do not look so gallant as at the ball last night,
+but you helped us to get there, and I will save you now. Get into the
+wagon, and take care you crawl in like a snake that you may not be
+seen."
+
+"No--no!" cried the two older women, but in truth they were too
+terrified not to submit. Power swung himself mechanically over the
+wheel, and lay on the floor of the wagon. Eulogia, in spite of a
+protesting whimper from Aunt Anastacia, loosened that good dame's ample
+outer skirt and threw it over the fallen bandit. Then the faithful
+Benito turned his horse and drove as rapidly toward the town as the
+rough roads would permit. They barely had started when they heard a
+great shouting behind them, and turned in apprehension, whilst the man
+on the floor groaned aloud in his fear. But the Vigilantes rode by
+them unsuspecting. Across their saddles they carried the blackened and
+dripping bodies of Lenares and his lieutenants; through the willows
+galloped the caballeros in search of John Power. But they did not
+find him, then nor after. Doņa Pomposa hid him in her woodhouse until
+midnight, when he stole away and was never seen near San Luis again. A
+few years later came the word that he had been assassinated by one of
+his lieutenants in Lower California, and his body eaten by wild hogs.
+
+
+IX
+
+  "Al contado plasentero
+  Del primer beso de amor,
+  Un fuego devorador
+  Que en mi pecho siento ardor.
+
+  "Y no me vuelvas a besar
+  Por que me quema tu aliento,
+  Ya desfayeserme siento,
+  Mas enbriagada de amor.
+
+  "Si a cuantas estimas, das
+  Beso en pruebas de amor;
+  Si me amas hasme el favor
+  De no besarme jamas."
+
+A caballero on a prancing horse sang beneath Eulogia's window, his
+jingling spurs keeping time to the tinkling of his guitar. Eulogia
+turned over in bed, pulling the sheet above her ears, and went to sleep.
+
+The next day, when Don Tomas Garfias asked her hand of her mother, Doņa
+Coquetta accepted him with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+"And thou lovest me, Eulogia?" murmured the enraptured little dandy as
+Doņa Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia good-naturedly discussed the composition
+of American pies.
+
+"No."
+
+"Ay! seņorita! Why, then, dost thou marry me? No one compels thee."
+
+"It pleases me. What affair of thine are my reasons if I consent to
+marry you?"
+
+"Oh, Eulogia, I believe thou lovest me! Why not? Many pretty girls have
+done so before thee. Thou wishest only to tease me a little."
+
+"Well, do not let me see too much of you before the wedding-day, or I
+may send you back to those who admire you more than I do."
+
+"Perhaps it is well that I go to San Francisco to remain three months,"
+said the young man, sulkily; he had too much vanity to be enraged. "Wilt
+thou marry me as soon as I return?"
+
+"As well then as any other time."
+
+Garfias left San Luis a few days later to attend to important business
+in San Francisco, and although Doņa Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia began at
+once to make the wedding outfit, Eulogia appeared to forget that she
+ever had given a promise of marriage. She was as great a belle as ever,
+for no one believed that she would keep faith with any man, much less
+with such a ridiculous scrap as Garfias. Her flirtations were more
+calmly audacious than ever, her dancing more spirited; in every frolic
+she was the leader.
+
+Suddenly Doņa Pomposa was smitten with rheumatism. She groaned by night
+and shouted by day. Eulogia, whose patience was not great, organized
+a camping party to the sulphur springs of the great rancho, Paso des
+Robles. The young people went on horseback; Doņa Pomposa and Aunt
+Anastacia in the wagon with the tents and other camping necessities.
+Groans and shrieks mingled with the careless laughter of girls and
+caballeros, who looked upon rheumatism as the inevitable sister of old
+age; but when they entered the park-like valley after the ride over the
+beautiful chrome mountains, Doņa Pomposa declared that the keen dry air
+had already benefited her.
+
+That evening, when the girls left their tents, hearts fluttered, and
+gay muslin frocks waved like agitated banners. Several Americans were
+pitching their tents by the spring. They proved to be a party of mining
+engineers from San Francisco, and although there was only one young
+man among them, the greater was the excitement. Many of the girls were
+beautiful, with their long braids and soft eyes, but Eulogia, in
+her yellow gown, flashed about like a succession of meteors, as the
+Americans drew near and proffered their services to Doņa Pomposa.
+
+The young man introduced himself as Charles Rogers. He was a
+good-looking little fellow, in the lighter American style. His
+well-attired figure was slim and active, his mouse-coloured hair short
+and very straight, his shrewd eyes were blue. After a few moments'
+critical survey of the charming faces behind Doņa Pomposa, he went off
+among the trees, and returning with a bunch of wild flowers walked
+straight over to Eulogia and handed them to her.
+
+She gave him a roguish little courtesy. "Much thanks, seņor. You must
+scuse my English; I no spik often. The Americanos no care for the
+flores?"
+
+"I like them well enough, but I hope you will accept these."
+
+"Si, seņor." She put them in her belt. "You like California?"
+
+"Very much. It is full of gold, and, I should say, excellent for
+agriculture."
+
+"But it no is beautiful country?"
+
+"Oh, yes, it does very well, and the climate is pretty fair in some
+parts."
+
+"You living in San Francisco?"
+
+"I am a mining engineer, and we have got hold of a good thing near
+here."
+
+"The mine--it is yours?"
+
+"Only a part of it."
+
+"The Americanos make all the money now."
+
+"The gold was put here for some one to take out. You Californians had
+things all your own way for a hundred years, but you let it stay there."
+
+"Tell me how you take it out."
+
+He entered into a detailed and somewhat technical description, but her
+quick mind grasped the meaning of unfamiliar words.
+
+"You like make the money?" she asked, after he had finished.
+
+"Of course. What else is a man made for? Life is a pretty small affair
+without money."
+
+"We no have much now, but we live very happy. The Americanos love the
+money, though. Alway I see that."
+
+"Americans have sense."
+
+He devoted himself to her during the ten days of their stay, and his
+business shrewdness and matter-of-fact conversation attracted the
+keen-witted girl, satiated with sighs and serenades. Always eager for
+knowledge, she learned much from him of the Eastern world. She did not
+waste a glance on her reproachful caballeros, but held long practical
+conversations with Rogers under the mending wing of Doņa Pomposa, who
+approved of the stranger, having ascertained his abilities and prospects
+from the older men of his party.
+
+On the morning of their return to San Luis Obispo, Rogers and Eulogia
+were standing somewhat apart, whilst the vaqueros rounded up the horses
+that had strayed at will through the valley. Rogers plucked one of the
+purple autumn lilies and handed it to her.
+
+"Seņorita," he said, "suppose you marry me. It is a good thing for a man
+to be married in a wild country like this; he is not so apt to gamble
+and drink. And although I've seen a good many pretty girls, I've seen no
+one so likely to keep me at home in the evening as yourself. What do you
+say?"
+
+Eulogia laughed. His wooing interested her.
+
+"I promise marry another man; not I think much I ever go to do it."
+
+"Well, let him go, and marry me."
+
+"I no think I like you much better. But I spose I must get marry some
+day. Here my mother come. Ask her. I do what she want."
+
+Doņa Pomposa was trotting toward them, and while she struggled for her
+lost breath Eulogia repeated the proposal of the American, twanging her
+guitar the while.
+
+The old lady took but one moment to make up her mind. "The American,"
+she said rapidly in Spanish. "Garfias is rich now, but in a few years
+the Americans will have everything. Garfias will be poor; this man will
+be rich. Marry the American," and she beamed upon Rogers.
+
+Eulogia shrugged her shoulders and turned to her practical wooer.
+
+"My mother she say she like you the best."
+
+"Then I may look upon that little transaction as settled?"
+
+"Si you like it."
+
+"_Which_ art thou going to marry, Eulogia?" asked one of the girls that
+night, as they rode down the mountain.
+
+"Neither," said Eulogia, serenely.
+
+
+X
+
+Eulogia had just passed through an animated interview with her mother.
+Doņa Pomposa had stormed and Eulogia had made an occasional reply in her
+cool monotonous voice, her gaze absently fixed on the gardens of the
+mission.
+
+"Thou wicked little coquette!" cried Doņa Pomposa, her voice almost
+worn out. "Thou darest repeat to me that thou wilt not marry the Seņor
+Rogers!"
+
+"I will not. It was amusing to be engaged to him for a time, but now I
+am tired. You can give him what excuse you like, but tell him to go."
+
+"And the clothes I have made--the chests of linen with the beautiful
+deshalados that nearly put out Aunt Anastacia's eyes! The new silk
+gowns! Dias de mi vida! The magnificent bed-spread with the lace as deep
+as my hand!"
+
+"They will keep until I do marry. Besides, I need some new clothes."
+
+"Dost thou indeed, thou little brat! Thou shalt not put on a smock or
+a gown in that chest if thou goest naked! But thou shalt marry him, I
+say!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh, thou ice-hearted little devil!" Even Doņa Pomposa's stomach was
+trembling with rage, and her fingers were jumping. "Whom then wilt thou
+marry? Garfias?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Thou wilt be an old maid like Aunt Anastacia."
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"O--h--h--Who is this?"
+
+A stranger in travelling scrape and riding-boots had dashed up to the
+house, and flung himself from his horse. He knocked loudly on the open
+door, then entered without waiting for an invitation, and made a deep
+reverence to Doņa Pomposa.
+
+"At your service, seņora. At your service, seņorita. I come from the
+Seņor Don Tomas Garfias. Word has reached him that the Seņorita Eulogia
+is about to marry an American. I humbly ask you to tell me if this be
+true or not. I have been told in town that the wedding is set for the
+day after to-morrow."
+
+"Ask her!" cried Doņa Pomposa, tragically, and she swung herself to the
+other end of the room.
+
+"Seņorita, at your feet."
+
+"You can tell your friend that I have no more intention of marrying the
+American than I have of marrying him."
+
+"Seņorita! But he expected to return next week and marry you."
+
+"We expect many things in this world that we do not get."
+
+"But--a thousand apologies for my presumption, seņorita--why did you not
+write and tell him?"
+
+"I never write letters."
+
+"But you could have sent word by some friend travelling to San
+Francisco, seņorita."
+
+"He would find it out in good time. Why hurry?"
+
+"Ay, seņorita, well are you named Doņa Coquetta. You are famous even to
+San Francisco. I will return to my poor friend. At your service, seņora.
+At your service, seņorita," and he bowed himself out, and galloped away.
+
+Doņa Pomposa threw herself into her chair, and wept aloud.
+
+"Mother of God! I had thought to see her married to a thrifty American!
+What have I done to be punished with so heartless a child? And the
+Americans will have all the money! The little I have will go, too! We
+shall be left sitting in the street. And we might have a wooden house in
+San Francisco, and go to the theatre! Oh, Mother of God, why dost thou
+not soften the heart of the wicked--"
+
+Eulogia slipped out of the window, and went into the mission gardens.
+She walked slowly through the olive groves, lifting her arms to part
+the branches where the little purple spheres lay in their silver nests.
+Suddenly she came face to face with Pablo Ignestria.
+
+Her cynical brain informed her stormy heart that any woman must succumb
+finally to the one man who had never bored her.
+
+
+
+
+THE ISLE OF SKULLS
+
+
+I
+
+The good priests of Santa Barbara sat in grave conference on the long
+corridor of their mission. It was a winter's day, and they basked in
+the sun. The hoods of their brown habits peaked above faces lean and
+ascetic, fat and good-tempered, stern, intelligent, weak, commanding.
+One face alone was young.
+
+But for the subject under discussion they would have been at peace with
+themselves and with Nature. In the great square of the mission the
+Indians they had Christianized worked at many trades. The great aqueduct
+along the brow of one of the lower hills, the wheat and corn fields on
+the slopes, the trim orchards and vegetable gardens in the caņons of the
+great bare mountains curving about the valley, were eloquent evidence of
+their cleverness and industry. From the open door of the church came the
+sound of lively and solemn tunes: the choir was practising for mass. The
+day was as peaceful as only those long drowsy shimmering days before the
+Americans came could be. And yet there was dissent among the padres.
+
+Several had been speaking together, when one of the older men raised his
+hand with cold impatience.
+
+"There is only one argument," he said. "We came here, came to the
+wilderness out of civilization, for one object only--to lead the heathen
+to God. We have met with a fair success. Shall we leave these miserable
+islanders to perish, when we have it in our power to save?"
+
+"But no one knows exactly where this island is, Father Jiméno," replied
+the young priest. "And we know little of navigation, and may perish
+before we find it. Our lives are more precious than those of savages."
+
+"In the sight of God one soul is of precisely the same value as another,
+Father Carillo."
+
+The young priest scowled. "We can save. They cannot."
+
+"If we refuse to save when the power is ours, then the savage in his
+extremest beastiality has more hope of heaven than we have."
+
+Father Carillo looked up at the golden sun riding high in the dark blue
+sky, down over the stately oaks and massive boulders of the valley where
+quail flocked like tame geese. He had no wish to leave his paradise, and
+as the youngest and hardiest of the priests, he knew that he would be
+ordered to take charge of the expedition.
+
+"It is said also," continued the older man, "that once a ship from the
+Continent of Europe was wrecked among those islands--"
+
+"No? No?" interrupted several of the priests.
+
+"It is more than probable that there were survivors, and that their
+descendants live on this very island to-day. Think of it, my brother!
+Men and women of our own blood, perhaps, living like beasts of the
+field! Worshipping idols! Destitute of morality! Can we sit here in hope
+of everlasting life while our brethren perish?"
+
+"No!" The possibility of rescuing men of European blood had quenched
+dissent. Even Carillo spoke as spontaneously as the others.
+
+As he had anticipated, the expedition was put in his charge. Don
+Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the magnate of the South, owned a small
+schooner, and placed it at the disposal of the priests.
+
+Through the wide portals of the mission church, two weeks later, rolled
+the solemn music of high mass. The church was decorated as for a
+festival. The aristocrats of the town knelt near the altar, the people
+and Indians behind.
+
+Father Carillo knelt and took communion, the music hushing suddenly to
+rise in more sonorous volume. Then Father Jiméno, bearing a cross and
+chanting the rosary, descended the altar steps and walked toward the
+doors. On either side of him a page swung a censer. Four women neophytes
+rose from among the worshippers, and shouldering a litter on which
+rested a square box containing an upright figure of the Holy Virgin
+followed with bent heads. The Virgin's gown was of yellow satin, covered
+with costly Spanish lace; strands of Baja Californian pearls bedecked
+the front of her gown. Behind this resplendent image came the other
+priests, two and two, wearing their white satin embroidered robes,
+chanting the sacred mysteries. Father Carillo walked last and alone. His
+thin clever face wore an expression of nervous exaltation.
+
+As the procession descended the steps of the church, the bells rang
+out a wild inspiring peal. The worshippers rose, and forming in line
+followed the priests down the valley.
+
+When they reached the water's edge, Father Jiméno raised the cross above
+his head, stepped with the other priests into a boat, and was rowed to
+the schooner. He sprinkled holy water upon the little craft; then Father
+Carillo knelt and received the blessing of each of his brethren. When
+he rose all kissed him solemnly, then returned to the shore, where the
+whole town knelt. The boat brought back the six Indians who were to give
+greeting and confidence to their kinsmen on the island, and the schooner
+was ready to sail. As she weighed anchor, the priests knelt in a row
+before the people, Father Jiméno alone standing and holding the cross
+aloft with rigid arms.
+
+Father Carillo stood on deck and watched the white mission under the
+mountain narrow to a thread, the kneeling priests become dots of
+reflected light. His exaltation vanished. He was no longer the chief
+figure in a picturesque panorama. He set his lips and his teeth behind
+them. He was a very ambitious man. His dreams leapt beyond California
+to the capital of Spain. If he returned with his savages, he might make
+success serve as half the ladder. But would he return?
+
+Wind and weather favoured him. Three days after leaving Santa Barbara
+he sighted a long narrow mountainous island. He had passed another of
+different proportions in the morning, and before night sighted still
+another, small and oval. But the lofty irregular mass, some ten miles
+long and four miles wide, which he approached at sundown, was the one he
+sought. The night world was alight under the white blaze of the moon;
+the captain rode into a small harbour at the extreme end of the island
+and cast anchor, avoiding reefs and shoals as facilely as by midday.
+Father Carillo gave his Indians orders to be ready to march at dawn.
+
+The next morning the priest arrayed himself in his white satin garments,
+embroidered about the skirt with gold and on the chest with a purple
+cross pointed with gold. The brown woollen habit of his voyage was left
+behind. None knew better than he the value of theatric effect upon the
+benighted mind. His Indians wore gayly striped blankets of their own
+manufacture, and carried baskets containing presents and civilized food.
+
+Bearing a large gilt cross, Father Carillo stepped on shore, waved
+farewell to the captain, and directed his Indians to keep faithfully in
+the line of march: they might come upon the savages at any moment. They
+toiled painfully through a long stretch of white sand, then passed into
+a grove of banana trees, dark, cold, noiseless, but for the rumble of
+the ocean. When they reached the edge of the grove, Father Carillo
+raised his cross and commanded the men to kneel. Rumour had told him
+what to expect, and he feared the effect on his simple and superstitious
+companions. He recited a chaplet, then, before giving them permission to
+rise, made a short address.
+
+"My children, be not afraid at what meets your eyes. The ways of all
+men are not our ways. These people have seen fit to leave their dead
+unburied on the surface of the earth. But these poor bones can do you
+no more harm than do those you have placed beneath the ground in Santa
+Barbara. Now rise and follow me, nor turn back as you fear the wrath of
+God."
+
+He turned and strode forward, with the air of one to whom fear had no
+meaning; but even he closed his eyes for a moment in horror. The poor
+creatures behind mumbled and crossed themselves and clung to each other.
+The plain was a vast charnel-house. The sun, looking over the brow of an
+eastern hill, threw its pale rays upon thousands of crumbling skeletons,
+bleached by unnumbered suns, picked bare by dead and gone generations of
+carrion, white, rigid, sinister. Detached skulls lay in heaps, grinning
+derisively. Stark digits pointed threateningly, as if the old warriors
+still guarded their domain. Other frames lay face downward, as though
+the broken teeth had bitten the dust in battle. Slender forms lay prone,
+their arms encircling cooking utensils, beautiful in form and colour.
+Great bowls and urns, toy canoes, mortars and pestles, of serpentine,
+sandstone, and steatite, wrought with a lost art,--if, indeed, the art
+had ever been known beyond this island,--and baked to richest dyes, were
+placed at the head and feet of skeletons more lofty in stature than
+their fellows.
+
+Father Carillo sprinkled holy water right and left, bidding his Indians
+chant a rosary for the souls which once had inhabited these appalling
+tenements. The Indians obeyed with clattering teeth, keeping their eyes
+fixed stonily upon the ground lest they stumble and fall amid yawning
+ribs.
+
+The ghastly tramp lasted two hours. The sun spurned the hill-top and
+cast a flood of light upon the ugly scene. The white bones grew whiter,
+dazzling the eyes of the living. They reached the foot of a mountain and
+began a toilsome ascent through a dark forest. Here new terrors awaited
+them. Skeletons sat propped against trees, grinning out of the dusk,
+gleaming in horrid relief against the mass of shadow. Father Carillo,
+with one eye over his shoulder, managed by dint of command, threats, and
+soothing words to get his little band to the top of the hill. Once,
+when revolt seemed imminent, he asked them scathingly if they wished to
+retrace their steps over the plain unprotected by the cross, and they
+clung to his skirts thereafter. When they reached the summit, they lay
+down to rest and eat their luncheon, Father Carillo reclining carefully
+on a large mat: his fine raiment was a source of no little anxiety. No
+skeletons kept them company here. They had left the last many yards
+below.
+
+"Anacleto," commanded the priest, at the end of an hour, "crawl forward
+on thy hands and knees and peer over the brow of the mountain. Then come
+back and tell me if men like thyself are below."
+
+Anacleto obeyed, and returned in a few moments with bulging eyes and a
+broad smile of satisfaction. People were in the valley--a small band.
+They wore feathers like birds, and came and went from the base of the
+hill. There were no wigwams, no huts.
+
+Father Carillo rose at once. Bidding his Indians keep in the background,
+he walked to the jutting brow of the hill, and throwing a rapid glance
+downward came to a sudden halt. With one hand he held the cross well
+away from him and high above his head. The sun blazed down on the
+burnished cross; on the white shining robes of the priest; on his calm
+benignant face thrown into fine relief by the white of the falling
+sleeve.
+
+In a moment a low murmur arose from the valley, then a sudden silence.
+Father Carillo, glancing downward, saw that the people had prostrated
+themselves.
+
+He began the descent, holding the cross aloft, chanting solemnly; his
+Indians, to whom he had given a swift signal, following and lifting up
+their voices likewise. The mountain on this side was bare, as if from
+fire, the incline shorter and steeper. The priest noted all things,
+although he never forgot his lines.
+
+Below was a little band of men and women. A broad plain swept from the
+mountain's foot, a forest broke its sweep, and the ocean thundered near.
+The people were clad in garments made from the feathered skins of birds,
+and were all past middle age. The foot of the mountain was perforated
+with caves.
+
+When he stood before the trembling awe-struck savages, he spoke to them
+kindly and bade them rise. They did not understand, but lifted their
+heads and stared appealingly. He raised each in turn. As they once
+more looked upon his full magnificence, they were about to prostrate
+themselves again when they caught sight of the Indians. Those dark
+stolid faces, even that gay attire, they could understand. Glancing
+askance at the priest, they drew near to their fellow-beings, touched
+their hands to the strangers' breasts, and finally kissed them.
+
+Father Carillo was a man of tact.
+
+"My children," he said to his flock, "do you explain as best you-can to
+these our new friends what it is we have come to do. I will go into the
+forest and rest."
+
+He walked swiftly across the plain, and parting the clinging branches
+of two gigantic ferns, entered the dim wood. He laid the heavy cross
+beneath a tree, and strolled idly. It was a forest of fronds. Lofty fern
+trees waved above wide-leaved palms. Here and there a little marsh with
+crowding plant life held the riotous groves apart. Down the mountain up
+which the forest spread tumbled a creek over coloured rocks, then wound
+its way through avenues, dark in the shadows, sparkling where the
+sunlight glinted through the tall tree-tops. Red lilies were everywhere.
+The aisles were vocal with whispering sound.
+
+The priest threw himself down on a bed of dry leaves by the creek. After
+a time his eyes closed. He was weary, and slept.
+
+He awoke suddenly, the power of a steadfast gaze dragging his brain from
+its rest. A girl sat on a log in the middle of the creek. Father Carillo
+stared incredulously, believing himself to be dreaming. The girl's
+appearance was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like the other members
+of her tribe, she wore a garment of feathers, and her dark face was cast
+in the same careless and gentle mould; but her black eyes had a certain
+intelligence, unusual to the Indians of California, and the hair that
+fell to her knees was the colour of flame. Apparently she was not more
+than eighteen years old.
+
+Father Carillo, belonging to a period when bleached brunettes were
+unknown, hastily crossed himself.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked.
+
+His voice was deep and musical. It had charmed many a woman's heart,
+despite the fact that he had led a life of austerity and sought no
+woman's smiles. But this girl at the sound of it gave a loud cry and
+bounded up the mountain, leaping through the brush like a deer.
+
+[Illustration: "HE AWOKE SUDDENLY, THE POWER OF A STEADFAST GAZE
+DRAGGING HIS BRAIN FROM ITS REST."]
+
+The priest rose, drank of the bubbles in the stream, and retraced his
+steps. He took up the burden of the cross again and returned to the
+village. There he found the savage and the Christianized sitting
+together in brotherly love. The islanders were decked with the rosaries
+presented to them, and the women in their blankets were swollen with
+pride. All had eaten of bread and roast fowl, and made the strangers
+offerings of strange concoctions in magnificent earthen dishes. As the
+priest appeared the heathen bowed low, then gathered about him. Their
+awe had been dispelled, and they responded to the magnetism of his voice
+and smile. He knew many varieties of the Indian language, and succeeded
+in making them understand that he wished them to return with him, and
+that he would make them comfortable and happy. They nodded their heads
+vigorously as he spoke, but pointed to their venerable chief, who sat at
+the entrance of his cave eating of a turkey's drumstick. Father Carillo
+went over to the old man and saluted him respectfully. The chief nodded,
+waved his hand at a large flat stone, and continued his repast, his
+strong white teeth crunching bone as well as flesh. The priest spread
+his handkerchief on the stone, seated himself, and stated the purpose
+of his visit. He dwelt at length upon the glories of civilization. The
+chief dropped his bone after a time and listened attentively. When the
+priest finished, he uttered a volley of short sentences.
+
+"Good. We go. Great sickness come. All die but us. Many, many, many. We
+are strong no more. No children come. We are old--all. One young girl
+not die. The young men die. The young women die. The children die. No
+more will come. Yes, we go."
+
+"And this young girl with the hair--" The priest looked upward. The sun
+had gone. He touched the gold of the cross, then his own hair.
+
+"Dorthe," grunted the old man, regarding his bare drumstick regretfully.
+
+"Who is she? Where did she get such a name? Why has she that hair?"
+
+Out of another set of expletives Father Carillo gathered that Dorthe was
+the granddaughter of a man who had been washed ashore after a storm, and
+who had dwelt on the island until he died. He had married a woman of
+the tribe, and to his daughter had given the name of Dorthe--or so the
+Indians had interpreted it--and his hair, which was like the yellow
+fire. This girl had inherited both. He had been very brave and much
+beloved, but had died while still young. Their ways were not his ways,
+Father Carillo inferred, and barbarism had killed him.
+
+The priest did not see Dorthe again that day. When night came, he was
+given a cave to himself. He hung up his robes on a jutting point of
+rock, and slept the sleep of the weary. At the first shaft of dawn he
+rose, intending to stroll down to the beach in search of a bay where he
+could bathe; but as he stepped across the prostrate Californians, asleep
+at the entrance of his cave, he paused abruptly, and changed his plans.
+
+On the far edge of the ocean the rising diadem of the sun sent great
+bubbles of colour up through a low bank of pale green cloud to the gray
+night sky and the sulky stars. And, under the shadow of the cacti and
+palms, in rapt mute worship, knelt the men and women the priest had come
+to save, their faces and clasped hands uplifted to the waking sun.
+
+Father Carillo awoke his Indians summarily.
+
+"Gather a dozen large stones and build an altar--quick!" he commanded.
+
+The sleepy Indians stumbled to their feet, obeyed orders, and in a few
+moments a rude altar was erected. The priest propped the cross on the
+apex, and, kneeling with his Indians, slowly chanted a mass. The savages
+gathered about curiously; then, impressed by the solemnity of the
+priest's voice and manner, sank to their knees once more, although
+directing to the sun an occasional glance of anxiety. When the priest
+rose, he gave them to understand that he was deeply gratified by their
+response to the religion of civilization, and pointed to the sun, now
+full-orbed, amiably swimming in a jewelled mist. Again they prostrated
+themselves, first to him, then to their deity, and he knew that the
+conquest was begun.
+
+After breakfast they were ready to follow him. They had cast their
+feathered robes into a heap, and wore the blankets, one and all. Still
+Dorthe had not appeared. The chief sent a man in search of her, and
+when, after some delay, she entered his presence, commanded her to make
+herself ready to go with the tribe. For a time she protested angrily.
+But when she found that she must go or remain alone, she reluctantly
+joined the forming procession, although refusing to doff her bird
+garment, and keeping well in the rear that she might not again look upon
+that terrible presence in white and gold, that face with its strange
+pallor and piercing eyes. Father Carillo, who was very much bored, would
+have been glad to talk to her, but recognized that he must keep his
+distance if he wished to include her among his trophies.
+
+The natives knew of a shorter trail to the harbour, and one of them led
+the way, Father Carillo urging his footsteps, for the green cloud of
+dawn was now high and black and full. A swift wind was rustling the
+tree-tops and tossing the ocean white. As they skirted the plain of the
+dead, the priest saw a strange sight. The wind had become a gale. It
+caught up great armfuls of sand from the low dunes, and hurled them upon
+the skeletons, covering them from sight. Sometimes a gust would snatch
+the blanket from one to bury another more deeply; and for a moment the
+old bones would gleam again, to be enveloped in the on-rushing pillar of
+whirling sand. Through the storm leaped the wild dogs, yelping dismally.
+
+When the party reached the stretch beyond the banana grove, they saw the
+schooner tossing and pulling at her anchor. The captain shouted to them
+to hurry. The boat awaiting them at the beach was obliged to make three
+trips. Father Carillo went in the first boat; Dorthe remained for the
+last. She was the last, also, to ascend the ladder at the ship's side.
+As she put her foot on deck, and confronted again the pale face and
+shining robes of the young priest, she screamed, and leapt from the
+vessel into the waves. The chief and his tribe shouted their entreaties
+to return. But she had disappeared, and the sky was black. The captain
+refused to lower the boat again. He had already weighed anchor, and he
+hurriedly represented that to remain longer in the little bay, with its
+reefs and rocks, its chopping waves, would mean death to all. The priest
+was obliged to sacrifice the girl to the many lives in his keep.
+
+
+II
+
+Dorthe darted through the hissing waves, undismayed by the darkness or
+the screaming wind; she and the ocean had been friends since her baby
+days. When a breaker finally tossed her on the shore, she scrambled to
+the bank, then stood long endeavouring to pierce the rain for sight of
+the vessel. But it was far out in the dark. Dorthe was alone on the
+island. For a time she howled in dismal fashion. She was wholly without
+fear, but she had human needs and was lonesome. Then reason told her
+that when the storm was over the ship would return to seek her; and she
+fled and hid in the banana grove. The next morning the storm had passed;
+but the ship was nowhere to be seen, and she started for home.
+
+The wind still blew, but it had veered. This time it caught the sand
+from the skeletons, and bore it rapidly back to the dunes. Dorthe
+watched the old bones start into view. Sometimes a skull would thrust
+itself suddenly forth, sometimes a pair of polished knees; and once a
+long finger seemed to beckon. But it was an old story to Dorthe, and she
+pursued her journey undisturbed.
+
+She climbed the mountain, and went down into the valley and lived alone.
+Her people had left their cooking utensils. She caught fish in the
+creek, and shot birds with her bow and arrow. Wild fruits and nuts were
+abundant. Of creature comforts she lacked nothing. But the days were
+long and the island was very still. For a while she talked aloud in
+the limited vocabulary of her tribe. After a time she entered into
+companionship with the frogs and birds, imitating their speech.
+Restlessness vanished, and she existed contentedly enough.
+
+Two years passed. The moon flooded the valley one midnight. Dorthe lay
+on the bank of the creek in the fern forest. She and the frogs had held
+long converse, and she was staring up through the feathery branches,
+waving in the night wind, at the calm silver face which had ignored her
+overtures. Upon this scene entered a man. He was attenuated and ragged.
+Hair and beard fell nearly to his waist. He leaned on a staff, and
+tottered like an old man.
+
+He stared about him sullenly. "Curse them!" he said aloud. "Why could
+they not have died and rotted before we heard of them?"
+
+Dorthe, at the sound of a human voice, sprang to her feet with a cry.
+The man, too, gave a cry--the ecstatic cry of the unwilling hermit who
+looks again upon the human face.
+
+"Dorthe! Thou? I thought thou wast dead--drowned in the sea."
+
+Dorthe had forgotten the meaning of words, but her name came to her
+familiarly. Then something stirred within her, filling her eyes with
+tears. She went forward and touched the stranger, drawing her hand over
+his trembling arms.
+
+"Do you not remember me, Dorthe?" asked the man, softly. "I am the
+priest--was, for I am not fit for the priesthood now. I have forgotten
+how to pray."
+
+She shook her head, but smiling, the instinct of gregariousness
+awakening.
+
+He remembered his needs, and made a gesture which she understood. She
+took his hand, and led him from the forest to her cave. She struck fire
+from flint into a heap of fagots beneath a swinging pot. In a little
+time she set before him a savoury mess of birds. He ate of it
+ravenously. Dorthe watched him with deep curiosity. She had never seen
+hunger before. She offered him a gourd of water, and he drank thirstily.
+When he raised his face his cheeks were flushed, his eyes brighter.
+
+He took her hand and drew her down beside him.
+
+"I must talk," he said. "Even if you cannot understand, I must talk to
+a human being. I must tell some one the story of these awful years. The
+very thought intoxicates me. We were shipwrecked, Dorthe. The wind drove
+us out of our course, and we went to pieces on the rocks at the foot of
+this island. Until to-night I did not know that it was this island. I
+alone was washed on shore. In the days that came I grew to wish that I,
+too, had perished. You know nothing of what solitude and savagery mean
+to the man of civilization--and to the man of ambition. Oh, my God! I
+dared not leave the shore lest I miss the chance to signal a passing
+vessel. There was scarcely anything to maintain life on that rocky
+coast. Now and again I caught a seagull or a fish. Sometimes I ventured
+inland and found fruit, running back lest a ship should pass. There I
+stayed through God knows how many months and years. I fell ill many
+times. My limbs are cramped and twisted with rheumatism. Finally, I grew
+to hate the place beyond endurance. I determined to walk to the other
+end of the island. It was only when I passed, now and again, the
+unburied dead and the pottery that I suspected I might be on your
+island. Oh, that ghastly company! When night came, they seemed to rise
+and walk before me. I cried aloud and cursed them. My manhood has gone,
+I fear. I cannot tell how long that terrible journey lasted,--months and
+months, for my feet are bare and my legs twisted. What kind fate guided
+me to you?"
+
+He gazed upon her, not as man looks at woman, but as mortal looks
+adoringly upon the face of mortal long withheld.
+
+Dorthe smiled sympathetically. His speech and general appearance struck
+a long-dormant chord; but in her mind was no recognition of him.
+
+He fell asleep suddenly and profoundly. As Dorthe watched, she gradually
+recalled the appearance of the old who had lain screaming on the ground
+drawing up their cramped limbs. She also recalled the remedy. Not far
+from the edge of the forest was a line of temascals, excavations covered
+with mud huts, into which her people had gone for every ill. She ran to
+one, and made a large fire within; the smoke escaped through an aperture
+in the roof. Then she returned, and, taking the emaciated figure in her
+arms, bore him to the hut and placed him in the corner farthest from the
+fire. She went out and closed the door, but thrust her head in from time
+to time. He did not awaken for an hour. When he did, he thought he had
+entered upon the fiery sequel of unfaith. The sweat was pouring from
+his body. The atmosphere could only be that of the nether world. As his
+brain cleared he understood, and made no effort to escape: he knew
+the virtues of the temascal. As the intense heat sapped his remaining
+vitality he sank into lethargy. He was aroused by the shock of cold
+water, and opened his eyes to find himself struggling in the creek,
+Dorthe holding him down with firm arms. After a moment she carried him
+back to the plain and laid him in the sun to dry. His rags still clung
+to him. She regarded them with disfavour, and fetched the Chief's
+discarded plumage. As soon as he could summon strength he tottered into
+the forest and made his toilet. As he was a foot and a half taller than
+the Chief had been, he determined to add a flounce as soon as his health
+would permit. Dorthe, however, looked approval when he emerged, and set
+a bowl of steaming soup before him.
+
+He took the temascal twice again, and at the end of a week the drastic
+cure had routed his rheumatism. Although far from strong, he felt twenty
+years younger. His manhood returned, and with it his man's vanity. He
+did not like the appearance of his reflected image in the still pools of
+the wood. The long beard and head locks smote him sorely. He disliked
+the idea of being a fright, even though Dorthe had no standards of
+comparison; but his razors were at the bottom of the sea.
+
+After much excogitation he arrived at a solution. One day, when Dorthe
+was on the other side of the mountain shooting birds,--she would kill
+none of her friends in the fern forest,--he tore dried palm leaves into
+strips, and setting fire to them singed his hair and beard to the roots.
+It was a long and tedious task. When it was finished the pool told him
+that his chin and head were like unto a stubbled field. But he was young
+and well-looking once more.
+
+He went out and confronted Dorthe. She dropped her birds, her bow and
+arrow, and stared at him. Then he saw recognition leap to her eyes; but
+this time no fear. He was far from being the gorgeous apparition of many
+moons ago. And, so quickly does solitude forge its links, she smiled
+brightly, approvingly, and he experienced a glow of content.
+
+The next day he taught her the verbal synonym of many things, and she
+spoke the words after him with rapt attention. When he finished the
+lesson, she pounded, in a wondrous mortar, the dried flour of the banana
+with the eggs of wild fowl, then fried the paste over the fire he had
+built. She brought a dish of nuts and showed him gravely how to crack
+them with a stone, smiling patronizingly at his ready skill. When the
+dinner was cooked, she offered him one end of the dish as usual, but he
+thought it was time for another lesson. He laid a flat stone with palm
+leaves, and set two smaller dishes at opposite ends. Then with a flat
+stick he lifted the cakes from the fry-pan, and placed an equal number
+on each plate. Dorthe watched these proceedings with expanded eyes, but
+many gestures of impatience. She was hungry. He took her hand and led
+her ceremoniously to the head of the table, motioning to her to be
+seated. She promptly went down on her knees, and dived at the cakes with
+both hands. But again he restrained her. He had employed a part of his
+large leisure fashioning rude wood forks with his ragged pocket-knife.
+There were plenty of bone knives on the island. He sat himself opposite,
+and gave her a practical illustration of the use of the knife and fork.
+She watched attentively, surreptitiously whisking morsels of cake into
+her mouth. Finally, she seized the implements of civilization beside her
+plate, and made an awkward attempt to use them. The priest tactfully
+devoted himself to his own dinner. Suddenly he heard a cry of rage, and
+simultaneously the knife and fork flew in different directions. Dorthe
+seized a cake in each hand, and stuffed them into her mouth, her eyes
+flashing defiance. The priest looked at her reproachfully, then lowered
+his eyes. Presently she got up, found the knife and fork, and made a
+patient effort to guide the food to its proper place by the new and
+trying method This time the attempt resulted in tears--a wild thunder
+shower. The priest went over, knelt beside her, and guided the knife
+through the cake, the fork to her mouth. Dorthe finished the meal, then
+put her head on his shoulder and wept bitterly. The priest soothed her,
+and made her understand that she had acquitted herself with credit; and
+the sun shone once more.
+
+An hour later she took his hand, and led him to the creek in the forest.
+
+"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" she cried.
+
+"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" came promptly from the rushes. She looked at
+him triumphantly.
+
+"Curruck," he said, acknowledging the introduction.
+
+She laughed outright at his poor attempt, startling even him with the
+discordant sound. She sprang to his side, her eyes rolling with terror.
+But he laughed himself, and in a few moments she was attempting to
+imitate him. Awhile later she introduced him to the birds; but he
+forbore to trill, having a saving sense of humour.
+
+The comrades of her solitude were deserted. She made rapid progress in
+human speech. Gradually her voice lost its cross between a croak and a
+trill and acquired a feminine resemblance to her instructor's. At the
+end of a month they could speak together after a fashion. When she made
+her first sentence, haltingly but surely, she leaped to her feet and
+executed a wild war dance. They were on the plain of the dead. She flung
+her supple legs among the skeletons, sending the bones flying, her
+bright hair tossing about her like waves of fire. The priest watched her
+with bated breath, half expecting to see the outraged warriors arise in
+wrath. The gaunt dogs that were always prowling about the plain fled in
+dismay.
+
+The month had passed very agreeably to the priest. After the horrors of
+his earlier experience it seemed for a time that he had little more to
+ask of life. Dorthe knew nothing of love; but he knew that if no ship
+came, she would learn, and he would teach her. He had loved no woman,
+but he felt that in this vast solitude he could love Dorthe and be happy
+with her. In the languor of convalescence he dreamed of the hour when he
+should take her in his arms and see the frank regard in her eyes for the
+last time. The tranquil air was heavy with the perfumes of spring. The
+palms were rigid. The blue butterflies sat with folded wings. The birds
+hung their drowsy heads.
+
+But with returning strength came the desire for civilization, the
+awakening of his ambitions, the desire for intellectual activity. He
+stood on the beach for hours at a time, straining his eyes for passing
+ships. He kept a fire on the cliffs constantly burning. Dorthe's
+instincts were awakening, and she was vaguely troubled. The common
+inheritance was close upon her.
+
+The priest now put all thoughts of love sternly from him. Love meant a
+lifetime on the island, for he would not desert her, and to take her to
+Santa Barbara would mean the death of all his hopes. And yet in his way
+he loved her, and there were nights when he sat by the watch-fire and
+shed bitter tears. He had read the story of Juan and Haidée, by no means
+without sympathy, and he wished more than once that he had the mind and
+nature of the poet; but to violate his own would be productive of misery
+to both. He was no amorous youth, but a man with a purpose, and that,
+for him, was the end of it. But he spent many hours with her, talking to
+her of life beyond the island, a story to which she listened with eager
+interest.
+
+One night as he was about to leave her, she dropped her face into her
+hands and cried heavily. Instinctively he put his arms about her, and
+she as instinctively clung to him, terrified and appealing. He kissed
+her, not once, but many times, intoxicated and happy. She broke from him
+suddenly and ran to her cave; and he, chilled and angry, went to his
+camp-fire.
+
+It was a very brilliant night. An hour later he saw something skim the
+horizon. Later still he saw that the object was closer, and that it was
+steering for the harbour. He ran to meet it.
+
+Twice he stopped. The magnetism of the only woman that had ever awakened
+his love drew him back. He thought of her despair, her utter and, this
+time, unsupportable loneliness; the careless girl with the risen sun
+would be a broken-hearted woman.
+
+But he ran on.
+
+Spain beckoned. The highest dignities of the Church were his. He saw his
+political influence a byword in Europe. He felt Dorthe's arms about him,
+her soft breath on his cheek, and uttered a short savage scream; but he
+went on.
+
+When he reached the harbour three men had already landed. They
+recognized him, and fell at his feet. And when he told them that he was
+alone on the island, they reëmbarked without question. And he lived, and
+forgot, and realized his great ambitions.
+
+Thirty years later a sloop put into the harbour of the island for
+repairs. Several of the men went on shore. They discovered footprints in
+the sand. Wondering, for they had sailed the length of the island and
+seen no sign of habitation, they followed the steps. They came upon a
+curious creature which was scraping with a bone knife the blubber from
+a seal. At first they thought it was a bird of some unknown species, so
+sharp was its beak, so brilliant its plumage. But when they spoke to it
+and it sprang aside and confronted them, they saw that the creature was
+an aged woman. Her face was like an old black apple, within whose skin
+the pulp had shrunk and withered as it lay forgotten on the ground. Her
+tawny hair hung along her back like a ragged mat. There was no light in
+the dim vacuous eyes. She wore a garment made of the unplucked skins of
+birds. They spoke to her. She uttered a gibberish unknown to them with a
+voice that croaked like a frog's, then went down on her creaking knees
+and lifted her hands to the sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
+
+
+I
+
+"Doņa Concepción had the greatest romance of us all; so she should not
+chide too bitterly."
+
+"But she has such a sense of her duty! Such a sense of her duty! Ay,
+Dios de mi alma! Shall we ever grow like that?"
+
+"If we have a Russian lover who is killed in the far North, and we have
+a convent built for us, and teach troublesome girls. Surely, if one goes
+through fire, one can become anything--"
+
+"Ay, yi! Look! Look!"
+
+Six dark heads were set in a row along the edge of a secluded corner of
+the high adobe wall surrounding the Convent of Monterey. They looked
+for all the world like a row of charming gargoyles--every mouth was
+open--although there was no blankness in those active mischief-hunting
+eyes. Their bodies, propped on boxes, were concealed by the wall from
+the passer-by, and from the sharp eyes of dueņas by a group of trees
+just behind them. Their section of the wall faced the Presidio, which in
+the early days of the eighteenth century had not lost an adobe, and was
+full of active life. At one end was the house of the Governor of all the
+Californias, at another the church, which is all that stands to-day.
+Under other walls of the square were barracks, quarters for officers and
+their families, store-rooms for ammunition and general supplies in case
+of a raid by hostile tribes (when all the town must be accommodated
+within the security of those four great walls), and a large hall in
+which many a ball was given. The aristocratic pioneers of California
+loved play as well as work. Beyond were great green plains alive with
+cattle, and above all curved the hills dark with pines. Three soldiers
+had left the Presidio and were sauntering toward the convent.
+
+"It is Enrico Ortega!" whispered Eustaquia Carillo, excitedly.
+
+"And Ramon de Castro!" scarcely breathed Elena Estudillo.
+
+"And José Yorba!"
+
+"Not Pepe Gomez? Ay, yi!"
+
+"Nor Manuel Ameste!"
+
+The only girl who did not speak stood at the end of the row. Her eyes
+were fixed on the church, whose windows were dazzling with the reflected
+sunlight of the late afternoon.
+
+The officers, who apparently had been absorbed in conversation and their
+fragrant cigaritos, suddenly looked up and saw the row of handsome and
+mischievous faces. They ran forward, and dashed their sombreros into the
+dust before the wall.
+
+"At your feet, seņoritas! At your feet!" they cried.
+
+"Have they any?" whispered one. "How unreal they look! How symbolical!"
+
+"The rose in your hair, Seņorita Eustaquia, for the love of Heaven!"
+cried Ortega, in a loud whisper.
+
+She detached the rose, touched it with her lips, and cast it to the
+officer. He almost swallowed it in the ardour of his caresses.
+
+None of the girls spoke. That would have seemed to them the height of
+impropriety. But Elena extended her arm over the wall so that her little
+hand hung just above young Castro's head. He leaped three times in
+the air, and finally succeeded in brushing his mustache against those
+coveted finger-tips: rewarded with an approving but tantalizing laugh.
+Meanwhile, José Yorba had torn a silver eagle from his sombrero, and
+flung it to Lola de Castro, who caught and thrust it in her hair.
+
+"Ay, Dios! Dios! that the cruel wall divides us," cried Yorba.
+
+"We will mount each upon the other's shoulder--"
+
+"We will make a ladder from the limbs of the pines on the mountain--"
+
+"_Seņoritas_!"
+
+The six heads dropped from the wall like so many Humpty-Dumpties. As
+they flashed about the officers caught a glimpse of horror in twelve
+expanded eyes. A tall woman, serenely beautiful, clad in a long gray
+gown fastened at her throat with a cross, stood just within the trees.
+The six culprits thought of the tragic romance which had given them the
+honour of being educated by Concepción de Arguello, and hoped for some
+small measure of mercy. The girl who had looked over the heads of the
+officers, letting her gaze rest on the holy walls of the church, alone
+looked coldly unconcerned, and encountered steadily the sombre eyes of
+the convent's mistress.
+
+"Was thy lover in the road below, Pilar?" asked Doņa Concepción,
+with what meaning five of the girls could not divine. For Pilar, the
+prettiest and most studious girl in the convent, cared for no man.
+
+Pilar's bosom rose once, but she made no reply.
+
+"Come," said Doņa Concepción, and the six followed meekly in her wake.
+She led them to her private sala, a bare cold room, even in summer. It
+was uncarpeted; a few religious prints were on the whitewashed walls;
+there were eight chairs, and a table covered with books and papers. The
+six shivered. To be invited to this room meant the greatest of honours
+or a lecture precursory to the severest punishment in the system of the
+convent. Doņa Concepción seated herself in a large chair, but her guests
+were not invited to relieve their weakened knees.
+
+"Did you speak--any of you?" she asked in a moment.
+
+Five heads shook emphatically.
+
+"But?"
+
+Eustaquia, Elena, and Lola drew a long breath, then confessed their
+misdoings glibly enough.
+
+"And the others?"
+
+"They had no chance," said Eustaquia, with some sarcasm.
+
+"Thou wouldst have found a chance," replied the Lady Superior, coldly.
+"Thou art the first in all naughtiness, and thy path in life will be
+stormy if thou dost not curb thy love of adventure and insubordination."
+
+She covered her face with her hand and regarded the floor for some
+moments in silence. It was the first performance of the kind that had
+come to her knowledge, and she was at a loss what to do. Finally she
+said severely: "Go each to your bed and remain there on bread and water
+for twenty-four hours. Your punishment shall be known at the Presidio.
+And if it ever happens again, I shall send you home in disgrace. Now
+go."
+
+The luckless six slunk out of the room. Only Pilar stole a hasty glance
+at the Lady Superior. Doņa Concepción half rose from her chair, and
+opened her lips as if to speak again; then sank back with a heavy sigh.
+
+The girls were serenaded that night; but the second song broke abruptly,
+and a heavy gate clanged just afterward. Concepción de Arguëllo was
+still young, but suffering had matured her character, and she knew how
+to deal sternly with those who infringed her few but inflexible rules.
+It was by no means the first serenade she had interrupted, for she
+educated the flower of California, and it was no simple matter to
+prevent communication between the girls in her charge and the ardent
+caballeros. She herself had been serenaded more than once since the
+sudden death of her Russian lover; for she who had been the belle of
+California for three years before the coming of Rezánof was not lightly
+relinquished by the impassioned men of her own race; but both at Casa
+Grande, in Santa Barbara, where she found seclusion until her convent
+was built, and after her immolation in Monterey, she turned so cold an
+ear to all men's ardours that she soon came to be regarded as a part of
+four gray walls. How long it took her to find actual serenity none but
+herself and the dead priests know, but the old women who are dying off
+to-day remember her as consistently placid as she was firm. She was
+deeply troubled by the escapade of the little wretches on the wall,
+although she had dealt with it summarily and feared no further outbreak
+of the sort. But she was haunted by a suspicion that there was more
+behind, and to come. Pilar de la Torre and Eustaquia Carillo were the
+two most notable girls in the convent, for they easily took precedence
+of their more indolent mates and were constantly racing for honours.
+There the resemblance ended. Eustaquia, with her small brilliant eyes,
+irregular features, and brilliant colour, was handsome rather than
+beautiful, but full of fire, fascination, and spirit. Half the Presidio
+was in love with her, and that she was a shameless coquette she would
+have been the last to deny. Pilar was beautiful, and although the close
+long lashes of her eyes hid dreams, rather than fire, and her profile
+and poise of head expressed all the pride of the purest aristocracy
+California has had, nothing could divert attention from the beauty of
+her contours of cheek and figure, and of her rich soft colouring.
+The officers in church stood up to look at her; and at the balls and
+meriendas she attended in vacations the homage she received stifled and
+annoyed her. She was as cold and unresponsive as Concepción de Arguello.
+People shrugged their shoulders and said it was as well. Her mother,
+Doņa Brígida de la Torre of the great Rancho Diablo, twenty miles from
+Monterey, was the sternest old lady in California. It was whispered that
+she had literally ruled her husband with a greenhide reata, and certain
+it was that two years after the birth of Pilar (the thirteenth, and only
+living child) he had taken a trip to Mexico and never returned. It was
+known that he had sent his wife a deed of the rancho; and that was the
+last she ever heard of him. Her daughter, according to her imperious
+decree, was to marry Ygnacio Piņa, the heir of the neighbouring rancho.
+Doņa Brígida anticipated no resistance, not only because her will had
+never been crossed, but because Pilar was the most docile of daughters.
+Pilar was Doņa Concepción's favourite pupil, and when at home spent
+her time reading, embroidering, or riding about the rancho, closely
+attended. She rarely talked, even to her mother. She paid not the
+slightest attention to Ygnacio's serenades, and greeted him with scant
+courtesy when he dashed up to the ranch-house in all the bravery of silk
+and fine lawn, silver and lace. But he knew the value of Doņa Brígida as
+an ally, and was content to amuse himself elsewhere.
+
+The girls passed their twenty-four hours of repressed energy as
+patiently as necessity compelled. Pilar, alone, lay impassive in her
+bed, rarely opening her eyes. The others groaned and sighed and rolled
+and bounced about; but they dared not speak, for stern Sister Augusta
+was in close attendance. When the last lagging minute had gone and they
+were bidden to rise, they sprang from the beds, flung on their clothes,
+and ran noisily down the long corridors to the refectory. Doņa
+Concepción stood at the door and greeted them with a forgiving smile.
+Pilar followed some moments later. There was something more than
+coldness in her eyes as she bent her head to the Lady Superior, who drew
+a quick breath.
+
+"She feels that she has been humiliated, and she will not forgive,"
+thought Doņa Concepción. "Ay de mi! And she may need my advice and
+protection. I should have known better than to have treated her like the
+rest."
+
+After supper the girls went at once to the great sala of the convent,
+and sat in silence, with bent heads and folded hands and every
+appearance of prayerful revery.
+
+It was Saturday evening, and the good priest of the Presidio church
+would come to confess them, that they might commune on the early morrow.
+They heard the loud bell of the convent gate, then the opening and
+shutting of several doors; and many a glance flashed up to the ceiling
+as the brain behind scurried the sins of the week together. It had been
+arranged that the six leading misdemeanants were to go first and receive
+much sound advice, before the old priest had begun to feel the fatigue
+of the confessional. The door opened, and Doņa Concepción stood on
+the threshold. Her face was whiter than usual, and her manner almost
+ruffled.
+
+"It is Padre Domínguez," she said. "Padre Estudillo is ill. If---if--any
+of you are tired, or do not wish to confess to the strange priest, you
+may go to bed."
+
+Not a girl moved. Padre Domínguez was twenty-five and as handsome as
+the marble head of the young Augustus which stood on a shelf in the
+Governor's sala. During the year of his work in Monterey more than
+one of the older girls had met and talked with him; for he went into
+society, as became a priest, and holidays were not unfrequent. But,
+although he talked agreeably, it was a matter for comment that he loved
+books and illuminated manuscripts more than the world, and that he was
+as ambitious as his superior abilities justified.
+
+"Very well," said Doņa Concepción, impatiently. "Eustaquia, go in."
+
+Eustaquia made short work of her confession. She was followed by Elena,
+Lola, Mariana, and Amanda. When the last appeared for a moment at the
+door, then courtesied a good night and vanished, Doņa Concepción did not
+call the expected name, and several of the girls glanced up in surprise.
+Pilar raised her eyes at last and looked steadily at the Lady
+Superior. The blood rose slowly up the nun's white face, but she said
+carelessly:--
+
+"Thou art tired, mijita, no? Wilt thou not go to bed?"
+
+"Not without making my confession, if you will permit me."
+
+"Very well; go."
+
+Pilar left the room and closed the door behind her. Alone in the hall,
+she shook suddenly and twisted her hands together. But, although she
+could not conquer her agitation, she opened the door of the chapel
+resolutely and entered. The little arched whitewashed room was almost
+dark. A few candles burned on the altar, shadowing the gorgeous images
+of Virgin and saints. Pilar walked slowly down the narrow body of the
+chapel until she stood behind a priest who knelt beside a table with his
+back to the door. He wore the brown robes of the Franciscan, but his
+lean finely proportioned figure manifested itself through the shapeless
+garment. He looked less like a priest than a masquerading athlete. His
+face was hidden in his hands.
+
+Pilar did not kneel. She stood immovable and silent, and in a moment
+it was evident that she had made her presence felt. The priest stirred
+uneasily. "Kneel, my daughter," he said. But he did not look up. Pilar
+caught his hands in hers and forced them down upon the table. The
+priest, throwing back his head in surprise, met the flaming glance of
+eyes that dreamed no longer. He sprang to his feet, snatching back his
+hands. "Doņa Pilar!" he exclaimed.
+
+"I choose to make my confession standing," she said. "I love you!"
+
+The priest stared at her in consternation.
+
+"You knew it--unless you never think at all. You are the only man I have
+ever thought it worth while to talk to. You have seen how I have treated
+others with contempt, and that I have been happy with you--and we have
+had more than one long talk together. You, too, have been happy--"
+
+"I am a priest!"
+
+"You are a Man and I am a Woman."
+
+"What is it you would have me do?"
+
+"Fling off that hideous garment which becomes you not at all, and fly
+with me to my father in the City of Mexico. I hear from him constantly,
+and he is wealthy and will protect us. The barque, _Joven Guipuzcoanoa,_
+leaves Monterey within a week after the convent closes for vacation."
+
+The priest raised his clasped hands to heaven. "She is mad! She is mad!"
+he said. Then he turned on her fiercely. "Go! Go!" he cried. "I hate
+you!"
+
+"Ay, you love me! you love me!"
+
+The priest slowly set his face. There was no gleam of expression to
+indicate whether the words that issued through his lips came from his
+soul or from that section of his brain instinct with self-protection. He
+spoke slowly:--
+
+"I am a priest, and a priest I shall die. What is more, I shall denounce
+you to Doņa Concepción, the clergy, and--to your mother. The words that
+have just violated this chapel were not said under the seal of the
+confessional, and I shall deal with them as I have said. You shall be
+punished, that no other man's soul may be imperilled."
+
+Pilar threw out her hands wildly. It was her turn to stare; and her eyes
+were full of horror and disgust.
+
+"What?" she cried. "You are a coward? A traitor? You not only dare not
+acknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me--and to my mother?
+Ah, Madre de Dios!"
+
+"I do not love you. How dare you use such a word to me,--to me, an
+anointed priest! I shall denounce--and to-night."
+
+"_And I loved you_!"
+
+He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes. Her whole
+body quivered with passion. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward and
+struck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutched
+the table. But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on top
+of him. She laughed into his red unmasked face. "You look what you are
+down there," she said,--"less than a man, and only fit to be a priest. I
+hate you! Do your worst."
+
+She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the door
+of the sala. As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shaking
+from head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and Doņa
+Concepción, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door too
+late.
+
+"Go to the priest," cried Pilar. "You will find him on his back
+squirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek. He has a
+tale to tell you." And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran through
+the halls, striking herself against the walls.
+
+Doņa Concepción did not leave her sala that night. The indignant young
+aspirant for honours in Mexico had vowed that he would tell Doņa Brígida
+and the clergy before dawn, and all her arguments had entered smarting
+ears. She had finally ordered him to leave the convent and never darken
+its doors again. "And the self-righteous shall not enter the Kingdom of
+Heaven," she had exclaimed in conclusion. "Who are you that you should
+judge and punish this helpless girl and ruin a brilliant future? And
+why? Because she was so inexperienced in men as to trust you."
+
+"She has committed a deadly sin, and shall suffer," cried the young man,
+violently. It was evident that his outraged virtue as well as his face
+was in flames. "Women were born to be good and meek and virtuous, to
+teach and to rear children. Such creatures as Pilar de la Torre should
+be kept under lock and key until they are old and hideous."
+
+"And men were made strong, that they might protect women. But I have
+said enough. Go."
+
+Pilar appeared at the refectory table in the morning, but she exchanged
+a glance with no one, and ate little. She looked haggard, and it was
+plain that she had not slept; but her manner was as composed as ever.
+When Doņa Concepción sent for her to come to the little sala, she went
+at once.
+
+"Sit down, my child," said the nun. "I said all I could to dissuade him,
+but he would not listen. I will protect thee if I can. Thou hast made a
+terrible mistake; but it is too late for reproaches. We must think of
+the future."
+
+"I have no desire to escape the consequences. I staked all and lost.
+And nothing can affect me now. He has proved a dog, a cur, a coward, a
+brute. I can suffer no more than when I made that discovery; and if my
+mother chooses to kill me, I shall make no resistance."
+
+"Thou art young and clever and will forget him. He is not worth
+remembering. He shall not go unpunished. I shall use my influence to
+have him sent to the poorest hamlet in California. He is worthy to do
+only the meanest work of the Church, and my influence with the clergy is
+stronger than his. But thou? I shall receive your mother when she comes,
+and beg her to leave you with me during the vacation. Then, later, when
+her wrath is appeased, I will suggest that she send you to live for two
+years with your relatives at Santa Barbara."
+
+Pilar lifted her shoulders and stared out of the window. Suddenly
+she gave a start and trembled. The bell of the gate was pealing
+vociferously. Doņa Concepción sprang to her feet.
+
+"Stay here," she said; "I will receive her in the grand sala."
+
+But her interview with Doņa Brígida lasted two minutes.
+
+"Give her to me!" cried the terrible old woman, her furious tones
+ringing through the convent. "Give her to me! I came not here to talk
+with nuns. Stand aside!"
+
+Doņa Concepción was forced to lead her to the little sala. She strode
+into the room, big and brown and bony, looking like an avenging Amazon,
+this mother of thirteen children. Her small eyes were blazing, and the
+thick wrinkles about them quivered. Her lips twitched, her cheeks burned
+with a dull dark red. In one hand she carried a greenhide reata. With
+the other she caught her daughter's long unbound hair, twisted it about
+her arm like a rope, then brought the reata down on the unprotected
+shoulders with all her great strength Doņa Concepción fled from the
+room. Pilar made no sound. She had expected this, and had vowed that it
+should not unseal her lips. The beating stopped abruptly. Doņa Brígida,
+still with the rope of hair about her arm, pushed Pilar through the
+door, out of the convent and its gates, then straight down the hill. For
+the first time the girl faltered.
+
+"Not to the Presidio!" she gasped.
+
+Her mother struck her shoulder with a fist as hard as iron, and Pilar
+stumbled on. She knew that if she refused to walk, her mother would
+carry her. They entered the Presidio. Pilar, raising her eyes for one
+brief terrible moment, saw that Tomaso, her mother's head vaquero, stood
+in the middle of the square holding two horses, and that every man,
+woman, and child of the Presidio was outside the buildings. The
+Commandante and the Alcalde were with the Governor and his staff, and
+Padre Estudillo. They had the air of being present at an important
+ceremony.
+
+Amidst a silence so profound that Pilar heard the mingled music of the
+pines on the hills above the Presidio and of the distant ocean, Doņa
+Brígida marched her to the very middle of the square, then by a
+dexterous turn of her wrist forced her to her knees. With both hands she
+shook her daughter's splendid silken hair from the tight rope into
+which she had coiled it, then stepped back for a moment that all might
+appreciate the penalty a woman must pay who disgraced her sex. The
+breeze from the hills lifted the hair of Pilar, and it floated and
+wreathed upward for a moment--a warm dusky cloud.
+
+Suddenly the intense silence was broken by a loud universal hiss. Pilar,
+thinking that it was part of her punishment, cowered lower, then,
+obeying some impulse, looked up, and saw the back of the young priest.
+He was running. As her dull gaze was about to fall again, it encountered
+for a moment the indignant blue eyes of a red-haired, hard-featured, but
+distinguished-looking young man, clad in sober gray. She knew him to be
+the American, Malcolm Sturges, the guest of the Governor. But her mind
+rapidly shed all impressions but the wretched horror of her own plight.
+In another moment she felt the shears at her neck, and knew that her
+disgrace was passing into the annals of Monterey, and that half her
+beauty was falling from her. Then she found herself seated on the horse
+in front of her mother, who encircled her waist with an arm that
+pressed her vitals like iron. After that there was an interval of
+unconsciousness.
+
+When she awoke, her first impulse was to raise her head from her
+mother's bony shoulder, where it bumped uncomfortably. Her listless
+brain slowly appreciated the fact that she was not on her way to the
+Rancho Diablo. The mustang was slowly ascending a steep mountain trail.
+But her head ached, and she dropped her face into her hands. What
+mattered where she was going? She was shorn, and disgraced, and
+disillusioned, and unspeakably weary of body and soul.
+
+They travelled through dense forests of redwoods and pine, only the
+soft footfalls of the unshod mustang or the sudden cry of the wild-cat
+breaking the primeval silence. It was night when Doņa Brígida abruptly
+dismounted, dragging Pilar with her. They were halfway up a rocky
+height, surrounded by towering peaks black with rigid trees. Just in
+front of them was an opening in the ascending wall. Beside it, with his
+hand on a huge stone, stood the vaquero. Pilar knew that she had nothing
+to hope from him: her mother had beaten him into submission long since.
+Doņa Brígida, without a word, drove Pilar into the cave, and she and the
+vaquero, exerting their great strength to the full, pushed the stone
+into the entrance. There was a narrow rift at the top. The cave was as
+black as a starless midnight.
+
+Then Doņa Brígida spoke for the first time:--
+
+"Once a week I shall come with food and drink. There thou wilt stay
+until thy teeth fall, the skin bags from thy bones, and thou art so
+hideous that all men will run from thee. Then thou canst come forth and
+go and live on the charity of the father to whom thou wouldst have taken
+a polluted priest."
+
+Pilar heard the retreating footfalls of the mustangs. She was too
+stunned to think, to realize the horrible fate that had befallen her.
+She crouched down against the wall of the cave nearest the light, her
+ear alert for the growl of a panther or the whir of a rattler's tail.
+
+
+II
+
+The night after the close of school the Governor gave a grand ball,
+which was attended by the older of the convent girls who lived in
+Monterey or were guests in the capital. The dowagers sat against the
+wall, a coffee-coloured dado; the girls in white, the caballeros in
+black silk small-clothes, the officers in their uniforms, danced to the
+music of the flute and the guitar. When Elena Estudillo was alone in the
+middle of the room dancing El Son and the young men were clapping and
+shouting and flinging gold and silver at her feet, Sturges and Eustaquia
+slipped out into the corridor. It was a dark night, the dueņas were
+thinking of naught but the dance and the days of their youth, and the
+violators of a stringent social law were safe for the moment. A
+chance word, dropped by Sturges in the dance, and Eustaquia's eager
+interrogations, had revealed the American's indignation at the barbarous
+treatment of Pilar, and his deep interest in the beautiful victim.
+
+"Seņor," whispered Eustaquia, excitedly, as soon as they reached the
+end of the corridor, "if you feel pity and perhaps love for my unhappy
+friend, go to her rescue for the love of Mary. I have heard to-day that
+her punishment is far worse than what you saw. It is so terrible that I
+hardly have dared--"
+
+"Surely, that old fiend could think of nothing else," said Sturges.
+"What is she made of, anyhow?"
+
+"Ay, yi! Her heart is black like the redwood tree that has been burnt
+out by fire. Before Don Enrique ran away, she beat him many times; but,
+after, she was a thousand times worse, for it is said that she loved
+him in her terrible way, and that her heart burnt up when she was left
+alone--"
+
+"But Doņa Pilar, seņorita?"
+
+"Ay, yi! Benito, one of the vaqueros of Doņa Erigida, was in town
+to-day, and he told me (I bribed him with whiskey and cigaritos--the
+Commandante's, whose guest I am, ay, yi!)--he told me that Doņa Erigida
+did not take my unhappy friend home, but--"
+
+"Well?" exclaimed Sturges, who was a man of few words.
+
+Eustaquia jerked down his ear and whispered, "She took her to a cave in
+the mountains and pushed her in, and rolled a huge stone as big as a
+house before the entrance, and there she will leave her till she is
+thirty--or dead!"
+
+"Good God! Does your civilization, such as you've got, permit such
+things?"
+
+"The mother may discipline the child as she will. It is not the business
+of the Alcalde. And no one would dare interfere for poor Pilar, for she
+has committed a mortal sin against the Church--"
+
+"I'll interfere. Where is the cave?"
+
+"Ay, seņor, I knew you would. For that I told you all. I know not where
+the cave is; but the vaquero--he is in town till to-morrow. But he fears
+Doņa Erigida, seņor, as he fears the devil. You must tell him that not
+only will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you will
+send him to Mexico. Doņa Brígida would kill him."
+
+"I'll look out for him."
+
+"Do not falter, seņor, for the love of God; for no Californian will go
+to her rescue. She has been disgraced and none will marry her. But you
+can take her far away where no one knows--"
+
+"Where is this vaquero to be found?"
+
+"In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheart
+lives."
+
+"Good night!" And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearest
+gate.
+
+He found the vaquero, and after an hour's argument got his way. The man,
+who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of the
+situation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity with
+the mountains. He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised to
+send not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico. Doņa Brígida was
+violently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho.
+Sturges promised to ship them both off on the _Joven Guipuzcoanoa_, and
+to keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico. It was not an offer to be
+refused.
+
+They started at dawn. Sturges, following Benito's advice, bought a long
+gray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food.
+The vaquero sent word to Doņa Brígida that the horses he had brought in
+to sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down the
+coast in pursuit. In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it was
+only after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, and
+more than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave.
+They would have passed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, who
+detected the glint of stone behind the branches which Doņa Brígida had
+piled against it.
+
+He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers between
+the side of the stone and the wall of the cave. But he could not move it
+alone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs at
+a spring, when he happened to glance upward. A small white hand was
+hanging over the top of the stone. Sturges was not a Californian, but he
+sprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand. It was cold and
+nerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift above
+the stone. In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam of
+white brow above. Then a faint voice said:--
+
+"Take me out! Take me out, seņor, for the love of God!"
+
+"I have come for that. Cheer up," said Sturges, in his best Spanish.
+"You'll be out in five minutes."
+
+"And then you'll bring me his head," whispered Pilar. "Ay, Dios, what I
+have suffered! I have been years here, seņor, and I am nearly mad."
+
+"Well, I won't promise you his head, but I've thrashed the life out of
+him, if that will give you any satisfaction. I caught him in the woods,
+and I laid on my riding-whip until he bit the grass and yelled for
+mercy."
+
+The eyes in the cave blazed with a light which reminded him
+uncomfortably of Doņa Erigida.
+
+"That was well! That was well!" said Pilar. "But it is not enough. I
+must have his head. I never shall sleep again till then, seņor. Ay,
+Dios, what I have suffered!"
+
+"Well, we'll see about the head later. To get you out of this is the
+first thing on the program. Benito!"
+
+Benito ran forward, and together they managed to drag the stone aside.
+But Pilar retreated into the darkness and covered her face with her
+hands.
+
+"Ay, Dios! Dios! I cannot go out into the sunlight. I am old and
+hideous."
+
+"Make some coffee," said Sturges to Benito. He went within and took her
+hands. "Come," he said. "You have been here a week only. Your brain is
+a little turned, and no wonder. You've put a lifetime of suffering
+into that week. But I'm going to take care of you hereafter, and that
+she-devil will have no more to say about it. I'll either take you to
+your father, or to my mother in Boston--whichever you like."
+
+Benito brought in the coffee and some fresh bread and dried meat. Pilar
+ate and drank ravenously. She had found only stale bread and water in
+the cave. When she had finished, she looked at Sturges with a more
+intelligent light in her eyes, then thrust her straggling locks behind
+her ears. She also resumed something of her old dignified composure.
+
+"You are very kind, seņor," she said graciously. "It is true that I
+should have been mad in a few more days. At first I did nothing but run,
+run, run--the cave is miles in the mountain; but since when I cannot
+remember I have huddled against that stone, listening--listening; and at
+last you came."
+
+Sturges thought her more beautiful than ever. The light was streaming
+upon her now, and although she was white and haggard she looked far less
+cold and unapproachable than when he had endeavoured in vain to win a
+glance from her in the church. He put his hand on her tangled hair. "You
+shall suffer no more," he repeated; "and this will grow again. And that
+beautiful mane--it is mine. I begged it from the Alcalde, and it is safe
+in my trunk."
+
+"Ah, you love me!" she said softly.
+
+"Yes, I love you!" And then, as her eyes grew softer and she caught his
+hand in hers with an exclamation of passionate gratitude for his gallant
+rescue, he took her in his arms without more ado and kissed her.
+
+"Yes, I could love you," she said in a moment. "For, though you are not
+handsome, like the men of my race, you are true and good and brave: all
+I dreamed that a man should be until that creature made all men seem
+loathsome. But I will not marry you till you bring me his head--"
+
+"Oh! come. So lovely a woman should not be so blood-thirsty. He has been
+punished enough. Besides what I gave him, he's been sent off to spend
+the rest of his life in some hole where he'll have neither books nor
+society--"
+
+"It is not enough! When a man betrays a woman, and causes her to be
+beaten and publicly disgraced--it will be written in the books of the
+Alcalde, seņor!--and shut up in a cave to suffer the tortures of the
+damned in hell, he should die."
+
+"Well, I think he should myself, but I'm not the public executioner, and
+one can't fight a duel with a priest--"
+
+"Seņor! Seņor! Quick! Pull, for the love of God!"
+
+It was Benito who spoke, and he was pushing with all his might against
+the stone. "She comes--Doņa Brígida!" he cried. "I saw her far off just
+now. Stay both in there. I will take the mustangs and hide them on the
+other side of the mountain and return when she is gone. That is the best
+way."
+
+"We can all go--"
+
+"No, no! She would follow; and then--ay, Dios de mi alma! No, it is best
+the seņorita be there when she comes; then she will go away quietly."
+
+They replaced the stone. Benito piled the brush against it, then made
+off with the mustangs.
+
+"Go far," whispered Pilar. "Dios, if she sees you!"
+
+"I shall not leave you again. And even if she enter, she need not see
+me. I can stand in that crevice, and I will keep quiet so long as she
+does not touch you."
+
+Doņa Brígida was a half-hour reaching the cave, and meanwhile Sturges
+restored the lost illusions of Pilar. Not only did he make love to her
+without any of the rhetorical nonsense of the caballero, but he was big
+and strong, and it was evident that he was afraid of nothing, not even
+of Doņa Brígida. The dreams of her silent girlhood swirled in her
+imagination, but looked vague and shapeless before this vigorous
+reality. For some moments she forgot everything and was happy. But there
+was a black spot in her heart, and when Sturges left her for a moment to
+listen, it ached for the head of the priest. She had much bad as well as
+much good in her, this innocent Californian maiden; and the last week
+had forced an already well-developed brain and temperament close to
+maturity. She vowed that she would make herself so dear to this fiery
+American that he would deny her nothing. Then, her lust for vengeance
+satisfied, she would make him the most delightful of wives.
+
+"She is coming!" whispered Sturges, "and she has the big vaquero with
+her."
+
+"Ay, Dios! If she knows all, what can we do?"
+
+"I've told you that I have no love of killing, but I don't hesitate when
+there is no alternative. If she sees me and declares war, and I cannot
+get you away, I shall shoot them both. I don't know that it would keep
+me awake a night. Now, you do the talking for the present."
+
+Doņa Brígida rode up to the cave and dismounted. "Pilar!" she shouted,
+as if she believed that her daughter was wandering through the heart of
+the mountain.
+
+Pilar presented her eyes at the rift.
+
+"Ay, take me out! take me out!" she wailed, with sudden diplomacy.
+
+Her mother gave a short laugh, then broke off and sniffed.
+
+"What is this?" she cried. "Coffee? I smell coffee!"
+
+"Yes, I have had coffee," replied Pilar, calmly. "Benito has brought me
+that, and many dulces."
+
+"Dios!" shouted Doņa Brígida. "I will tie him to a tree and beat him
+till he is as green as my reata--"
+
+"Give me the bread!--quick, quick, for the love of Heaven! It is two
+days since he has been, and I have nothing left, not even a drop of
+coffee."
+
+"Then live on the memory of thy dulces and coffee! The bread and water
+go back with me. Three days from now I bring them again. Meanwhile, thou
+canst enjoy the fangs at thy vitals."
+
+Pilar breathed freely again, but she cried sharply, "Ay, no! no!"
+
+"Ay, yes! yes!"
+
+Doņa Brígida stalked up and down, while Pilar twisted her hands
+together, and Sturges mused upon his future wife's talent for dramatic
+invention. Suddenly Doņa Brígida shouted: "Tomaso, come here! The
+spring! A horse has watered here to-day--two horses! I see the little
+hoof-mark and the big." She ran back to the cave, dragging Tomaso with
+her. "Quick! It is well I brought my reata. Ten minutes, and I shall
+have the truth. Pull there; I pull here."
+
+"The game is up," whispered Sturges to Pilar. "And I have another plan."
+He took a pistol from his hip-pocket and handed it to her. "You have a
+cool head," he said; "now is the time to use it. As soon as this stone
+gives way do you point that pistol at the vaquero's head, and don't let
+your hand tremble or your eye falter as you value your liberty. I'll
+take care of her."
+
+Pilar nodded. Sturges threw himself against the rock and pushed with all
+his strength. In a moment it gave, and the long brown talons of Pilar's
+mother darted in to clasp the curve of the stone. Sturges was tempted
+to cut them off; but he was a sportsman, and liked fair play. The stone
+gave again, and this time he encountered two small malignant eyes. Doņa
+Brígida dropped her hands and screamed; but, before she could alter her
+plans, Sturges gave a final push and rushed out, closely followed by
+Pilar.
+
+It was his intention to throw the woman and bind her, hand and foot; but
+he had no mean opponent. Doņa Brígida's surprise had not paralyzed her.
+She could not prevent his exit, for she went back with the stone,
+but she had sprung to the open before he reached it himself, and was
+striking at him furiously with her reata. One glance satisfied Sturges
+that Pilar had covered the vaquero, and he devoted the next few moments
+to dodging the reata. Finally, a well-directed blow knocked it from her
+hand, and then he flung himself upon her, intending to bear her to the
+ground. But she stood like a rock, and closed with him, and they reeled
+about the little plateau in the hard embrace of two fighting grizzlies.
+There could be no doubt about the issue, for Sturges was young and wiry
+and muscular; but Doņa Brígida had the strength of three women, and,
+moreover, was not above employing methods which he could not with
+dignity resort to and could with difficulty parry. She bit at him. She
+clawed at his back and shoulders. She got hold of his hair. And she was
+so nimble that he could not trip her. She even roared in his ears, and
+once it seemed to him that her bony shoulder was cutting through his
+garments and skin. But after a struggle of some twenty minutes, little
+by little her embrace relaxed; she ceased to roar, even to hiss, her
+breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Finally, her knees trembled
+violently, she gave a hard sob, and her arms fell to her sides. Sturges
+dragged her promptly into the cave and laid her down.
+
+"You are a plucky old lady, and I respect you," he said. "But here you
+must stay until your daughter is safely out of the country. I shall take
+her far beyond your reach, and I shall marry her. When we are well out
+at sea, Tomaso will come back and release you. If he attempts to do so
+sooner, I shall blow his head off. Meanwhile you can be as comfortable
+here as you made your daughter; and as you brought a week's supply of
+bread, you will not starve."
+
+The old woman lay and glared at him, but she made no reply. She might be
+violent and cruel, but she was indomitable of spirit, and she would sue
+to no man.
+
+Sturges placed the bread and water beside her, then, aided by Tomaso,
+pushed the stone into place. As he turned about and wiped his brow, he
+met the eyes of the vaquero. They were averted hastily, but not before
+Sturges had surprised a twinkle of satisfaction in those usually
+impassive orbs. He shouted for Benito, then took the pistol from Pilar,
+who suddenly looked tired and frightened.
+
+"You are a wonderful woman," he said; "and upon my word, I believe you
+get a good deal of it from your mother."
+
+Benito came running, leading the mustangs. Sturges wrapped Pilar in the
+long cloak, lifted her upon one of the mustangs, and sprang to his own.
+He ordered Tomaso and Benito to precede them by a few paces and to take
+the shortest cut for Monterey. It was now close upon noon, and it was
+impossible to reach Monterey before dawn next day, for the mustangs were
+weary; but the _Joven_ did not sail until ten o'clock.
+
+"These are my plans," said Sturges to Pilar, as they walked their
+mustangs for a few moments after a hard gallop. "When we reach the foot
+of the mountain, Benito will leave us, go to your rancho, gather as much
+of your clothing as he can strap on a horse, and join us at the barque.
+He will have a good hour to spare, and can get fresh horses at the
+ranch. We will be married at Mazatlan. Thence we will cross Mexico to
+the Gulf, and take passage for New Orleans. When we are in the United
+States, your new life will have really begun."
+
+"And Tomaso will surely bring my mother from that cave, seņor? I am
+afraid--I feel sure he was glad to shut her in there."
+
+"I will leave a note for the Governor. Your mother will be free within
+three days, and meanwhile a little solitary meditation will do her
+good."
+
+When night came Sturges lifted Pilar from her horse to his, and pressed
+her head against his shoulder. "Sleep," he said. "You are worn out."
+
+She flung her hand over his shoulder, made herself comfortable, and was
+asleep in a moment, oblivious of the dark forest and the echoing cries
+of wild beasts. The strong arm of Sturges would have inspired confidence
+even had it done less in her rescue. Once only she shook and cried out,
+but with rage, not fear, in her tones. Her words were coherent enough:--
+
+"His head! His head! Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"
+
+An hour before dawn Benito left them, mounted on the rested mustang and
+leading his own. The others pushed on, over and around the foothills,
+with what speed they could; for even here the trail was narrow, the pine
+woods dense. It was just after dawn that Sturges saw Tomaso rein in his
+mustang and peer into the shrubbery beside the trail. When he reached
+the spot himself, he saw signs of a struggle. The brush was trampled
+for some distance into the thicket, and several of the young trees were
+wrenched almost from their roots.
+
+"It has been a struggle between a man and a wild beast, seņor,"
+whispered Tomaso, for Filar still slept. "Shall I go in? The man may
+breathe yet."
+
+"Go, by all means."
+
+Tomaso dismounted and entered the thicket. He came running back with
+blinking eyes.
+
+"Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It is the young
+priest--Padre Domínguez. It must have been a panther, for they spring at
+the breast, and his very heart is torn out, seņor. Ay, yi!"
+
+"Ah! You must inform the Church as soon as we have gone. Go on."
+
+They had proceeded a few moments in silence, when Sturges suddenly
+reined in his mustang.
+
+"Tomaso," he whispered, "come here."
+
+The vaquero joined him at once.
+
+"Tomaso," said Sturges, "have you any objection to cutting off a dead
+man's head?"
+
+"No, seņor."
+
+"Then go back and cut off that priest's and wrap it in a piece of his
+cassock, and carry it the best way you can."
+
+Tomaso disappeared, and Sturges pushed back the gray hood and looked
+upon the pure noble face of the girl he had chosen for wife.
+
+"I believe in gratifying a woman's whims whenever it is practicable," he
+thought.
+
+But she made him a very good wife.
+
+
+
+
+LA PÉRDIDA
+
+
+On her fourteenth birthday they had married her to an old man, and at
+sixteen she had met and loved a fire-hearted young vaquero. The old
+husband had twisted his skinny fingers around her arm and dragged her
+before the Alcalde, who had ordered her beautiful black braids cut close
+to her neck, and sentenced her to sweep the streets. Carlos, the tempter
+of that childish unhappy heart, was flung into prison. Such were law and
+justice in California before the Americans came.
+
+The haughty elegant women of Monterey drew their mantillas more closely
+about their shocked faces as they passed La Pérdida sweeping the dirt
+into little heaps. The soft-eyed girls, lovely in their white or
+flowered gowns, peered curiously through the gratings of their homes at
+the "lost one," whose sin they did not understand, but whose sad face
+and sorry plight appealed to their youthful sympathies. The caballeros,
+dashing up and down the street, and dazzling in bright silken jackets,
+gold embroidered, lace-trimmed, the sun reflected in the silver of their
+saddles, shot bold admiring glances from beneath their sombreros. No one
+spoke to her, and she asked no one for sympathy.
+
+She slept alone in a little hut on the outskirts of the town. With the
+dawn she rose, put on her coarse smock and black skirt, made herself a
+tortilla, then went forth and swept the streets. The children mocked her
+sometimes, and she looked at them in wonder. Why should she be mocked or
+punished? She felt no repentance; neither the Alcalde nor her husband
+had convinced her of her sin's enormity; she felt only bitter resentment
+that it should have been so brief. Her husband, a blear-eyed crippled
+old man, loathsome to all the youth and imagination in her, had beaten
+her and made her work. A man, young, strong, and good to look upon, had
+come and kissed her with passionate tenderness. Love had meant to her
+the glorification of a wretched sordid life; a green spot and a patch of
+blue sky in the desert. If punishment followed upon such happiness,
+must not the Catholic religion be all wrong in its teachings? Must not
+purgatory follow heaven, instead of heaven purgatory?
+
+She watched the graceful girls of the wealthy class flit to and fro on
+the long corridors of the houses, or sweep the strings of the guitar
+behind their gratings as the caballeros passed. Watchful old women were
+always near them, their ears alert for every word. La Pérdida thanked
+God that she had had no dueņa.
+
+One night, on her way home, she passed the long low prison where her
+lover was confined. The large crystal moon flooded the red-tiled roof
+projecting over the deep windows and the shallow cells. The light sweet
+music of a guitar floated through iron bars, and a warm voice sang:--
+
+  "Adios, adios, de ti al ausentarme,
+  Para ir en poz de mi fatal estrella,
+  Yo llevo grabada tu imagen bella,
+  Aqui en mi palpitante corazon.
+
+  "Pero aunque lejos de tu lado me halle
+  No olvides, no, que por tu amor deliro
+  Enviáme siquiera un suspiro,
+  Que dé consuelo, a mi alma en su dolor.
+
+  "Y de tu pecho la emoción sentida
+  Llegue hasta herir mi lacerado oido,
+  Y arranque de mi pecho dolorido
+  Un eco que repita, adios! adios!"
+
+La Pérdida's blood leaped through her body. Her aimless hands struck the
+spiked surface of a cactus-bush, but she never knew it. When the song
+finished, she crept to the grating and looked in.
+
+"Carlos!" she whispered.
+
+A man who lay on the straw at the back of the cell sprang to his feet
+and came forward.
+
+"My little one!" he said. "I knew that song would bring thee. I begged
+them for a guitar, then to be put into a front cell." He forced his
+hands through the bars and gave her life again with his strong warm
+clasp.
+
+"Come out," she said.
+
+"Ay! they have me fast. But when they do let me out, niņa, I will take
+thee in my arms; and whosoever tries to tear thee away again will have
+a dagger in his heart. Dios de mi vida! I could tear their flesh from
+their bones for the shame and the pain they have given thee, thou poor
+little innocent girl!"
+
+"But thou lovest me, Carlos?"
+
+"There is not an hour I am not mad for thee, not a corner of my heart
+that does not ache for thee! Ay, little one, never mind; life is long,
+and we are young."
+
+She pressed nearer and laid his hand on her heart.
+
+"Ay!" she said, "life is long."
+
+"Holy Mary!" he cried. "The hills are on fire!"
+
+A shout went up in the town. A flame, midway on the curving hills,
+leaped to the sky, narrow as a ribbon, then swept out like a fan. The
+moon grew dark behind a rolling pillar of smoke. The upcurved arms of
+the pines were burnt into a wall of liquid shifting red. The caballeros
+sprang to their horses, and driving the Indians before them, fled to the
+hills to save the town. The indolent women of Monterey mingled their
+screams with the shrill cries of the populace and the hoarse shouts of
+their men. The prison sentries stood to their posts for a few moments;
+then the panic claimed them, and they threw down their guns and ran with
+the rest to the hills.
+
+Carlos gave a cry of derision and triumph. "My little one, our hour has
+come! Run and find the keys."
+
+The big bunch of keys had been flung hastily into a corner. A moment
+later Carlos held the shaking form of the girl in his powerful arms.
+Slender and delicate as she was, she made no protest against the
+fierceness of that embrace.
+
+"But come," he said. "We have only this hour for escape. When we are
+safe in the mountains--Come!"
+
+He lifted her in his arms and ran down the crooked street to a corral
+where an hidalgo kept his finest horses. Carlos had been the vaquero of
+the band. The iron bars of the great doors were down--only one horse was
+in the corral; the others had carried the hidalgo and his friends to the
+fire. The brute neighed with delight as Carlos flung saddle and aquera
+into place, then, with La Pérdida in his arms, sprang upon its back. The
+vaquero dug his spurs into the shining flanks, the mustang reared, shook
+his small head and silver mane, and bounded through the doors.
+
+A lean, bent, and wiry thing darted from the shadows and hung upon the
+horse's neck. It was the husband of La Pérdida, and his little brown
+face looked like an old walnut.
+
+"Take me with thee!" he cried. "I will give thee the old man's
+blessing," and, clinging like a crab to the neck of the galloping
+mustang, he drove a knife toward the heart of La Pérdida. The blade
+turned upon itself as lightning sometimes does, and went through stringy
+tissues instead of fresh young blood.
+
+Carlos plucked the limp body from the neck of the horse and flung it
+upon a cactus-bush, where it sprawled and stiffened among the spikes and
+the blood-red flowers. But the mustang never paused; and as the fires
+died on the hills, the mountains opened their great arms and sheltered
+the happiness of two wayward hearts.
+
+
+
+
+LUKARI'S STORY
+
+
+"Ay, seņor! So terreeblay thing! It is many years before--1837, I
+theenk, is the year; the Americanos no have come to take California; but
+I remember like it is yesterday.
+
+"You see, I living with her--Doņa Juana Ybarra her name is--ever since
+I am little girl, and she too. It is like this: the padres make me
+Christian in the mission, and her family take me to work Ąn the house;
+I no living on the rancheria like the Indians who work outside. Bime by
+Doņa Juana marrying and I go live with her. Bime by I marrying too, and
+she is comadre--godmother, you call, no?--to my little one, and steel I
+living with her, and in few years my husband and little one die and
+I love her children like they are my own, and her too; we grow old
+together.
+
+"You never see the San Ysidro rancho? It is near to San Diego and have
+many, many leagues. Don Carlos Ybarra, the husband de my seņora, is very
+reech and very brave and proud--too brave and proud, ay, yi! We have a
+beeg adobe house with more than twenty rooms, and a corridor for the
+front more than one hundred feets. Ou'side are plenty other houses where
+make all the things was need for eat and wear: all but the fine closes.
+They come from far,--from Boston and Mejico. All stand away from the
+hills and trees, right in the middle the valley, so can see the bad
+Indians when coming. Far off, a mile I theenk, is the rancheria; no can
+see from the house. No so far is the corral, where keeping the fine
+horses.
+
+"Ay, we have plenty to eat and no much to do in those days. Don Carlos
+and Doņa Juana are very devot the one to the other, so the family living
+very happy, and I am in the house like before and take care the little
+ones. Every night I braid my seņora's long black hair and tuck her in
+bed like she is a baby. She no grow stout when she grow more old, like
+others, but always is muy elegante.
+
+"Bime by the childrens grow up; and the two firs boys, Roldan and
+Enrique, marrying and living in San Diego. Then are left only the seņor
+and the seņora, one little boy, Carlos, and my two beautiful seņoritas,
+Beatriz and Ester. Ay! How pretty they are. Dios de mi alma! Where they
+are now?
+
+"Doņa Beatriz is tall like the mother, and sway when she walk, like you
+see the tules in the little wind. She have the eyes very black and long,
+and look like she feel sleep till she get mad; then, Madre de Dios! they
+opa wide and look like she is on fire inside and go to burn you too. She
+have the skin very white, but I see it hot like the blood go to burst
+out. Once she get furioso cause one the vaqueros hurch her horse, and
+she wheep him till he yell like he is in purgatory and no have no one
+say mass and get him out. But she have the disposition very sweet, and
+after, she is sorry and make him a cake hersel; and we all loving her
+like she is a queen, and she can do it all whatte she want.
+
+"Doņa Ester have the eyes more brown and soft, and the disposition more
+mild, but very feerm, and she having her own way more often than Doņa
+Beatriz. She no is so tall, but very gracerful too, and walk like she
+think she is tall. All the Spanish so dignify, no? She maka very kind
+with the Indians when they are seek, and all loving her, but no so much
+like Doņa Beatriz.
+
+"Both girls very industrioso, sewing and make the broidery; make
+beautiful closes to wear at the ball. Ay, the balls! No have balls like
+those in California now. Sometimes have one fifty miles away, but they
+no care; jump on the horse and go, dance till the sun wake up and no
+feel tire at all. Sometimes when is wedding, or rodeo, dance for one
+week, then ride home like nothing have happen. In the winter the family
+living in San Diego; have big house there and dance every night,
+horseback in day when no rain, and have so many races and games. Ay, yi!
+All the girls so pretty. No wear hats then; the reboso, no more, or
+the mantilla; fix it so gracerful; and the dresses so bright colours,
+sometimes with flowers all over; the skirt make very fule, and the waist
+have the point. And the closes de mens! Madre de Dios! The beautiful
+velvet and silk closes, broider by silver and gold! And the saddles so
+fine! But you think I never go to tell you the story.
+
+"One summer we are more gay than ever. So many caballeros love my
+seņoritas, but I think they never love any one, and never go to marry
+at all. For a month we have the house fule; meriendas--peek-neeks, you
+call, no? And races every day, dance in the night. Then all go to stay
+at another rancho; it is costumbre to visit the one to the other. I feel
+very sorry for two so handsome caballeros, who are more devot than any.
+They looking very sad when they go, and I am sure they propose and no
+was accep.
+
+"In the evening it is very quiet, and I am sweep the corridor when I
+hear two horses gallop down the valley. I fix my hand--so--like the
+barrel de gun, and look, and I see, riding very hard, Don Carmelo Pelajo
+and Don Rafael Arguello. The firs, he loving Doņa Beatriz, the other, he
+want Doņa Ester. I go queeck and tell the girls, and Beatriz toss her
+head and look very scornfule, but Ester blushing and the eyes look very
+happy. The young mens come in in few minutes and are well treat by Don
+Carlos and Doņa Juana, for like them very much and are glad si the girls
+marry with them.
+
+"After supper I am turn down the bed in my seņora's room when I
+hear somebody spik very low ou'side on the corridor. I kneel on the
+window-seat and look out, and there I see Don Rafael have his arms roun
+Doņa Ester and kissing her and she no mine at all. I wonder how they get
+out there by themselfs, for the Spanish very streect with the girls and
+no 'low that. But the young peoples always very--how you say it?--smart,
+no? After while all go to bed, and I braid Doņa Juana's hair and she
+tell me Ester go to marry Don Rafael, and she feel very happy and I no
+say one word. Then I go to Doņa Beatriz's bedroom; always I fix her for
+the bed, too. Ester have other woman take care her, but Beatriz love me.
+She keeck me when she is little, and pull my hair, when I no give her
+the dulces; but I no mine, for she have the good heart and so sweet
+spression when she no is mad and always maka very kind with me. I comb
+her hair and I see she look very cross and I ask her why, and she say
+she hate mens, they are fools, and womens too. I ask her why she think
+that, and she say she no can be spect have reason for all whatte she
+think; and she throw her head aroun so I no can comb at all and keeck
+out her little foot.
+
+"'You no go to marry with Don Carlos?' I asking.
+
+"'No!' she say, and youbetcherlife her eyes flash. 'You think I marrying
+a singing, sighing, gambling, sleepy caballero? Si no can marry man I no
+marry at all. Madre de Dios!' (She spik beautiful; but I no spik good
+Eenglish, and you no ondrestan the Spanish.)
+
+"'But all are very much like,' I say; 'and you no want die old maid,
+no?'
+
+"'I no care!' and then she fling hersel roun on the chair and throw her
+arms roun me and cry and sob on my estomac. 'Ay, my Lukari!' she cry
+when she can spik,' I hate everybody! I am tire out to exista! I want to
+live! I am tire stay all alone! Oh, I want--I no know what I want! Life
+is terreeblay thing, macheppa!'
+
+"I no know at all whatte she mean, for have plenty peoples all the time,
+and she never walk, so I no can think why she feel tire; but I kissing
+her and smoothe her hair, for I jus love her, and tell her no cry. Bime
+by she fine it some one she loving, and she is very young yet,--twenty,
+no more.
+
+"'I no stay here any longer,' she say. 'I go to ask my father take me to
+Mejico, where can see something cept hills and trees and missions and
+forts, and where perhaps--ay, Dios de mi alma!' Then she jump up and
+take me by the shoulders and just throw me out the room and lock the
+door; but I no mine, for I am use to her.
+
+"Bueno, I think I go for walk, and bime by I come to the ranchería, and
+while I am there I hear terreeblay thing from old Pepe. He say he hear
+for sure that the bad Indians--who was no make Christian by the padres
+and living very wild in the mountains--come killing all the white
+peoples on the ranchos. He say he know sure it is true, and tell me beg
+Don Carlos send to San Diego for the soldiers come take care us. I feel
+so fright I hardly can walk back to the house, and I no sleep that
+night. In the morning firs thing I telling Don Carlos, but he say is
+nonsense and no will lissen. He is very brave and no care for nothing;
+fight the Indians and killing them plenty times. The two caballeros go
+away after breakfas, and when they are gone I can see my seņora alone,
+and I telling her. She feel very fright and beg Don Carlos send for the
+soldiers, but he no will. Ay, yi! Ester is fright too; but Beatriz laugh
+and say she like have some excite and killing the Indians hersel. After
+while old Pepe come up to the house and tell he hear 'gain, but Don
+Carlos no will ask him even where he hear, and tell him to go back to
+the rancheria where belong, and make the reatas; he is so old he no can
+make anything else.
+
+"Bueno! The nex morning--bout nine o'clock--Don Carlos is at the corral
+with two vaqueros and I am in the keetchen with the cook and one Indian
+boy, call Franco. Never I like that boy. Something so sneak, and
+he steal the dulces plenty times and walk so soffit. I am help the
+cook--very good woman, but no have much sense--fry lard, when I hear
+terreeblay noise--horses gallop like they jump out the earth near the
+house, and many mens yell and scream and shout.
+
+"I run to the window and whatte I see?--Indians, Indians, Indians,
+thick like black ants on hill, jus race for the house, yelling like the
+horses' backs been fule de pins; and Don Carlos and the two vaqueros run
+like they have wings for the kitchen door, so can get in and get the
+guns and fight from the windows. I know whatte they want, so I run to
+the door to throw wide, and whatte I see but that devil Franco lock it
+and stan in front. I jump on him so can scratch his eyes out, but he
+keeck me in the estomac and for few minutes I no know it nothing.
+
+"When I opa my eyes, the room is fule de Indians, and in the iron the
+house I hear my seņora and Doņa Ester scream, scream, scream. I crawl up
+by the window-seat and look out, and there--ay, Madre de Dios!--see on
+the groun my seņor dead, stuck fule de arrows; and the vaqueros, too,
+of course. That maka me crazy and I run among the Indians, hitting them
+with my fists, to my seņora and my seņoritas. Jus as I run into the sala
+they go to killing my seņora, but I snatch the knife and fall down on
+my knees and beg and cry they no hurcha her, and bime by they say all
+right. But--santa Dios!--whatte you think they do it? They tear all the
+closes offa her till she is naked like my ban, and drive her out the
+house with the reatas. They no letting me follow and I look out the
+window and see her reel like she is drunk down the valley and scream,
+scream!--Ay, Dios!
+
+"Ester, she faint and no know it nothing. Beatriz, she have kill one
+Indian with her pistol, but they take way from her, and she stan look
+like the dead woman with eyes that have been in hell, in front the
+chief, who looka her very hard. He is very fine look, that chief, so
+tall and strong, like he can kill by sweep his arm roun, and he have
+fierce black eyes and no bad nose for Indian, with nostrils that jump.
+His mouth no is cruel like mos the bad Indians, nor the forehead so low.
+He wear the crown de feathers, and botas, and scrape de goaskin; the
+others no wear much at all. In a minute he pick up Beatriz and fling her
+over his shoulder like she is the dead deer, and he tell other do the
+same by Ester, and he stalk out and ride away hard. The others set fire
+everything, then ride after him. They no care for me and I stand there
+shriek after my seņoritas and the beautiful housses burn up.
+
+"Then I think de my seņora and I run after the way she going. Bime by I
+find her in a wheat field, kissing and hugging little Carlos, who go out
+early and no meet the Indians; and he no ondrestan what is the matter
+and dance up and down he is so fright. I tell him run fas to San Diego
+and tell Don Roldan and Don Enrique whatte have happen, and he run like
+he is glad to get away. Then I take off my closes and put them on my
+seņora and drag her along, and, bime by, we coming to a little house,
+and a good woman give me some closes and in the night we coming to San
+Diego. Ay! but was excite, everybody. Carlos been there two or three
+hours before, and Don Roldan and Don Enrique go with the soldiers to the
+hills. Everybody do it all whatte they can for my poor seņora, but she
+no want to speak by anybody, and go shut hersel up in a room in Don
+Enrique's house and jus moan and I sit ou'side the door and moan too.
+
+"Of course, I no am with the soldiers, but many times I hear all and I
+tell you.
+
+"The Indians have good start, and the white peoples no even see them,
+but they fine the trail and follow hard. Bime by they coming to the
+mountains. You ever been in the mountains back de San Diego? No the
+hills, but the mountains. Ay! So bare and rofe and sharp, and the canons
+so narrow and the trails so steep! No is safe to go in at all, for the
+Indians can hide on the rocks, and jus shoot the white peoples down one
+at the time, si they like it, when climb the gorges. The soldiers
+say they no go in, for it is the duty de them to living and protec
+California from the Americanos; but Don Enrique and Don Roldan say they
+go, and they ride right in and no one ever spect see them any more. It
+is night, so they have good chancacum to look and no be seen si Indians
+no watch.
+
+"Bime by they meet one Indian, who belong to the tribe they want, and
+'fore he can shoot they point the pistol and tell him he mus show them
+where are the girls. He say he taking them, and on the way he telling
+them the chief and nother chief make the girls their wives. This make
+them wild, and they tie up the horses so can climb more fast. But it is
+no till late the nex morning when they come sudden out of a gorge and
+look right into a place, very flat like a plaza, where is the pueblo
+de the Indians they want. For moment no one see them, and they see the
+girls--Dios de mi alma! Have been big feast, I theenk, and right where
+are all the things no been clear away, Ester, she lie on the groun on
+the face, and cry and sob and shake. But Beatriz, she stan very straight
+in the middle, 'fore the door the big wigwam, and never look more
+hansome. She never take her eyes off the chief who taking her away, and
+no look discontent at all. Then the Indians see the brothers and yell
+and run to get the bows and arrows. Don Enrique and Don Roldan fire the
+pistols, but after all they have to run, for no can do it nothing. They
+get out live but have arrows in them. And that is the las we ever hear
+de my seņoritas. Many time plenty white peoples watch the mountains and
+sometimes go in, but no can find nothing and always are wound.
+
+"And my poor seņora! For whole year she jus sit in one room and cry so
+loud all the peoples in San Diego hear her. No can do it nothing with
+her. Ay, she love the husband so, and the two beautiful girls! Then
+she die, and I am glad. Much better die than suffer like that. And Don
+Rafael and Don Carmelo? Oh, they marrying other girls, course."
+
+
+
+
+NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS
+
+
+At Fort Ross, on the northern coast of California, it is told that an
+astonishing sight may be witnessed in the midnight of the twenty-third
+of August. The present settlement vanishes. In its place the Fort
+appears as it was when the Russians abandoned it in 1841. The
+quadrilateral stockade of redwood beams, pierced with embrasures for
+carronades, is compact and formidable once more. The ramparts are paced
+by watchful sentries; mounted cannon are behind the iron-barred gates
+and in the graceful bastions. Within the enclosure are the low log
+buildings occupied by the Governor and his officers, the barracks of the
+soldiers, the arsenal, and storehouses. In one corner stands the Greek
+chapel, with its cupola and cross-surmounted belfry. The silver chimes
+have rung this night. The Governor, his beautiful wife, and their guest,
+Natalie Ivanhoff, have knelt at the jewelled altar.
+
+At the right of the Fort is a small "town" of rude huts which
+accommodates some eight hundred Indians and Siberian convicts, the
+working-men of the company. Above the "town," on a high knoll, is a
+large grist-mill. Describing an arc of perfect proportions, its midmost
+depression a mile behind the Fort, a great mountain forms a natural
+rampart. At either extreme it tapers to the jagged cliffs. On its three
+lower tables the mountain is green and bare; then abruptly rises a
+forest of redwoods, tall, rigid, tenebrious.
+
+The mountain is visible but a moment. An immense white fog-bank which
+has been crouching on the horizon rears suddenly and rushes across the
+ocean, whose low mutter rises to a roar. It sweeps like a tidal wave
+across cliffs and Fort. It halts abruptly against the face of the
+mountain. In the same moment the ocean stills. It would almost seem that
+Nature held her breath, awaiting some awful event.
+
+Suddenly, in the very middle of the fog-bank, appears the shadowy figure
+of a woman. She is gliding--to the right--rapidly and stealthily. Youth
+is in her slender grace, her delicate profile, dimly outlined. Her long
+silver-blond hair is unbound and luminously distinct from the white
+fog. She walks swiftly across the lower table of the mountain, then
+disappears. One sees, vaguely, a dark figure crouching along the lower
+fringe of the fog. That, too, disappears.
+
+For a moment the silence seems intensified. Then, suddenly, it is
+crossed by a low whir--a strange sound in the midnight. Then a shriek
+whose like is never heard save when a soul is wrenched without warning
+in frightfullest torture from its body. Then another and another
+and another in rapid succession, each fainter and more horrible in
+suggestion than the last. With them has mingled the single frenzied cry
+of a man. A moment later a confused hubbub arises from the Fort and
+town, followed by the flashes of many lights and the report of musketry.
+Then the fog presses downward on the scene. All sound but that of the
+ocean, which seems to have drawn into its loud dull voice all the angers
+of all the dead, ceases as though muffled. The fog lingers a moment,
+then drifts back as it came, and Fort Ross is the Fort Ross of to-day.
+
+
+And this is the story:--
+
+When the Princess Hélčne de Gagarin married Alexander Rotscheff, she
+little anticipated that she would spend her honeymoon in the northern
+wilds of the Californias. Nevertheless, when her husband was appointed
+Governor of the Fort Ross and Bodega branch of the great Alaskan Fur
+Company, she volunteered at once to go with him--being in that stage of
+devotion which may be termed the emotionally heroic as distinguished
+from the later of non-resistance. As the exile would last but a few
+years, and as she was a lady of a somewhat adventurous spirit, to say
+nothing of the fact that she was deeply in love, her interpretation of
+wifely duty hardly wore the hue of martyrdom even to herself.
+
+Notwithstanding, and although she had caused to be prepared a large case
+of books and eight trunks of ravishing raiment, she decided that life in
+a fort hidden between the mountains and the sea, miles away from even
+the primitive Spanish civilization, might hang burdensomely at such
+whiles as her husband's duties claimed him and books ceased to amuse. So
+she determined to ask the friend of her twenty-three years, the Countess
+Natalie Ivanhoff, to accompany her. She had, also, an unselfish motive
+in so doing. Not only did she cherish for the Countess Natalie a real
+affection, but her friend was as deeply wretched as she was happy.
+
+Two years before, the Prince Alexis Mikhaïlof, betrothed of Natalie
+Ivanhoff, had been, without explanation or chance of parting word,
+banished to Siberia under sentence of perpetual exile. Later had come
+rumour of his escape, then of death, then of recapture. Nothing definite
+could be learned. When the Princess Hélčne made her invitation, it was
+accepted gratefully, hope suggesting that in the New World might be
+found relief from the torture that was relived in every vibration of the
+invisible wires that held memory fast to the surroundings in which the
+terrible impressions, etchers of memory, had their genesis.
+
+They arrived in summer, and found the long log house, with its low
+ceilings and rude finish, admirably comfortable within. By aid of the
+great case of things Rotscheff had brought, it quickly became an abode
+of luxury. Thick carpets covered every floor; arras hid the rough walls;
+books and pictures and handsome ornaments crowded each other; every
+chair had been designed for comfort as well as elegance; the dining
+table was hidden beneath finest damask, and glittered with silver and
+crystal. It was an unwritten law that every one should dress for dinner;
+and with the rich curtains hiding the gloomy mountain and the long
+sweep of cliffs intersected by gorge and gulch, it was easy for the
+gay congenial band of exiles to forget that they were not eating the
+delicacies of their French cook and drinking their costly wines in the
+Old World.
+
+In the daytime the women--several of the officers' wives had braved the
+wilderness--found much diversion in riding through the dark forests
+or along the barren cliffs, attended always by an armed guard. Diego
+Estenega, the Spanish magnate of the North, whose ranchos adjoined Fort
+Ross, and who was financially interested in the Russian fur trade, soon
+became an intimate of the Rotscheff household. A Californian by birth,
+he was, nevertheless, a man of modern civilization, travelled, a
+student, and a keen lover of masculine sports. Although the most
+powerful man in the politics of his conservative country, he was an
+American in appearance and dress. His cloth or tweed suggested the
+colorous magnificence of the caballeros as little as did his thin
+nervous figure and grim pallid intellectual face. Rotscheff liked him
+better than any man he had ever met; with the Princess he usually waged
+war, that lady being clever, quick, and wedded to her own opinions.
+For Natalie he felt a sincere friendship at once. Being a man of keen
+sympathies and strong impulses, he divined her trouble before he heard
+her story, and desired to help her.
+
+The Countess Natalie, despite the Governor's prohibition, was addicted
+to roving over the cliffs by herself, finding kinship in the sterile
+crags and futile restlessness of the ocean. She had learned that
+although change of scene lightened the burden, only death would release
+her from herself.
+
+"She will get over it," said the Princess Hélčne to Estenega. "I was in
+love twice before I met Alex, so I know. Natalie is so beautiful that
+some day some man, who will not look in the least like poor Alexis, will
+make her forget."
+
+Estenega, being a man of the world and having consequently outgrown the
+cynicism of youth, also knowing women better than this fair Minerva
+would know them in twenty lifetimes, thought differently, and a battle
+ensued.
+
+Natalie, meanwhile, wandered along the cliffs. She passed the town
+hurriedly. Several times when in its vicinity before, the magnetism of
+an intense gaze had given her a thrill of alarm, and once or twice she
+had met face to face the miller's son--a forbidding youth with the
+skull of the Tartar and the coarse black hair and furtive eyes of the
+Indian--whose admiration of her beauty had been annoyingly apparent. She
+was not conscious of observation to-day, however, and skirted the cliffs
+rapidly, drawing her gray mantle about her as the wind howled by, but
+did not lift the hood; the massive coils of silver-blond hair kept her
+head warm.
+
+As the Princess Hélčne, despite her own faultless blondinity, had
+pronounced, Natalie Ivanhoff was a beautiful woman. Her profile had the
+delicate effect produced by the chisel. Her white skin was transparent
+and untinted, but the mouth was scarlet. The large long eyes of a
+changeful blue-gray, although limpid of surface, were heavy with the
+sadness of a sad spirit. Their natural fire was quenched just as the
+slight compression of her lips had lessened the sensuous fulness of
+their curves.
+
+But she had suffered so bitterly and so variously that the points had
+been broken off her nerves, she told herself, and, excepting when her
+trouble mounted suddenly like a wave within her, her mind was tranquil.
+Grief with her had expressed itself in all its forms. She had known what
+it was to be crushed into semi-insensibility; she had thrilled as the
+tears rushed and the sobs shook her until every nerve ached and her very
+fingers cramped; and she had gone wild at other times, burying her head,
+that her screams might not be heard: the last, as imagination pictured
+her lover's certain physical suffering. But of all agonies, none could
+approximate to that induced by Death. When that rumour reached her,
+she realized that hope had given her some measure of support, and
+how insignificant all other trouble is beside that awful blank, that
+mystery, whose single revelation is the houseless soul's unreturning
+flight from the only world we are sure of. When the contradicting rumour
+came, she clutched at hope and clung to it.
+
+"It is the only reason I do not kill myself," she thought, as she stood
+on the jutting brow of the cliff and looked down on the masses of huge
+stones which, with the gaunt outlying rocks, had once hung on the face
+of the crags. The great breakers boiled over them with the ponderosity
+peculiar to the waters of the Pacific. The least of those breakers would
+carry her far into the hospitable ocean.
+
+"It is so easy to die and be at peace; the only thing which makes life
+supportable is the knowledge of Death's quick obedience. And the tragedy
+of life is not that we cannot forget, but that we can. Think of being an
+old woman with not so much as a connecting current between the memory
+and the heart, the long interval blocked with ten thousand petty events
+and trials! It must be worse than this. I shall have gone over the cliff
+long before that time comes. I would go to-day, but I cannot leave the
+world while he is in it."
+
+She drew a case from her pocket, and opened it. It showed the portrait
+of a young man with the sombre eyes and cynical mouth of the northern
+European, a face revealing intellect, will, passion, and much
+recklessness. Eyes and hair were dark, the face smooth but for a slight
+mustache.
+
+Natalie burst into wild tears, revelling in the solitude that gave her
+freedom. She pressed the picture against her face, and cried her agony
+aloud to the ocean. Thrilling memories rushed through her, and she lived
+again the first ecstasy of grief. She did not fling herself upon the
+ground, or otherwise indulge in the acrobatics of woe, but she shook
+from head to foot. Between the heavy sobs her breath came in hard gasps,
+and tears poured, hiding the gray desolation of the scene.
+
+Suddenly, through it all, she became conscious that some one was
+watching her. Instinctively she knew that it was the same gaze which so
+often had alarmed her. Fear routed every other passion. She realized
+that she was unprotected, a mile from the Fort, out of the line of its
+vision. The brutal head of the miller's son seemed to thrust itself
+before her face. Overwhelmed with terror, she turned swiftly and ran,
+striking blindly among the low bushes, her glance darting from right to
+left. No one was to be seen for a moment; then she turned the corner of
+a boulder and came upon a man. She shrieked and covered her face with
+her hands, now too frightened to move. The man neither stirred nor
+spoke; and, despite this alarming circumstance, her disordered brain,
+in the course of a moment, conceived the thought that no subject of
+Rotscheff would dare to harm her.
+
+Moreover, her brief glance had informed her that this was not the
+miller's son; which fact, illogically, somewhat tempered her fear. She
+removed her hands and compelled herself to look sternly at the creature
+who had dared to raise his eyes to the Countess Natalie Ivanhoff. She
+was puzzled to find something familiar about him. His grizzled hair
+was long, but not unkempt. The lower part of his face was covered by
+a beard. He was almost fleshless; but in his sunken eyes burned
+unquenchable fire, and there was a determined vigour in his gaunt
+figure. He might have been any age. Assuredly, the outward seeming of
+youth was not there, but its suggestion still lingered tenaciously in
+the spirit which glowed through the worn husk. And about him, in spite
+of the rough garb and blackened skin, was an unmistakable air of
+breeding.
+
+Natalie, as she looked, grew rigid. Then she uttered a cry of rapturous
+horror, staggered, and was caught in a fierce embrace. Her stunned
+senses awoke in a moment, and she clung to him, crying wildly, holding
+him with straining arms, filled with bitter happiness.
+
+In a few moments he pushed her from him and regarded her sadly.
+
+"You are as beautiful as ever," he said; "but I--look at me! Old,
+hideous, ragged! I am not fit to touch you; I never meant to. Go! I
+shall never blame you."
+
+For answer she sprang to him again.
+
+"What difference is it how you look?" she cried, still sobbing. "Is it
+not _you?_ Are not you in here just the same? What matter? What matter?
+No matter what you looked through, you would be the same. Listen," she
+continued rapidly, after a moment. "We are in a new country; there is
+hope for us. If we can reach the Spanish towns of the South, we are
+safe. I will ask Don Diego Estenega to help us, and he is not the man to
+refuse. He stays with us to-night, and I will speak alone with him. Meet
+me to-morrow night--where? At the grist-mill at midnight. We had better
+not meet by day again. Perhaps we can go then. You will be there?"
+
+"Will I be there? God! Of course I will be there."
+
+And, the brief details of their flight concluded, they forgot it and all
+else for the hour.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Natalie could not obtain speech alone with Estenega that evening; but
+the next morning the Princess Hélčne commanded her household and guest
+to accompany her up the hill to the orchard at the foot of the forest;
+and there, while the others wandered over the knolls of the shadowy
+enclosure, Natalie managed to tell her story. Estenega offered his help
+spontaneously.
+
+"At twelve to-night," he said, "I will wait for you in the forest with
+horses, and will guide you myself to Monterey. I have a house there, and
+you can leave on the first barque for Boston."
+
+As soon as the party returned to the Fort, Estenega excused himself and
+left for his home. The day passed with maddening slowness to Natalie.
+She spent the greater part of it walking up and down the immediate
+cliffs, idly watching the men capturing the seals and otters, the
+ship-builders across the gulch. As she returned at sunset to the
+enclosure, she saw the miller's son standing by the gates, gazing at her
+with hungry admiration. He inspired her with sudden fury.
+
+"Never presume to look at me again," she said harshly. "If you do, I
+shall report you to the Governor."
+
+And without waiting to note how he accepted the mandate, she swept by
+him and entered the Fort, the gates clashing behind her.
+
+The inmates of Fort Ross were always in bed by eleven o'clock. At that
+hour not a sound was to be heard but the roar of the ocean, the soft
+pacing of the sentry on the ramparts, the cry of the panther in the
+forest. On the evening in question, after the others had retired,
+Natalie, trembling with excitement, made a hasty toilet, changing her
+evening gown for a gray travelling frock. Her heavy hair came unbound,
+and her shaking hands refused to adjust the close coils. As it fell over
+her gray mantle it looked so lovely, enveloping her with the silver
+sheen of mist, that she smiled in sad vanity, remembering happier days,
+and decided to let her lover see her so. She could braid her hair at the
+mill.
+
+A moment or two before twelve she raised the window and swung herself to
+the ground. The sentry was on the rampart opposite: she could not make
+her exit by that gate. She walked softly around the buildings, keeping
+in their shadow, and reached the gates facing the forest. They were not
+difficult to unbar, and in a moment she stood without, free. She could
+not see the mountain; a heavy bank of white fog lay against it, resting,
+after its long flight over the ocean, before it returned, or swept
+onward to ingulf the redwoods.
+
+She went with noiseless step up the path, then turned and walked swiftly
+toward the mill. She was very nervous; mingling with the low voice of
+the ocean she imagined she heard the moans with which beheaded convicts
+were said to haunt the night. Once she thought she heard a footstep
+behind her, and paused, her heart beating audibly. But the sound ceased
+with her own soft footfalls, and the fog was so dense that she could see
+nothing. The ground was soft, and she was beyond the sentry's earshot;
+she ran at full speed across the field, down the gorge, and up the steep
+knoll. As she reached the top, she was taken in Mikhaïlof's arms. For
+a few moments she was too breathless to speak; then she told him her
+plans.
+
+"Let me braid my hair," she said finally, "and we will go."
+
+He drew her within the mill, then lit a lantern and held it above her
+head, his eyes dwelling passionately on her beauty, enhanced by the
+colour of excitement and rapid exercise.
+
+"You look like the moon queen," he said. "I missed your hair, apart from
+yourself."
+
+She lifted her chin with a movement of coquetry most graceful in spite
+of long disuse, and the answering fire sprang into her eyes. She looked
+very piquant and a trifle diabolical. He pressed his lips suddenly
+on hers. A moment later something tugged at the long locks his hand
+caressed, and at the same time he became conscious that the silence
+which had fallen between them was shaken by a loud whir. He glanced
+upward. Natalie was standing with her back to one of the band-wheels. It
+had begun to revolve; in the moment it increased its speed; and he saw a
+glittering web on its surface. With an exclamation of horror, he pulled
+her toward him; but he was too late. The wheel, spinning now with the
+velocity of midday, caught the whole silver cloud in its spokes, and
+Natalie was swept suddenly upward. Her feet hit the low rafters, and she
+was whirled round and round, screams of torture torn from her rather
+than uttered, her body describing a circular right angle to the shaft,
+the bones breaking as they struck the opposite one; then, in swift
+finality, she was sucked between belt and wheel. Mikhaïlof managed to
+get into the next room and reverse the lever. The machinery stopped as
+abruptly as it had started; but Natalie was out of her agony.
+
+Her lover flung himself over the cliffs, shattering bones and skull
+on the stones at their base. They made her a coffin out of the copper
+plates used for their ships, and laid her in the straggling unpopulous
+cemetery on the knoll across the gulch beyond the chapel.
+
+"When we go, we will take her," said Rotscheff to his distracted wife.
+
+But when they went, a year or two after, in the hurry of departure they
+forgot her until too late. They promised to return. But they never came,
+and she sleeps there still, on the lonely knoll between the sunless
+forest and the desolate ocean.
+
+
+
+
+THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
+
+
+I
+
+Pilar, from her little window just above the high wall surrounding the
+big adobe house set apart for the women neophytes of the Mission of
+Santa Ines, watched, morning and evening, for Andreo, as he came and
+went from the rancheria. The old women kept the girls busy, spinning,
+weaving, sewing; but age nods and youth is crafty. The tall young Indian
+who was renowned as the best huntsman of all the neophytes, and who
+supplied Padre Arroyo's table with deer and quail, never failed to keep
+his ardent eyes fixed upon the grating so long as it lay within the line
+of his vision. One day he went to Padre Arroyo and told him that Pilar
+was the prettiest girl behind the wall--the prettiest girl in all the
+Californias--and that she should be his wife. But the kind stern old
+padre shook his head.
+
+"You are both too young. Wait another year, my son, and if thou art
+still in the same mind, thou shalt have her."
+
+Andreo dared to make no protest, but he asked permission to prepare a
+home for his bride. The padre gave it willingly, and the young Indian
+began to make the big adobes, the bright red tiles. At the end of a
+month he had built him a cabin among the willows of the rancheria, a
+little apart from the others: he was in love, and association with his
+fellows was distasteful. When the cabin was builded his impatience
+slipped from its curb, and once more he besought the priest to allow him
+to marry.
+
+Padre Arroyo was sunning himself on the corridor of the mission,
+shivering in his heavy brown robes, for the day was cold.
+
+"Orion," he said sternly--he called all his neophytes after the
+celebrities of earlier days, regardless of the names given them at the
+font--"have I not told thee thou must wait a year? Do not be impatient,
+my son. She will keep. Women are like apples: when they are too young,
+they set the teeth on edge; when ripe and mellow, they please every
+sense; when they wither and turn brown, it is time to fall from the tree
+into a hole. Now go and shoot a deer for Sunday: the good padres from
+San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara are coming to dine with me."
+
+Andreo, dejected, left the padre. As he passed Pilar's window and saw a
+pair of wistful black eyes behind the grating, his heart took fire. No
+one was within sight. By a series of signs he made his lady understand
+that he would place a note beneath a certain adobe in the wall.
+
+Pilar, as she went to and fro under the fruit trees in the garden,
+or sat on the long corridor weaving baskets, watched that adobe with
+fascinated eyes. She knew that Andreo was tunnelling it, and one day a
+tiny hole proclaimed that his work was accomplished. But how to get the
+note? The old women's eyes were very sharp when the girls were in front
+of the gratings. Then the civilizing development of Christianity
+upon the heathen intellect triumphantly asserted itself. Pilar, too,
+conceived a brilliant scheme. That night the padre, who encouraged any
+evidence of industry, no matter how eccentric, gave her a little garden
+of her own--a patch where she could raise sweet peas and Castilian
+roses.
+
+"That is well, that is well, my Nausicaa," he said, stroking her smoky
+braids. "Go cut the slips and plant them where thou wilt. I will send
+thee a package of sweet pea seeds."
+
+Pilar spent every spare hour bending over her "patch"; and the hole, at
+first no bigger than a pin's point, was larger at each setting of the
+sun behind the mountain. The old women, scolding on the corridor, called
+to her not to forget vespers.
+
+On the third evening, kneeling on the damp ground, she drew from the
+little tunnel in the adobe a thin slip of wood covered with the labour
+of sleepless nights. She hid it in her smock--that first of California's
+love-letters--then ran with shaking knees and prostrated herself before
+the altar. That night the moon streamed through her grating, and she
+deciphered the fact that Andreo had loosened eight adobes above her
+garden, and would await her every midnight.
+
+Pilar sat up in bed and glanced about the room with terrified delight.
+It took her but a moment to decide the question; love had kept her awake
+too many nights. The neophytes were asleep; as they turned now and
+again, their narrow beds of hide, suspended from the ceiling, swung too
+gently to awaken them. The old women snored loudly. Pilar slipped from
+her bed and looked through the grating. Andreo was there, the dignity
+and repose of primeval man in his bearing. She waved her hand and
+pointed downward to the wall; then, throwing on the long coarse gray
+smock that was her only garment, crept from the room and down the stair.
+The door was protected against hostile tribes by a heavy iron bar, but
+Pilar's small hands were hard and strong, and in a moment she stood over
+the adobes which had crushed her roses and sweet peas.
+
+As she crawled through the opening, Andreo took her hand bashfully, for
+they never had spoken. "Come," he said; "we must be far away before
+dawn."
+
+They stole past the long mission, crossing themselves as they glanced
+askance at the ghostly row of pillars; past the guard-house, where the
+sentries slept at their post; past the rancheria; then, springing upon a
+waiting mustang, dashed down the valley. Pilar had never been on a horse
+before, and she clung in terror to Andreo, who bestrode the unsaddled
+beast as easily as a cloud rides the wind. His arm held her closely,
+fear vanished, and she enjoyed the novel sensation. Glancing over
+Andreo's shoulder she watched the mass of brown and white buildings,
+the winding river, fade into the mountain. Then they began to ascend
+an almost perpendicular steep. The horse followed a narrow trail; the
+crowding trees and shrubs clutched the blankets and smocks of the
+riders; after a time trail and scene grew white: the snow lay on the
+heights.
+
+"Where do we go?" she asked.
+
+"To Zaca Lake, on the very top of the mountain, miles above us. No one
+has ever been there but myself. Often I have shot deer and birds beside
+it. They never will find us there."
+
+The red sun rose over the mountains of the east. The crystal moon sank
+in the west. Andreo sprang from the weary mustang and carried Pilar to
+the lake.
+
+A sheet of water, round as a whirlpool but calm and silver, lay amidst
+the sweeping willows and pine-forested peaks. The snow glittered beneath
+the trees, but a canoe was on the lake, a hut on the marge.
+
+
+II
+
+Padre Arroyo tramped up and down the corridor, smiting his hands
+together. The Indians bowed lower than usual, as they passed, and
+hastened their steps. The soldiers scoured the country for the bold
+violators of mission law. No one asked Padre Arroyo what he would do
+with the sinners, but all knew that punishment would be sharp and
+summary: the men hoped that Andreo's mustang had carried him beyond its
+reach; the girls, horrified as they were, wept and prayed in secret for
+Pilar.
+
+A week later, in the early morning, Padre Arroyo sat on the corridor.
+The mission stood on a plateau overlooking a long valley forked and
+sparkled by the broad river. The valley was planted thick with olive
+trees, and their silver leaves glittered in the rising sun. The mountain
+peaks about and beyond were white with snow, but the great red poppies
+blossomed at their feet. The padre, exiled from the luxury and society
+of his dear Spain, never tired of the prospect: he loved his mission
+children, but he loved Nature more.
+
+Suddenly he leaned forward on his staff and lifted the heavy brown
+hood of his habit from his ear. Down the road winding from the eastern
+mountains came the echo of galloping footfalls. He rose expectantly and
+waddled out upon the plaza, shading his eyes with his hand. A half-dozen
+soldiers, riding closely about a horse bestridden by a stalwart young
+Indian supporting a woman, were rapidly approaching the mission. The
+padre returned to his seat and awaited their coming.
+
+The soldiers escorted the culprits to the corridor; two held the horse
+while they descended, then led it away, and Andreo and Pilar were alone
+with the priest. The bridegroom placed his arm about the bride and
+looked defiantly at Padre Arroyo, but Pilar drew her long hair about her
+face and locked her hands together.
+
+Padre Arroyo folded his arms and regarded them with lowered brows, a
+sneer on his mouth.
+
+"I have new names for you both," he said, in his thickest voice.
+"Antony, I hope thou hast enjoyed thy honeymoon. Cleopatra, I hope thy
+little toes did not get frost-bitten. You both look as if food had been
+scarce. And your garments have gone in good part to clothe the brambles,
+I infer. It is too bad you could not wait a year and love in your cabin
+at the ranchería, by a good fire, and with plenty of frijoles and
+tortillas in your stomachs." He dropped his sarcastic tone, and, rising
+to his feet, extended his right arm with a gesture of malediction. "Do
+you comprehend the enormity of your sin?" he shouted. "Have you not
+learned on your knees that the fires of hell are the rewards of unlawful
+love? Do you not know that even the year of sackcloth and ashes I shall
+impose here on earth will not save you from those flames a million times
+hotter than the mountain fire, than the roaring pits in which evil
+Indians torture one another? A hundred years of their scorching breath,
+of roasting flesh, for a week of love! Oh, God of my soul!"
+
+Andreo looked somewhat staggered, but unrepentant. Pilar burst into loud
+sobs of terror.
+
+The padre stared long and gloomily at the flags of the corridor. Then he
+raised his head and looked sadly at his lost sheep.
+
+"My children," he said solemnly, "my heart is wrung for you. You
+have broken the laws of God and of the Holy Catholic Church, and the
+punishments thereof are awful. Can I do anything for you, excepting to
+pray? You shall have my prayers, my children. But that is not enough;
+I cannot--ay! I cannot endure the thought that you shall be damned.
+Perhaps"--again he stared meditatively at the stones, then, after an
+impressive silence, raised his eyes. "Heaven vouchsafes me an idea, my
+children. I will make your punishment here so bitter that Almighty God
+in His mercy will give you but a few years of purgatory after death.
+Come with me."
+
+He turned and led the way slowly to the rear of the mission buildings.
+Andreo shuddered for the first time, and tightened his arm about Pilar's
+shaking body. He knew that they were to be locked in the dungeons.
+Pilar, almost fainting, shrank back as they reached the narrow spiral
+stair which led downward to the cells. "Ay! I shall die, my Andreo!" she
+cried. "Ay! my father, have mercy!"
+
+"I cannot, my children," said the padre, sadly. "It is for the salvation
+of your souls."
+
+"Mother of God! When shall I see thee again, my Pilar?" whispered
+Andreo. "But, ay! the memory of that week on the mountain will keep us
+both alive."
+
+Padre Arroyo descended the stair and awaited them at its foot.
+Separating them, and taking each by the hand, he pushed Andreo ahead and
+dragged Pilar down the narrow passage. At its end he took a great bunch
+of keys from his pocket, and raising both hands commanded them to kneel.
+He said a long prayer in a loud monotonous voice which echoed and
+reëchoed down the dark hall and made Pilar shriek with terror. Then he
+fairly hurled the marriage ceremony at them, and made the couple repeat
+after him the responses. When it was over, "Arise," he said.
+
+The poor things stumbled to their feet, and Andreo caught Pilar in a
+last embrace.
+
+"Now bear your incarceration with fortitude, my children; and if you do
+not beat the air with your groans, I will let you out in a week. Do not
+hate your old father, for love alone makes him severe, but pray, pray,
+pray."
+
+And then he locked them both in the same cell.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
+
+
+I
+
+The Seņor Capitan Don Luis de la Torre walked impatiently up and down
+before the grist-mill wherein were quartered the soldiers sent by Mexico
+to protect the building of the Mission of San Gabriel. The Indian
+workmen were slugs; California, a vast region inhabited only by savages
+and a few priests, offered slender attractions to a young officer
+craving the gay pleasures of his capital and the presence of the woman
+he was to marry. For months he had watched the mission church mount
+slowly from foundation to towers, then spread into pillared corridors
+and rooms for the clergy. He could have mapped in his mind every acre of
+the wide beautiful valley girt by mountains snowed on their crest. He
+had thought it all very lovely at first: the yellow atmosphere, the soft
+abiding warmth, the blue reflecting lake; but the green on mountain and
+flat had waxed to gold, then waned to tan and brown, and he was tired.
+Not even a hostile Indian had come to be killed.
+
+He was very good-looking, this tall young Spaniard, with his impatient
+eyes and haughty intelligent face, and it is possible that the lady in
+Mexico had added to his burden by doleful prayers to return. He took a
+letter from his pocket, read it half through, then walked rapidly over
+to the mission, seeking interest in the work of the Indians. Under the
+keen merciless supervision of the padres,--the cleverest body of men
+who ever set foot in America,--they were mixing and laying the adobes,
+making nails and tiles, hewing aqueducts, fashioning great stone fonts
+and fountains. De la Torre speculated, after his habit, upon the future
+of a country so beautiful and so fertile, which a dozen priests had made
+their own. Would these Indians, the poorest apologies for human beings
+he had ever seen, the laziest and the dirtiest, be Christianized and
+terrified into worthy citizens of this fair land? Could the clear white
+flame that burned in the brains of the padres strike fire in their
+neophytes' narrow skulls, create a soul in those grovelling bodies? He
+dismissed the question.
+
+Would men of race, tempted by the loveliness of this great gold-haired
+houri sleeping on the Pacific, come from old and new Spain and dream
+away a life of pleasure? What grapes would grow out of this rich soil
+to be crushed by Indian slaves into red wine! And did gold vein those
+velvet hills? How all fruits, all grains, would thrive! what superb
+beasts would fatten on the thick spring grass! Ay! it was a magnificent
+discovery for the Church, and great would be the power that could wrest
+it from her.
+
+There was a new people, somewhere north of Mexico, in the United States
+of America. Would they ever covet and strive to rob? The worse for them
+if they molested the fire-blooded Spaniard. How he should like to fight
+them!
+
+That night the sentinel gave a sudden piercing shout of warning, then
+dropped dead with a poisoned arrow in his brain. Another moment, and
+the soldiers had leaped from their swinging beds of hide, and headed by
+their captain had reached the church they were there to defend. Through
+plaza and corridors sped and shrieked the savage tribe, whose invasion
+had been made with the swiftness and cunning of their race. The doors
+had not been hung in the church, and the naked figures ran in upon the
+heels of the soldiers, waving torches and yelling like the soulless
+fiends they were. The few neophytes who retained spirit enough to fight
+after the bleaching process that had chilled their native fire and
+produced a result which was neither man nor beast, but a sort of
+barnyard fowl, hopped about under the weight of their blankets and were
+promptly despatched.
+
+The brunt of the battle fell upon the small detachment of troops, and
+at the outset they were overwhelmed by numbers, dazzled by the glare of
+torches that waved and leaped in the cavern-like darkness of the church.
+But they fought like Spaniards, hacking blindly with their swords,
+cleaving dusky skulls with furious maledictions, using their fists,
+their feet, their teeth--wrenching torches from malignant hands and
+hurling them upon distorted faces. Curses and wild yells intermingled.
+De la Torre fought at the head of his men until men and savages, dead
+and living, were an indivisible mass, then thrust back and front,
+himself unhurt. The only silent clear-brained man among them, he could
+reason as he assaulted and defended, and he knew that the Spaniards
+had little chance of victory--and he less of looking again upon the
+treasures of Mexico. The Indians swarmed like ants over the great nave
+and transept. Those who were not fighting smashed the altar and slashed
+the walls. The callous stars looked through the apertures left for
+windows, and shed a pallid light upon the writhing mass. The padres had
+defended their altar, behind the chancel rail; they lay trampled, with
+arrows vibrating in their hard old muscles.
+
+De la Torre forced his way to the door and stood for a moment, solitary,
+against the pale light of the open, then turned his face swiftly to
+the night air as he fell over the threshold of the mission he had so
+gallantly defended.
+
+
+II
+
+Delfina de Capalleja, after months of deferred hope, stood with the
+crowd at the dock, awaiting the return of the troop which had gone to
+defend the Mission of San Gabriel in its building. There was no flutter
+of colour beneath her white skin, and the heavy lids almost concealed
+the impatient depths of her eyes; the proud repose of her head indicated
+a profound reserve and self-control. Over her white gown and black dense
+hair she wore a black lace mantilla, fastened below the throat with a
+large yellow rose.
+
+The ship swung to anchor and answered the salute from the fort. Boats
+were lowered, but neither officers nor soldiers descended. The murmur
+of disappointment on shore rose to a shout of execration. Then, as the
+ship's captain and passengers landed, a whisper ran through the crowd,
+a wail, and wild sobbing. They flung themselves to the earth, beating
+their heads and breasts,--all but Delfina de Capalleja, who drew her
+mantilla about her face and walked away.
+
+The authorities of the city of Mexico yielded to public clamour and
+determined to cast a silver bell in honour of the slaughtered captain
+and his men. The casting was to take place in the great plaza before the
+cathedral, that all might attend: it was long since any episode of war
+had caused such excitement and sorrow. The wild character and remoteness
+of the scene of the tragedy, the meagreness of detail which stung every
+imagination into action, the brilliancy and popularity of De la Torre,
+above all, the passionate sympathy felt for Delfina de Capalleja,
+served to shake society from peak to base, and no event had ever been
+anticipated with more enthusiasm than the casting of that silver bell.
+
+No one had seen Delfina since the arrival of the news had broken so many
+hearts, and great was the curiosity regarding her possible presence at
+the ceremony. Universal belief was against her ever again appearing in
+public; some said that she was dead, others that she had gone into a
+convent, but a few maintained that she would be high priestess at the
+making of the bell which was to be the symbol and monument of her
+lover's gallantry and death.
+
+The hot sun beat upon the white adobe houses of the stately city. At the
+upper end of the plaza, bending and swaying, coquetting and languishing,
+were women clad in rich and vivid satins, their graceful heads and
+shoulders draped with the black or white mantilla; caballeros, gay in
+velvet trousers laced with gold, and serape embroidered with silver.
+Eyes green and black and blue sparkled above the edge of large black
+fans; fiery eyes responded from beneath silver-laden sombreros. The
+populace, in gala attire, crowded the rest of the plaza and adjacent
+streets, chattering and gesticulating. But all looked in vain for
+Delfina de Capalleja.
+
+Much ceremony attended the melting of the bell. Priests in white robes
+stiff with gold chanted prayers above the silver bubbling in the
+caldron. A full-robed choir sang the Te Deum; the regiment to which De
+la Torre had belonged fired salutes at intervals; the crowd sobbed and
+shouted.
+
+Thunder of cannon, passionate swell of voices: the molten silver was
+about to be poured into the mould. The crowd hushed and parted. Down the
+way made for her came Delfina de Capalleja. Her black hair hung over her
+long white gown. Her body bent under the weight of jewels--the jewels of
+generations and the jewels of troth. Her arms hung at her sides. In her
+eyes was the peace of the dead.
+
+She walked to the caldron, and taking a heavy gold chain from her neck
+flung it into the silver. It swirled like a snake, then disappeared. One
+by one, amidst quivering silence, the magnificent jewels followed
+the chain. Then, as she took the last bracelet from her arm, madness
+possessed the breathless crowd. The indifferent self-conscious men,
+the lanquid coquetting women, the fat drowsy old dowagers, all rushed,
+scrambling and screaming, to the caldron, tore from their heads and
+bodies the superb jewels and ropes of gold with which they were
+bedecked, and flung them into the molten mass, which rose like a tide.
+The electric current sprang to the people; their baubles sped like hail
+through the air. So great was the excitement that a sudden convulsing
+of the earth was unfelt. When not a jewel was left to sacrifice, the
+caldron held enough element for five bells--the five sweet-voiced bells
+which rang in the Mission of San Gabriel for more than a century.
+
+Exhausted with shouting, the multitude was silent. Delfina de Capalleja,
+who had stood with panting chest and dilating nostrils, turned from
+the sacrificial caldron, the crowd parting for her again, the Laudate
+Dominum swelling. As she reached the cathedral, a man who loved her,
+noting a change in her face, sprang to her side. She raised her
+bewildered eyes to his and thrust out her hands blankly, then fell dead
+across the threshold.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
+
+
+The Devil locked the copper gates of Hell one night, and sauntered down
+a Spacian pathway. The later arrivals from the planet Earth had been of
+a distressingly commonplace character to his Majesty--a gentleman
+of originality and attainments, whatever his disagreements with the
+conventions. He was become seriously disturbed about the moral condition
+of the sensational little twinkler.
+
+"What are my own about?" he thought, as he drifted past planets which
+yielded up their tributes with monotonous regularity. "What a squeezed
+old orange would Earth become did I forsake it! I must not neglect it so
+long again; my debt of gratitude is too great. Let me see. Where shall
+I begin? It is some years since I have visited America in person,
+and unquestionably she has most need of my attention; Europe is in
+magnificent running order. This is a section of her, if my geography
+does not fail me; but what? I do not recall it."
+
+He poised above a country that looked as if it still hung upon the edge
+of chaos: wild, fertile, massive, barren, luxuriant, crouching on the
+ragged line of the Pacific. From his point of vantage he saw long ranges
+of stupendous mountains, some but masses of scowling crags, some green
+with forests of mammoth trees projecting their gaunt rigid arms above
+a carpet of violets; indolent valleys and swirling rivers; snow on the
+black peaks of the North; the riotous colour of eternal summer in the
+South. Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation and swept downward,
+halting but a mile above the ground. He frowned heavily, then smiled--a
+long, placid, sardonic smile. There appeared to be but few inhabitants
+in this country, and those few seemed to live either in great white
+irregular buildings, surmounted by crosses, in little brown huts near
+by, in the caves, or in hollowed trees on the mountains. The large
+buildings were situated about sixty miles apart, in chosen valleys; they
+were imposing and rambling, built about a plaza. They boasted pillared
+corridors and bright red tiles on their roofs. Within the belfries were
+massive silver bells, and the crosses could be seen to the furthermost
+end of the valley and from the tops of the loftiest mountain.
+
+"California!" exclaimed the Devil. "I know of her. Her scant history
+is outlined in the Scarlet Book. I remember the points: Climate, the
+finest, theoretically, in the world; satanically, simply magnificent.
+I have waited impatiently for the stream of humanity to deflect
+thitherward, but priests will answer my present purpose exactly--unless
+they are all too tough. To continue, gold under that grass in
+chunks--aha! I shall have to throw out an extra wing in Hell! Parched
+deserts where men will die cursing; fruitful valleys, more gratifying to
+my genius; about as much of one as of the other, but the latter will
+get all the advertising, and the former be carefully kept out of sight.
+Everything in the way of animal life, from grizzly bears to fleas. A
+very remarkable State! Well, I will begin on the priests."
+
+He shot downward, and alighted in a valley whose proportions pleased his
+eye. Its shape was oval; the bare hills enclosing it were as yellow and
+as bright as hammered gold; the grass was bronze-coloured, baking in the
+intense heat; but the placid cows and shining horses nibbled it with the
+contentment of those that know not of better things. A river, almost
+concealed by bending willows and slender erect cottonwoods, wound
+capriciously across the valley. The mission, simpler than some of the
+others, was as neatly kept as the farm of older civilizations. Peace,
+order, reigned everywhere; all things drowsed under the relentless
+outpouring of the midsummer sun.
+
+"It is well I do not mind the heat," thought his Majesty; "but I am
+sensible of this. I will go within."
+
+He drew a boot on his cloven foot, thus rendering himself invisible, and
+entered a room of the long wing that opened upon the corridor. Here the
+temperature was almost wintry, so thick were the adobe walls.
+
+Two priests sat before a table, one reading aloud from a bulky
+manuscript, the other staring absently out of the window. The reader
+was an old man; his face was pale and spiritual; no fires burned in his
+sunken eyes; his mouth was stern with the lines of self-repression. The
+Devil lost all interest in him at once, and turned to the younger man.
+His face was pale also, but his pallor was that of fasting and the hair
+shirt; the mouth expressed the determination of the spirit to conquer
+the restless longing of the eyes; his nostrils were spirited; his figure
+was lean and nervous; he moved his feet occasionally, and clutched at
+the brown Franciscan habit.
+
+"Paulo," said the older priest, reprovingly, as he lifted his eyes and
+noted the unbowed head, "thou art not listening to the holy counsel of
+our glorious Master, our saint who has so lately ascended into heaven."
+
+"I know Junipero Serra by heart," said Paulo, a little pettishly. "I
+wish it were not too hot to go out; I should like to take a walk.
+Surely, San Miguel is the hottest spot on earth. The very fleas are
+gasping between the bricks."
+
+"The Lord grant that they may die before the night! Not a wink have I
+slept for two! But thou shouldest not long for recreation until the hour
+comes, my son. Do thy duty and think not of when it will be over, for
+it is a blessed privilege to perform it--far more so than any idle
+pleasure--just as it is more blessed to give than to receive--"
+
+Here the Devil snorted audibly, and both priests turned with a jump.
+
+"Did you hear that, my father?"
+
+"It is the walls cracking with the intense heat. I will resume my
+reading, and do thou pay attention, my son."
+
+"I will, my father."
+
+And for three hours the Devil was obliged to listen to the droning voice
+of the old man. He avenged himself by planting wayward and alarming
+desires in Paulo's fertile soul.
+
+Suddenly the mission was filled with the sound of clamorous silver:
+the bells were ringing for vespers--a vast, rapid, unrhythmical, sweet
+volume of sound which made the Devil stamp his hoofs and gnash his
+teeth. The priests crossed themselves and hurried to their evening
+duties, Satan following, furious, but not daring to let them out of his
+sight.
+
+The church was crowded with dusky half-clothed forms, prostrate before
+the altar. The Devil, during the long service, wandered amongst them,
+giving a vicious kick with his cloven foot here, pricking with the sharp
+point of his tail there, breeding a fine discord and routing devotion.
+When vespers were over he was obliged to follow the priests to the
+refectory, but found compensation in noting that Paulo displayed a keen
+relish for his meat and wine. The older man put his supper away morsel
+by morsel, as if he were stuffing a tobacco-pouch.
+
+The meal finished, Paulo sallied forth for his evening walk. The Devil
+had his chance.
+
+He was a wise Devil--a Devil of an experience so vast that the world
+would go crashing through space under its weight in print. He wasted
+no time with the preliminary temptations--pride, ambition, avarice. He
+brought out the woman at once.
+
+The young priest, wandering through a grove of cottonwoods, his hands
+clasped listlessly behind him, his chin sunken dejectedly upon his
+breast, suddenly raised his eyes and beheld a beautiful woman standing
+not ten paces away. She was not a girl like her whom he had renounced
+for the Church, but a woman about whose delicate warm face and slender
+palpitating bosom hung the vague shadow of maturity. Her hair was the
+hot brown of copper, thick and rich; her eyes were like the meeting of
+flame and alcohol. The emotion she inspired was not the pure glow which
+once had encouraged rather than deprecated renunciation; but at the
+moment he thought it sweeter.
+
+He sprang forward with arms outstretched, instinct conquering vows in
+a manner highly satisfactory to the Devil; then, with a bitter
+imprecation, turned and fled. But he heard light footfalls behind him;
+he was conscious of a faint perfume, born of no earthly flower, felt a
+soft panting breath. A light hand touched his face. He flung his vows to
+anxious Satan, and turned to clasp the woman in his arms. But she coyly
+retreated, half-resentfully, half-invitingly, wholly lovely. Satan
+closed his iron hand about the vows, and the priest ran toward the
+woman, the lines of repression on his face gone, the eyes conquering the
+mouth. But again she retreated. He quickened his steps; she accelerated
+hers; his legs were long and agile; but she was fleet of foot. Finally
+she ran at full speed, her warm bright hair lifted and spreading, her
+tender passionate face turned and shining through it.
+
+They left the cottonwoods, and raced down the wide silent valley, the
+cows staring with stolid disapproval, the stars pulsing in sympathy. The
+priest felt no fatigue; he forgot the Church behind him, the future of
+reward or torment. He wanted the woman, and was determined to have her.
+He was wholly lost; and the Devil, satisfied, returned to the mission.
+
+"Now," thought he, "for revenge on that old fool for defying me for
+sixty years!"
+
+He raised his index finger and pointed it straight at the planet Hell.
+Instantly the sky darkened, the air vibrated with the rushing sound
+of many forms. A moment later he was surrounded by a regiment of
+abbreviated demons--a flock as thick as a grasshopper plague, twisted,
+grinning, leering, hideous. He raised his finger again and they leaped
+to the roofs of the mission, wrenched the tiles from their place and
+sent them clattering to the pavement. They danced and wrestled on the
+naked roof, yelling with their hoarse unhuman voices, singing awful
+chants.
+
+The Devil passed within, and found the good old priest on his knees, a
+crucifix clasped to his breast, his white face upturned, shouting ave
+marias and pater nosters at the top of his aged voice as if fearful they
+would not ascend above the saturnalia on the roof. The Devil added to
+his distraction by loud bursts of ribald laughter; but the father,
+revolving his head as if it were on a pivot, continued to pray. Satan
+began to curse like a pirate.
+
+Suddenly, above the crashing of tiles, the hideous voices of Devil and
+demon, the prayers of the padre, sounded the silver music of the
+bells. Not the irregular clash which was the daily result of Indian
+manipulation, but long rhythmic peals, as sweet and clear and true
+as the singing of angels. The Devil and his minions, with one long,
+baffled, infuriated howl, shot upward into space. Simultaneously a great
+wind came roaring down the valley, uprooting trees, shaking the sturdy
+mission. Thunder detonated, lightning cut its zigzag way through black
+clouds like moving mountains; hail rattled to the earth; water fell
+as from an overturned ocean. And through all the bells pealed and the
+priest prayed.
+
+Morning dawned so calm and clear that but for the swimming ground and
+the broken tiles bestrewing it, the priest would have thought he had
+dreamed a terrible nightmare. He opened the door and looked anxiously
+forth for Paulo. Paulo was not to be seen. He called, but his tired
+voice would not carry. Clasping his crucifix to his breast, he tottered
+forth in search of his beloved young colleague. He passed the rancheria
+of the Indians, and found them all asleep, worn out from a night of
+terror.
+
+He was too kind to awaken them, and pursued his way alone down the
+valley, peering fearfully to right and left. The ground was ploughed,
+dented, and strewn with fallen trees; the river roared like a tidal
+wave. Shuddering, and crossing himself repeatedly, he passed between
+the hills and entered a forest, following a path which the storm had
+blasted. After a time he came to an open glade where he and Paulo
+had loved to pray whilst the spring and the birds made music. To his
+surprise he saw a large stone lying along the open. He wondered if some
+meteor had fallen. Mortal hands--Indian hands, at least--were not strong
+enough to have brought so heavy a bulk, and he had not seen it in forest
+or valley before.
+
+He approached and regarded it; then began mumbling aves and paters,
+running them together as he had not done during the visitation and
+storm. The stone was outlined with the shape of a man, long, young,
+and slender. The face was sharply cut, refined, impassioned, and
+intellectual. A smile of cynical contentment dwelt on the strong mouth.
+The eyes were fixed on something before him. Involuntarily the priest's
+followed them, and lingered. A tree also broke the open--one which never
+had been there before--and it bore an intoxicating similitude to the
+features and form of a surpassingly beautiful woman.
+
+"Paulo! Paulo!" murmured the old man, with tears in his eyes, "would
+that I had been thou!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Splendid Idle Forties, by Gertrude Atherton
+
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+Project Gutenberg's The Splendid Idle Forties, by Gertrude Atherton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Splendid Idle Forties
+       Stories of Old California
+
+Author: Gertrude Atherton
+
+Release Date: June 23, 2004 [EBook #12697]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'IT WAS ONLY THE PEARLS YOU WANTED.'"]
+
+
+
+
+THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES
+
+
+_STORIES OF OLD CALIFORNIA_
+
+
+BY
+
+GERTRUDE ATHERTON
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE CONQUEROR," "SENATOR NORTH" "THE ARISTOCRATS," ETC.
+
+
+_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON FISHER_
+
+
+
+1902
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+THE BOHEMIAN CLUB
+
+OF SAN FRANCISCO
+
+AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF
+
+ITS COURTESY IN PLACING
+
+ITS FINE
+
+LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIAN LITERATURE
+
+AT MY DISPOSAL
+
+
+
+
+NOTE
+
+
+This is a revised and enlarged edition of the volume which was issued
+some years ago under the title, "Before the Gringo Came."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+THE PEARLS OF LORETO
+
+THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS
+
+THE WASH-TUB MAIL
+
+THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA
+
+A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA
+
+THE ISLE OF SKULLS
+
+THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
+
+LA PERDIDA
+
+LUKARI'S STORY
+
+NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS
+
+THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
+
+THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
+
+WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
+
+
+
+
+THE PEARLS OF LORETO
+
+
+I
+
+Within memory of the most gnarled and coffee-coloured Montereno never
+had there been so exciting a race day. All essential conditions seemed
+to have held counsel and agreed to combine. Not a wreath of fog floated
+across the bay to dim the sparkling air. Every horse, every vaquero,
+was alert and physically perfect. The rains were over; the dust was not
+gathered. Pio Pico, Governor of the Californias, was in Monterey on
+one of his brief infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet, covered with
+jewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his big chestnut horse at the upper
+end of the field, with General Castro, Dona Modeste Castro, and other
+prominent Monterenos, his interest so keen that more than once the
+official dignity relaxed, and he shouted "Brava!" with the rest.
+
+And what a brilliant sight it was! The flowers had faded on the hills,
+for June was upon them; but gayer than the hills had been was the
+race-field of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide gray hats
+and on their saddles of embossed leather, gold and silver embroidery on
+their velvet serapes, crimson sashes about their slender waists, silver
+spurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in their stirrups as the racers
+flew by, or, during the short intervals, pressed each other with eager
+wagers. There was little money in that time. The golden skeleton within
+the sleeping body of California had not yet been laid bare. But ranchos
+were lost and won; thousands of cattle would pass to other hands at the
+next rodeo; many a superbly caparisoned steed would rear and plunge
+between the spurs of a new master.
+
+And caballeros were not the only living pictures of that memorable day
+of a time for ever gone. Beautiful women in silken fluttering gowns,
+bright flowers holding the mantilla from flushed awakened faces, sat
+their impatient horses as easily as a gull rides a wave. The sun beat
+down, making dark cheeks pink and white cheeks darker, but those great
+eyes, strong with their own fires, never faltered. The old women in
+attendance grumbled vague remonstrances at all things, from the heat to
+intercepted coquetries. But their charges gave the good duenas little
+heed. They shouted until their little throats were hoarse, smashed
+their fans, beat the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, in
+imitation of the vaqueros.
+
+"It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless life in the world,"
+thought Pio Pico, shutting his teeth, as he looked about him. "But how
+long will it last? Curse the Americans! They are coming."
+
+But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled Monterey shot from no
+ordinary condition. A stranger was there, a guest of General Castro, Don
+Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not that a stranger was
+matter for comment in Monterey, capital of California, but this stranger
+had brought with him horses which threatened to disgrace the famous
+winners of the North. Two races had been won already by the black
+Southern beasts.
+
+"Dios de mi alma!" cried the girls, one to the other, "their coats are
+blacker than our hair! Their nostrils pulse like a heart on fire! Their
+eyes flash like water in the sun! Ay! the handsome stranger, will he
+roll us in the dust? Ay! our golden horses, with the tails and manes of
+silver--how beautiful is the contrast with the vaqueros in their black
+and silver, their soft white linen! The shame! the shame!--if they are
+put to shame! Poor Guido! Will he lose this day, when he has won so
+many? But the stranger is so handsome! Dios de mi vida! his eyes are
+like dark blue stars. And he is so cold! He alone--he seems not to care.
+Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios! he wins again! No! no! no! Yes! Ay! yi!
+yi! B-r-a-v-o!"
+
+Guido Cabanares dug his spurs into his horse and dashed to the head of
+the field, where Don Vicente sat at the left of General Castro. He was
+followed hotly by several friends, sympathetic and indignant. As he
+rode, he tore off his serape and flung it to the ground; even his silk
+riding-clothes sat heavily upon his fury. Don Vicente smiled, and rode
+forward to meet him.
+
+"At your service, senor," he said, lifting his sombrero.
+
+"Take your mustangs back to Los Angeles!" cried Don Guido, beside
+himself with rage, the politeness and dignity of his race routed by
+passion. "Why do you bring your hideous brutes here to shame me in the
+eyes of Monterey? Why--"
+
+"Yes! Why? Why?" demanded his friends, surrounding De la Vega. "This is
+not the humiliation of a man, but of the North by the accursed South!
+You even would take our capital from us! Los Angeles, the capital of the
+Californias!"
+
+"What have politics to do with horse-racing?" asked De la Vega, coldly.
+"Other strangers have brought their horses to your field, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, but they have not won. They have not been from the South."
+
+By this time almost every caballero on the field was wheeling about De
+la Vega. Some felt with Cabanares, others rejoiced in his defeat, but
+all resented the victory of the South over the North.
+
+"Will you run again?" demanded Cabanares.
+
+"Certainly. Do you think of putting your knife into my neck?"
+
+Cabanares drew back, somewhat abashed, the indifference of the other
+sputtering like water on his passion.
+
+"It is not a matter for blood," he said sulkily; "but the head is hot
+and words are quick when horses run neck to neck. And, by the Mother of
+God, you shall not have the last race. My best horse has not run. Viva
+El Rayo!"
+
+"Viva El Rayo!" shouted the caballeros.
+
+"And let the race be between you two alone," cried one. "The North or
+the South! Los Angeles or Monterey! It will be the race of our life."
+
+"The North or the South!" cried the caballeros, wheeling and galloping
+across the field to the donas. "Twenty leagues to a real for Guido
+Cabanares."
+
+"What a pity that Ysabel is not here!" said Dona Modeste Castro to Pio
+Pico. "How those green eyes of hers would flash to-day!"
+
+"She would not come," said the Governor. "She said she was tired of the
+race."
+
+"Of whom do you speak?" asked De la Vega, who had rejoined them.
+
+"Of Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Monterey," answered Pio Pico. "The
+most beautiful woman in the Californias, since Chonita Iturbi y Moncada,
+my Vicente. It is at her uncle's that I stay. You have heard me speak of
+my old friend; and surely you have heard of her."
+
+"Ay!" said De la Vega. "I have heard of her."
+
+"Viva El Rayo!"
+
+"Ay, the ugly brute!"
+
+"What name? Vitriolo? Mother of God! Diablo or Demonio would suit him
+better. He looks as if he had been bred in hell. He will not stand the
+quirto; and El Rayo is more lightly built. We shall beat by a dozen
+lengths."
+
+The two vaqueros who were to ride the horses had stripped to their soft
+linen shirts and black velvet trousers, cast aside their sombreros, and
+bound their heads with tightly knotted handkerchiefs. Their spurs were
+fastened to bare brown heels; the cruel quirto was in the hand of each;
+they rode barebacked, winding their wiry legs in and out of a horse-hair
+rope encircling the body of the animal. As they slowly passed the crowd
+on their way to the starting-point at the lower end of the field, and
+listened to the rattling fire of wagers and comments, they looked
+defiant, and alive to the importance of the coming event.
+
+El Rayo shone like burnished copper, his silver mane and tail glittering
+as if powdered with diamond-dust. He was long and graceful of body, thin
+of flank, slender of leg. With arched neck and flashing eyes, he walked
+with the pride of one who was aware of the admiration he excited.
+
+Vitriolo was black and powerful. His long neck fitted into well-placed
+shoulders. He had great depth of girth, immense length from
+shoulder-points to hips, big cannon-bones, and elastic pasterns. There
+was neither amiability nor pride in his mien; rather a sullen sense of
+brute power, such as may have belonged to the knights of the Middle
+Ages. Now and again he curled his lips away from the bit and laid his
+ears back as if he intended to eat of the elegant Beau Brummel stepping
+so daintily beside him. Of the antagonistic crowd he took not the
+slightest notice.
+
+"The race begins! Holy heaven!" The murmur rose to a shout--a deep
+hoarse shout strangely crossed and recrossed by long silver notes; a
+thrilling volume of sound rising above a sea of flashing eyes and parted
+lips and a vivid moving mass of colour.
+
+Twice the horses scored, and were sent back. The third time they bounded
+by the starting-post neck and neck, nose to nose. Jose Abrigo, treasurer
+of Monterey, dashed his sombrero, heavy with silver eagles, to the
+ground, and the race was begun.
+
+Almost at once the black began to gain. Inch by inch he fought his way
+to the front, and the roar with which the crowd had greeted the start
+dropped into the silence of apprehension.
+
+El Rayo was not easily to be shaken off. A third of the distance had
+been covered, and his nose was abreast of Vitriolo's flank. The vaqueros
+sat as if carved from sun-baked clay, as lightly as if hollowed,
+watching each other warily out of the corners of their eyes.
+
+The black continued to gain. Halfway from home light was visible between
+the two horses. The pace became terrific, the excitement so intense that
+not a sound was heard but that of racing hoofs. The horses swept onward
+like projectiles, the same smoothness, the same suggestion of eternal
+flight. The bodies were extended until the tense muscles rose under the
+satin coats. Vitriolo's eyes flashed viciously; El Rayo's strained with
+determination. Vitriolo's nostrils were as red as angry craters; El
+Rayo's fluttered like paper in the wind.
+
+Three-quarters of the race was run, and the rider of Vitriolo could tell
+by the sound of the hoof-beats behind him that he had a good lead of at
+least two lengths over the Northern champion. A smile curled the corners
+of his heavy lips; the race was his already.
+
+Suddenly El Rayo's vaquero raised his hand, and down came the maddening
+quirto, first on one side, then on the other. The spurs dug; the blood
+spurted. The crowd burst into a howl of delight as their favourite
+responded. Startled by the sound, Vitriolo's rider darted a glance over
+his shoulder, and saw El Rayo bearing down upon him like a thunder-bolt,
+regaining the ground that he had lost, not by inches, but by feet. Two
+hundred paces from the finish he was at the black's flanks; one hundred
+and fifty, he was at his girth; one hundred, and the horses were neck
+and neck; and still the quirto whirred down on El Rayo's heaving flanks,
+the spurs dug deeper into his quivering flesh.
+
+The vaquero of Vitriolo sat like an image, using neither whip nor spur,
+his teeth set, his eyes rolling from the goal ahead to the rider at his
+side.
+
+The breathless intensity of the spectators had burst. They had begun to
+click their teeth, to mutter hoarsely, then to shout, to gesticulate,
+to shake their fists in each other's face, to push and scramble for a
+better view.
+
+"Holy God!" cried Pio Pico, carried out of himself, "the South is lost!
+Vitriolo the magnificent! Ah, who would have thought? The black by the
+gold! Ay! What! No! Holy Mary! Holy God!--"
+
+Six strides more and the race is over. With the bark of a coyote the
+vaquero of the South leans forward over Vitriolo's neck. The big black
+responds like a creature of reason. Down comes the quirto once--only
+once. He fairly lifts his horse ahead and shoots into victory, winner by
+a neck. The South has vanquished the North.
+
+The crowd yelled and shouted until it was exhausted. But even Cabanares
+made no further demonstration toward De la Vega. Not only was he weary
+and depressed, but the victory had been nobly won.
+
+It grew late, and they rode to the town, caballeros pushing as close to
+donas as they dared, duenas in close attendance, one theme on the lips
+of all. Anger gave place to respect; moreover, De la Vega was the guest
+of General Castro, the best-beloved man in California. They were willing
+to extend the hand of friendship; but he rode last, between the General
+and Dona Modeste, and seemed to care as little for their good will as
+for their ill.
+
+Pio Pico rode ahead, and as the cavalcade entered the town he broke from
+it and ascended the hill to carry the news to Ysabel Herrera.
+
+Monterey, rising to her pine-spiked hills, swept like a crescent moon
+about the sapphire bay. The surf roared and fought the white sand hills
+of the distant horn; on that nearest the town stood the fort, grim
+and rude, but pulsating with military life, and alert for American
+onslaught. In the valley the red-tiled white adobe houses studded a
+little city which was a series of corners radiating from a central
+irregular street. A few mansions were on the hillside to the right,
+brush-crowded sand banks on the left; the perfect curve of hills, thick
+with pine woods and dense green undergrowth, rose high above and around
+all, a rampart of splendid symmetry.
+
+"Ay! Ysabel! Ysabel!" cried the young people, as they swept down the
+broad street. "Bring her to us, Excellency. Tell her she shall not know
+until she comes down. We will tell her. Ay! poor Guido!"
+
+The Governor turned and waved his hand, then continued the ascent of the
+hill, toward a long low house which showed no sign of life.
+
+He alighted and glanced into a room opening upon the corridor which
+traversed the front. The room was large and dimly lighted by deeply set
+windows. The floor was bare, the furniture of horse-hair; saints and
+family portraits adorned the white walls; on a chair lay a guitar;
+it was a typical Californian sala of that day. The ships brought few
+luxuries, beyond raiment and jewels, to even the wealthy of that
+isolated country.
+
+"Ysabel," called the Governor, "where art thou? Come down to the town
+and hear the fortune of the races. Alvarado Street streams like a comet.
+Why should the Star of Monterey withhold her light?"
+
+A girl rose from a sofa and came slowly forward to the corridor.
+Discontent marred her face as she gave her hand to the Governor to
+kiss, and looked down upon the brilliant town. The Senorita Dona Ysabel
+Herrera was poor. Were it not for her uncle she would not have where to
+lay her stately head--and she was La Favorita of Monterey, the proudest
+beauty in California! Her father had gambled away his last acre, his
+horse, his saddle, the serape off his back; then sent his motherless
+girl to his brother, and buried himself in Mexico. Don Antonio took the
+child to his heart, and sent for a widowed cousin to be her duena. He
+bought her beautiful garments from the ships that touched the port, but
+had no inclination to gratify her famous longing to hang ropes of pearls
+in her soft black hair, to wind them about her white neck, and band them
+above her green resplendent eyes.
+
+"Unbend thy brows," said Pio Pico. "Wrinkles were not made for youth."
+
+Ysabel moved her brows apart, but the clouds still lay in her eyes.
+
+"Thou dost not ask of the races, O thou indifferent one! What is the
+trouble, my Ysabel? Will no one bring the pearls? The loveliest girl in
+all the Californias has said, 'I will wed no man who does not bring me
+a lapful of pearls,' and no one has filled the front of that pretty
+flowered gown. But have reason, nina. Remember that our Alta California
+has no pearls on its shores, and that even the pearl fisheries of the
+terrible lower country are almost worn out. Will nothing less content
+thee?"
+
+"No, senor."
+
+"Dios de mi alma! Thou hast ambition. No woman has had more offered her
+than thou. But thou art worthy of the most that man could give. Had I
+not a wife myself, I believe I should throw my jewels and my ugly old
+head at thy little feet."
+
+Ysabel glanced with some envy at the magnificent jewels with which the
+Governor of the Californias was hung, but did not covet the owner. An
+uglier man than Pio Pico rarely had entered this world. The upper lip of
+his enormous mouth dipped at the middle; the broad thick underlip hung
+down with its own weight. The nose was big and coarse, although
+there was a certain spirited suggestion in the cavernous nostrils.
+Intelligence and reflectiveness were also in his little eyes, and they
+were far apart. A small white mustache grew above his mouth; about his
+chin, from ear to ear, was a short stubby beard, whiter by contrast with
+his copper-coloured skin. He looked much like an intellectual bear.
+
+And Ysabel? In truth, she had reason for her pride. Her black hair,
+unblemished by gloss or tinge of blue, fell waving to her feet.
+California, haughty, passionate, restless, pleasure-loving, looked from
+her dark green eyes; the soft black lashes dropped quickly when they
+became too expressive. Her full mouth was deeply red, but only a faint
+pink lay in her white cheeks; the nose curved at bridge and nostrils.
+About her low shoulders she held a blue reboso, the finger-tips of each
+slim hand resting on the opposite elbow. She held her head a little
+back, and Pio Pico laughed as he looked at her.
+
+"Dios!" he said, "but thou might be an Estenega or an Iturbi y Moncada.
+Surely that lofty head better suits old Spain than the republic of
+Mexico. Draw the reboso about thy head now, and let us go down. They
+expect thee."
+
+She lifted the scarf above her hair, and walked down the steep rutted
+hill with the Governor, her flowered gown floating with a silken rustle
+about her. In a few moments she was listening to the tale of the races.
+
+"Ay, Ysabel! Dios de mi alma! What a day! A young senor from Los Angeles
+won the race--almost all the races--the Senor Don Vicente de la Vega y
+Arillaga. He has never been here, before. His horses! Madre de Dios!
+They ran like hares. Poor Guido! Valgame Dios! Even thou wouldst have
+been moved to pity. But he is so handsome! Look! Look! He comes now,
+side by side with General Castro. Dios! his serape is as stiff with gold
+as the vestments of the padre."
+
+Ysabel looked up as a man rode past. His bold profile and thin face were
+passionate and severe; his dark blue eyes were full of power. Such a
+face was rare among the languid shallow men of her race.
+
+"He rides with General Castro," whispered Benicia Ortega. "He stays with
+him. We shall see him at the ball to-night."
+
+As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for a moment. His opened
+suddenly with a bold eager flash, his arched nostrils twitching. The
+colour left her face, and her eyes dropped heavily.
+
+Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Californian.
+
+
+II
+
+The people of Monterey danced every night of their lives, and went
+nowhere so promptly as to the great sala of Dona Modeste Castro, their
+leader of fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city of Mexico.
+
+Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Dona Modeste's skin was
+whiter than her own, for it could not be, nor her eyes greener, for they
+were not; but because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, and
+upon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in her
+storm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she was
+taller; Dona Modeste's slight elegant figure lacked Ysabel's graceful
+inches, and perhaps she too felt a pang sometimes as the girl undulated
+above her like a snake about to strike.
+
+At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was gathered for the dance. All
+the men except the officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats and
+white trousers. All the women wore white, the waist long and pointed,
+the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crepe. Her hair was
+coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb framed with a narrow
+band of gold. Pio Pico, splendid with stars and crescents and rings and
+pins, led her in, and with his unique ugliness enhanced her beauty.
+
+She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying absently to the
+caballeros who surrounded her. Don Vicente de la Vega was not there. The
+thick circle about her parted, and General Castro bent over her hand,
+begging the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the moment
+forgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the beginning of a
+dream. Here was a man--the only man of her knowledge whom she could have
+loved, and who would have found her those pearls. Californians had so
+little ambition! Then she gave a light audacious laugh. Governor Pico
+was shaking hands cordially with General Castro, the man he hated best
+in California.
+
+No two men could have contrasted more sharply than Jose Castro and
+Pio Pico--with the exception of Alvarado the most famous men of their
+country. The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were his only
+jewels. His hair and beard--the latter worn _a la Basca_, a narrow strip
+curving from upper lip to ear--were as black as Pio Pico's once had
+been. The handsomest man in California, he had less consciousness than
+the least of the caballeros. His deep gray eyes were luminous with
+enthusiasm; his nose was sharp and bold; his firm sensitive mouth was
+cut above a resolute chin. He looked what he was, the ardent patriot of
+a doomed cause.
+
+"Senorita," he said, as he led Ysabel out to the sweet monotonous music
+of the contradanza, "did you see the caballero who rode with me to-day?"
+
+A red light rose to Ysabel's cheek. "Which one, commandante? Many rode
+with you."
+
+"I mean him who rode at my right, the winner of the races, Vicente, son
+of my old friend Juan Bautista de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles."
+
+"It may be. I think I saw a strange face."
+
+"He saw yours, Dona Ysabel, and is looking upon you now from the
+corridor without, although the fog is heavy about him. Cannot you see
+him--that dark shadow by the pillar?"
+
+Ysabel never went through the graceful evolutions of the contradanza
+as she did that night. Her supple slender body curved and swayed and
+glided; her round arms were like lazy snakes uncoiling; her exquisitely
+poised head moved in perfect concord with her undulating hips. Her eyes
+grew brighter, her lips redder. The young men who stood near gave as
+loud a vent to their admiration as if she had been dancing El Son alone
+on the floor. But the man without made no sign.
+
+After the dance was over, General Castro led her to her duena, and
+handing her a guitar, begged a song.
+
+She began a light love-ballad, singing with the grace and style of her
+Spanish blood; a little mocking thing, but with a wild break now and
+again. As she sang, she fixed her eyes coquettishly on the adoring face
+of Guido Cabanares, who stood beside her, but saw every movement of the
+form beyond the window. Don Guido kept his ardent eyes riveted upon
+her but detected no wandering in her glances. His lips trembled as he
+listened, and once he brushed the tears from his eyes. She gave him
+a little cynical smile, then broke her song in two. The man on the
+corridor had vaulted through the window.
+
+Ysabel, clinching her hands the better to control her jumping nerves,
+turned quickly to Cabanares, who had pressed behind her, and was pouring
+words into her ear.
+
+"Ysabel! Ysabel! hast thou no pity? Dost thou not see that I am fit to
+set the world on fire for love of thee? The very water boils as I drink
+it--"
+
+She interrupted him with a scornful laugh, the sharper that her voice
+might not tremble. "Bring me my pearls. What is love worth when it will
+not grant one little desire?"
+
+He groaned. "I have found a vein of gold on my rancho. I can pick the
+little shining pieces out with my fingers. I will have them beaten into
+a saddle for thee--"
+
+But she had turned her back flat upon him, and was making a deep
+courtesy to the man whom General Castro presented.
+
+"I appreciate the honour of your acquaintance," she murmured
+mechanically.
+
+"At your feet, senorita," said Don Vicente.
+
+The art of making conversation had not been cultivated among the
+Californians, and Ysabel plied her large fan with slow grace, at a loss
+for further remark, and wondering if her heart would suffocate her. But
+Don Vicente had the gift of words.
+
+"Senorita," he said, "I have stood in the chilling fog and felt the
+warmth of your lovely voice at my heart. The emotions I felt my poor
+tongue cannot translate. They swarm in my head like a hive of puzzled
+bees; but perhaps they look through my eyes," and he fixed his powerful
+and penetrating gaze on Ysabel's green depths.
+
+A waltz began, and he took her in his arms without asking her
+indulgence, and regardless of the indignation of the mob of men about
+her. Ysabel, whose being was filled with tumult, lay passive as he held
+her closer than man had ever dared before.
+
+"I love you," he said, in his harsh voice. "I wish you for my wife. At
+once. When I saw you to-day standing with a hundred other beautiful
+women, I said: 'She is the fairest of them all. I shall have her.' And
+I read the future in"--he suddenly dropped the formal "you"--"in thine
+eyes, carina. Thy soul sprang to mine. Thy heart is locked in my heart
+closer, closer than my arms are holding thee now."
+
+The strength of his embrace was violent for a moment; but Ysabel might
+have been cut from marble. Her body had lost its swaying grace; it
+was almost rigid. She did not lift her eyes. But De la Vega was not
+discouraged.
+
+The music finished, and Ysabel was at once surrounded by a determined
+retinue. This intruding Southerner was welcome to the honours of the
+race-field, but the Star of Monterey was not for him. He smiled as he
+saw the menace of their eyes.
+
+"I would have her," he thought, "if they were a regiment of
+Castros--which they are not." But he had not armed himself against
+diplomacy.
+
+"Senor Don Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga," said Don Guido Cabanares, who
+had been selected as spokesman, "perhaps you have not learned during
+your brief visit to our capital that the Senorita Dona Ysabel Herrera,
+La Favorita of Alta California, has sworn by the Holy Virgin, by the
+blessed Junipero Serra, that she will wed no man who does not bring her
+a lapful of pearls. Can you find those pearls on the sands of the South,
+Don Vicente? For, by the holy cross of God, you cannot have her without
+them!"
+
+For a moment De la Vega was disconcerted.
+
+"Is this true?" he demanded, turning to Ysabel.
+
+"What, senor?" she asked vaguely. She had not listened to the words of
+her protesting admirer.
+
+A sneer bent his mouth. "That you have put a price upon yourself? That
+the man who ardently wishes to be your husband, who has even won your
+love, must first hang you with pearls like--" He stopped suddenly, the
+blood burning his dark face, his eyes opening with an expression of
+horrified hope. "Tell me! Tell me!" he exclaimed. "Is this true?"
+
+For the first time since she had spoken with him Ysabel was herself. She
+crossed her arms and tapped her elbows with her pointed fingers.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is true." She raised her eyes to his and regarded
+him steadily. They looked like green pools frozen in a marble wall.
+
+The harp, the flute, the guitar, combined again, and once more he swung
+her from a furious circle. But he was safe; General Castro had joined
+it. He waltzed her down the long room, through one adjoining, then into
+another, and, indifferent to the iron conventions of his race, closed
+the door behind them. They were in the sleeping-room of Dona Modeste.
+The bed with its rich satin coverlet, the bare floor, the simple
+furniture, were in semi-darkness; only on the altar in the corner were
+candles burning. Above it hung paintings of saints, finely executed by
+Mexican hands; an ebony cross spread its black arms against the white
+wall; the candles flared to a golden Christ. He caught her hands and led
+her over to the altar.
+
+"Listen to me," he said. "I will bring you those pearls. You shall have
+such pearls as no queen in Europe possesses. Swear to me here, with your
+hands on this altar, that you will wed me when I return, no matter how
+or where I find those pearls."
+
+He was holding her hands between the candelabra. She looked at him with
+eyes of passionate surrender; the man had conquered worldly ambitions.
+But he answered her before she had time to speak.
+
+"You love me, and would withdraw the conditions. But I am ready to do a
+daring and a terrible act. Furthermore, I wish to show you that I can
+succeed where all other men have failed. I ask only two things now.
+First, make me the vow I wish."
+
+"I swear it," she said.
+
+"Now," he said, his voice sinking to a harsh but caressing whisper,
+"give me one kiss for courage and hope."
+
+She leaned slowly forward, the blood pulsing in her lips; but she had
+been brought up behind grated windows, and she drew back. "No," she
+said, "not now."
+
+For a moment he looked rebellious; then he laid his hands on her
+shoulders and pressed her to her knees. He knelt behind her, and
+together they told a rosary for his safe return.
+
+He left her there and went to his room. From his saddle-bag he took
+a long letter from an intimate friend, one of the younger Franciscan
+priests of the Mission of Santa Barbara, where he had been educated. He
+sought this paragraph:--
+
+"Thou knowest, of course, my Vicente, of the pearl fisheries of Baja
+California. It is whispered--between ourselves, indeed, it is
+quite true--that a short while ago the Indian divers discovered an
+extravagantly rich bed of pearls. Instead of reporting to any of the
+companies, they have hung them all upon our Most Sacred Lady of Loreto,
+in the Mission of Loreto; and there, by the grace of God, they will
+remain. They are worth the ransom of a king, my Vicente, and the Church
+has come to her own again."
+
+
+III
+
+The fog lay thick on the bay at dawn next morning. The white waves hid
+the blue, muffled the roar of the surf. Now and again a whale threw a
+volume of spray high in the air, a geyser from a phantom sea. Above the
+white sands straggled the white town, ghostly, prophetic.
+
+De la Vega, a dark sombrero pulled over his eyes, a dark serape
+enveloping his tall figure, rode, unattended and watchful, out of the
+town. Not until he reached the narrow road through the brush forest
+beyond did he give his horse rein. The indolence of the Californian was
+no longer in his carriage; it looked alert and muscular; recklessness
+accentuated the sternness of his face.
+
+As he rode, the fog receded slowly. He left the chaparral and rode by
+green marshes cut with sloughs and stained with vivid patches of
+orange. The frogs in the tules chanted their hoarse matins. Through
+brush-covered plains once more, with sparsely wooded hills in the
+distance, and again the tules, the marsh, the patches of orange. He rode
+through a field of mustard; the pale yellow petals brushed his dark
+face, the delicate green leaves won his eyes from the hot glare of the
+ascending sun, the slender stalks, rebounding, smote his horse's flanks.
+He climbed hills to avoid the wide marshes, and descended into willow
+groves and fields of daisies. Before noon he was in the San Juan
+Mountains, thick with sturdy oaks, bending their heads before the
+madrono, that belle of the forest, with her robes of scarlet and her
+crown of bronze. The yellow lilies clung to her skirts, and the buckeye
+flung his flowers at her feet. The last redwoods were there, piercing
+the blue air with their thin inflexible arms, gray as a dusty band of
+friars. Out by the willows, whereunder crept the sluggish river, then
+between the hills curving about the valley of San Juan Bautista.
+
+At no time is California so beautiful as in the month of June. De la
+Vega's wild spirit and savage purpose were dormant for the moment as he
+rode down the valley toward the mission. The hills were like gold, like
+mammoth fawns veiled with violet mist, like rich tan velvet. Afar, bare
+blue steeps were pink in their chasms, brown on their spurs. The dark
+yellow fields were as if thick with gold-dust; the pale mustard was a
+waving yellow sea. Not a tree marred the smooth hills. The earth sent
+forth a perfume of its own. Below the plateau from which rose the white
+walls of the mission was a wide field of bright green corn rising
+against the blue sky.
+
+The padres in their brown hooded robes came out upon the long corridor
+of the mission and welcomed the traveller. Their lands had gone from
+them, their mission was crumbling, but the spirit of hospitality
+lingered there still. They laid meat and fruit and drink on a table
+beneath the arches, then sat about him and asked him eagerly for news of
+the day. Was it true that the United States of America were at war with
+Mexico, or about to be? True that their beloved flag might fall, and
+the stars and stripes of an insolent invader rise above the fort of
+Monterey?
+
+De la Vega recounted the meagre and conflicting rumours which had
+reached California, but, not being a prophet, could not tell them that
+they would be the first to see the red-white-and-blue fluttering on the
+mountain before them. He refused to rest more than an hour, but mounted
+the fresh horse the padres gave him and went his way, riding hard and
+relentlessly, like all Californians.
+
+He sped onward, through the long hot day, leaving the hills for the
+marshes and a long stretch of ugly country, traversing the beautiful San
+Antonio Valley in the night, reaching the Mission of San Miguel at dawn,
+resting there for a few hours. That night he slept at a hospitable
+ranch-house in the park-like valley of Paso des Robles, a grim silent
+figure amongst gay-hearted people who delighted to welcome him. The
+early morning found him among the chrome hills; and at the Mission of
+San Luis Obispo the good padres gave him breakfast. The little valley,
+round as a well, its bare hills red and brown, gray and pink, violet and
+black, from fire, sloping steeply from a dizzy height, impressed him
+with a sense of being prisoned in an enchanted vale where no message of
+the outer world could come, and he hastened on his way.
+
+Absorbed as he was, he felt the beauty he fled past. A line of golden
+hills lay against sharp blue peaks. A towering mass of gray rocks had
+been cut and lashed by wind and water, earthquake and fire, into the
+semblance of a massive castle, still warlike in its ruin. He slept for a
+few hours that night in the Mission of Santa Ynes, and was high in the
+Santa Barbara Mountains at the next noon. For brief whiles he forgot
+his journey's purpose as his horse climbed slowly up the steep trails,
+knocking the loose stones down a thousand feet and more upon a roof of
+tree-tops which looked like stunted brush. Those gigantic masses of
+immense stones, each wearing a semblance to the face of man or beast;
+those awful chasms and stupendous heights, densely wooded, bare, and
+many-hued, rising above, beyond, peak upon peak, cutting through the
+visible atmosphere--was there no end? He turned in his saddle and looked
+over low peaks and canons, rivers and abysms, black peaks smiting the
+fiery blue, far, far, to the dim azure mountains on the horizon.
+
+"Mother of God!" he thought. "No wonder California still shakes! I would
+I could have stood upon a star and beheld the awful throes of this
+country's birth." And then his horse reared between the sharp spurs and
+galloped on.
+
+He avoided the Mission of Santa Barbara, resting at a rancho outside
+the town. In the morning, supplied as usual with a fresh horse, he fled
+onward, with the ocean at his right, its splendid roar in his ears. The
+cliffs towered high above him; he saw no man's face for hours together;
+but his thoughts companioned him, savage and sinister shapes whirling
+about the figure of a woman. On, on, sleeping at ranchos or missions,
+meeting hospitality everywhere, avoiding Los Angeles, keeping close to
+the ponderous ocean, he left civilization behind him at last, and
+with an Indian guide entered upon that desert of mountain-tops, Baja
+California.
+
+Rapid travelling was not possible here. There were no valleys worthy the
+name. The sharp peaks, multiplying mile after mile, were like teeth of
+gigantic rakes, black and bare. A wilderness of mountain-tops, desolate
+as eternity, arid, parched, baked by the awful heat, the silence never
+broken by the cry of a bird, a hut rarely breaking the barren monotony,
+only an infrequent spring to save from death. It was almost impossible
+to get food or fresh horses. Many a night De la Vega and his stoical
+guide slept beneath a cactus, or in the mocking bed of a creek. The
+mustangs he managed to lasso were almost unridable, and would have
+bucked to death any but a Californian. Sometimes he lived on cactus
+fruit and the dried meat he had brought with him; occasionally he shot
+a rabbit. Again he had but the flesh of the rattlesnake roasted over
+coals. But honey-dew was on the leaves.
+
+He avoided the beaten trail, and cut his way through naked bushes spiked
+with thorns, and through groves of cacti miles in length. When the thick
+fog rolled up from the ocean he had to sit inactive on the rocks, or
+lose his way. A furious storm dashed him against a boulder, breaking his
+mustang's leg; then a torrent, rising like a tidal wave, thundered down
+the gulch, and catching him on its crest, flung him upon a tree of
+thorns. When dawn came he found his guide dead. He cursed his luck, and
+went on.
+
+Lassoing another mustang, he pushed on, having a general idea of the
+direction he should take. It was a week before he reached Loreto, a week
+of loneliness, hunger, thirst, and torrid monotony. A week, too, of
+thought and bitterness of spirit. In spite of his love, which never
+cooled, and his courage, which never quailed, Nature, in her guise of
+foul and crooked hag, mocked at earthly happiness, at human hope, at
+youth and passion.
+
+If he had not spent his life in the saddle, he would have been worn out
+when he finally reached Loreto, late one night. As it was, he slept in a
+hut until the following afternoon. Then he took a long swim in the bay,
+and, later, sauntered through the town.
+
+The forlorn little city was hardly more than a collection of Indians'
+huts about a church in a sandy waste. No longer the capital, even the
+barracks were toppling. When De la Vega entered the mission, not a white
+man but the padre and his assistant was in it; the building was thronged
+with Indian worshippers. The mission, although the first built in
+California, was in a fair state of preservation. The Stations in their
+battered frames were mellow and distinct. The gold still gleamed in the
+vestments of the padre.
+
+For a few moments De la Vega dared not raise his eyes to the Lady of
+Loreto, standing aloft in the dull blaze of adamantine candles. When he
+did, he rose suddenly from his knees and left the mission. The pearls
+were there.
+
+It took him but a short time to gain the confidence of the priest and
+the little population. He offered no explanation for his coming, beyond
+the curiosity of the traveller. The padre gave him a room in the
+mission, and spent every hour he could spare with the brilliant
+stranger. At night he thanked God for the sudden oasis in his life's
+desolation. The Indians soon grew accustomed to the lonely figure
+wandering about the sand plains, or kneeling for hours together before
+the altar in the church. And whom their padre trusted was to them as
+sacred and impersonal as the wooden saints of their religion.
+
+
+IV
+
+The midnight stars watched over the mission. Framed by the cross-shaped
+window sunk deep in the adobe wall above the entrance, a mass of them
+assumed the form of the crucifix, throwing a golden trail full upon the
+Lady of Loreto, proud in her shining pearls. The long narrow body of the
+church seemed to have swallowed the shadows of the ages, and to yawn for
+more.
+
+De la Vega, booted and spurred, his serape folded about him, his
+sombrero on his head, opened the sacristy door and entered the church.
+In one hand he held a sack; in the other, a candle sputtering in a
+bottle. He walked deliberately to the foot of the altar. In spite of
+his intrepid spirit, he stood appalled for a moment as he saw the dim
+radiance enveloping the Lady of Loreto. He scowled over his shoulder at
+the menacing emblem of redemption and crossed himself. But had it been
+the finger of God, the face of Ysabel would have shone between. He
+extinguished his candle, and swinging himself to the top of the altar
+plucked the pearls from the Virgin's gown and dropped them into the
+sack. His hand trembled a little, but he held his will between his
+teeth.
+
+How quiet it was! The waves flung themselves upon the shore with
+the sullen wrath of impotence. A seagull screamed now and again, an
+exclamation-point in the silence above the waters. Suddenly De la Vega
+shook from head to foot, and snatched the knife from his belt. A faint
+creaking echoed through the hollow church. He strained his ears, holding
+his breath until his chest collapsed with the shock of outrushing air.
+But the sound was not repeated, and he concluded that it had been but a
+vibration of his nerves. He glanced to the window above the doors. The
+stars in it were no longer visible; they had melted into bars of flame.
+The sweat stood cold on his face, but he went on with his work.
+
+A rope of pearls, cunningly strung together with strands of sea-weed,
+was wound about the Virgin's right arm. De la Vega was too nervous to
+uncoil it; he held the sack beneath, and severed the strands with his
+knife. As he finished, and was about to stoop and cut loose the pearls
+from the hem of the Virgin's gown, he uttered a hoarse cry and stood
+rigid. A cowled head, with thin lips drawn over yellow teeth, furious
+eyes burning deep in withered sockets, projected on its long neck from
+the Virgin's right and confronted him. The body was unseen.
+
+"Thief!" hissed the priest. "Dog! Thou wouldst rob the Church? Accursed!
+accursed!"
+
+There was not one moment for hesitation, one alternative. Before the
+priest could complete his malediction, De la Vega's knife had flashed
+through the fire of the cross. The priest leaped, screeching, then
+rolled over and down, and rebounded from the railing of the sanctuary.
+
+
+V
+
+Ysabel sat in the low window-seat of her bedroom, pretending to draw the
+threads of a cambric handkerchief. But her fingers twitched, and her
+eyes looked oftener down the hill than upon the delicate work which
+required such attention. She wore a black gown flowered with yellow
+roses, and a slender ivory cross at her throat. Her hair hung in two
+loose braids, sweeping the floor. She was very pale, and her pallor was
+not due to the nightly entertainments of Monterey.
+
+Her duena sat beside her. The old woman was the colour of strong coffee;
+but she, too, looked as if she had not slept, and her straight old lips
+curved tenderly whenever she raised her eyes to the girl's face.
+
+There was no carpet on the floor of the bedroom of La Favorita of
+Monterey, the heiress of Don Antonio Herrera, and the little bedstead
+in the corner was of iron, although a heavy satin coverlet trimmed with
+lace was on it. A few saints looked down from the walls; the furniture
+was of native wood, square and ugly; but it was almost hidden under fine
+linen elaborately worked with the deshalados of Spain.
+
+The supper hour was over, and the light grew dim. Ysabel tossed the
+handkerchief into Dona Juana's lap, and stared through the grating.
+Against the faded sky a huge cloud, shaped like a fire-breathing dragon,
+was heavily outlined. The smoky shadows gathered in the woods. The
+hoarse boom of the surf came from the beach; the bay was uneasy, and the
+tide was high: the earth had quaked in the morning, and a wind-storm
+fought the ocean. The gay bright laughter of women floated up from the
+town. Monterey had taken her siesta, enjoyed her supper, and was ready
+to dance through the night once more.
+
+"He is dead," said Ysabel.
+
+"True," said the old woman.
+
+"He would have come back to me before this."
+
+"True."
+
+"He was so strong and so different, mamita."
+
+"I never forget his eyes. Very bold eyes."
+
+"They could be soft, macheppa."
+
+"True. It is time thou dressed for the ball at the Custom-house,
+ninita."
+
+Ysabel leaned forward, her lips parting. A man was coming up the hill.
+He was gaunt; he was burnt almost black. Something bulged beneath his
+serape.
+
+Dona Juana found herself suddenly in the middle of the room. Ysabel
+darted through the only door, locking it behind her. The indignant duena
+also recognized the man, and her position. She trotted to the door and
+thumped angrily on the panel; sympathetic she was, but she never could
+so far forget herself as to permit a young girl to talk with a man
+unattended.
+
+"Thou shalt not go to the ball to-night," she cried shrilly. "Thou shalt
+be locked in the dark room. Thou shalt be sent to the rancho. Open!
+open! thou wicked one. Madre de Dios! I will beat thee with my own
+hands."
+
+But she was a prisoner, and Ysabel paid no attention to her threats. The
+girl was in the sala, and the doors were open. As De la Vega crossed the
+corridor and entered the room she sank upon a chair, covering her face
+with her hands.
+
+He strode over to her, and flinging his serape from his shoulder opened
+the mouth of a sack and poured its contents into her lap. Pearls of all
+sizes and shapes--pearls black and pearls white, pearls pink and pearls
+faintly blue, pearls like globes and pearls like pears, pearls as big
+as the lobe of Pio Pico's ear, pearls as dainty as bubbles of frost--a
+lapful of gleaming luminous pearls, the like of which caballero had
+never brought to dona before.
+
+For a moment Ysabel forgot her love and her lover. The dream of a
+lifetime was reality. She was the child who had cried for the moon and
+seen it tossed into her lap.
+
+She ran her slim white fingers through the jewels. She took up handfuls
+and let them run slowly back to her lap. She pressed them to her face;
+she kissed them with little rapturous cries. She laid them against her
+breast and watched them chase each other down her black gown. Then at
+last she raised her head and met the fierce sneering eyes of De la Vega.
+
+"So it is as I might have known. It was only the pearls you wanted. It
+might have been an Indian slave who brought them to you."
+
+She took the sack from his hand and poured back the pearls. Then she
+laid the sack on the floor and stood up. She was no longer pale, and her
+eyes shone brilliantly in the darkening room.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I forgot for a moment. But during many terrible weeks,
+senor, my tears have not been for the pearls."
+
+The sudden light that was De la Vega's chiefest charm sprang to his
+eyes. He took her hands and kissed them passionately.
+
+"That sack of pearls would be a poor reward for one tear. But thou hast
+shed them for me? Say that again. Mi alma! mi alma!"
+
+"I never thought of the pearls--at least not often. At last, not at all.
+I have been very unhappy, senor. Ay!"
+
+The maiden reserve which had been knit like steel about her plastic
+years burst wide. "Thou art ill! What has happened to thee? Ay, Dios!
+what it is to be a woman and to suffer! Thou wilt die! Oh, Mother of
+God!"
+
+"I shall not die. Kiss me, Ysabel. Surely it is time now."
+
+But she drew back and shook her head.
+
+He exclaimed impatiently, but would not release her hand. "Thou meanest
+that, Ysabel?"
+
+"We shall be married soon--wait."
+
+"I had hoped you would grant me that. For when I tell you where I got
+those pearls you may drive me from you in spite of your promise--drive
+me from you with the curse of the devout woman on your lips. I might
+invent some excuse to persuade you to fly with me from California
+to-night, and you would never know. But I am a man--a Spaniard--and a De
+la Vega. I shall not lie to you."
+
+She looked at him with wide eyes, not understanding, and he went on, his
+face savage again, his voice harsh. He told her the whole story of
+that night in the mission. He omitted nothing--the menacing cross, the
+sacrilegious theft, the deliberate murder; the pictures were painted
+with blood and fire. She did not interrupt him with cry or gasp, but her
+expression changed many times. Horror held her eyes for a time, then
+slowly retreated, and his own fierce pride looked back at him. She
+lifted her head when he had finished, her throat throbbing, her nostrils
+twitching.
+
+"Thou hast done that--for me?"
+
+"Ay, Ysabel!"
+
+"Thou hast murdered thy immortal soul--for me?"
+
+"Ysabel!"
+
+"Thou lovest me like that! O God, in what likeness hast thou made me? In
+whatsoever image it may have been, I thank Thee--and repudiate Thee!"
+
+She took the cross from her throat and broke it in two pieces with her
+strong white fingers.
+
+"Thou art lost, eternally damned: but I will go down to hell with thee."
+And she threw herself upon him and kissed him on the mouth.
+
+For a moment he forgot the lesson thrust into his brain by the hideous
+fingers of the desert. He was almost happy. He put his hands about her
+warm face after a time. "We must go to-night," he said. "I went to
+General Castro's to change my clothes, and learned that a ship sails
+for the United States to-night. We will go on that. I dare not delay
+twenty-four hours. It may be that they are upon my heels now. How can we
+meet?"
+
+Her thoughts had travelled faster than his words, and she answered at
+once: "There is a ball at the Custom-house to-night. I will go. You will
+have a boat below the rocks. You know that the Custom-house is on the
+rocks at the end of the town, near the fort. No? It will be easier for
+me to slip from the ball-room than from this house. Only tell me where
+you will meet me."
+
+"The ship sails at midnight. I too will go to the ball; for with me you
+can escape more easily. Have you a maid you can trust?"
+
+"My Luisa is faithful."
+
+"Then tell her to be on the beach between the rocks of the Custom-house
+and the Fort with what you must take with you."
+
+Again he kissed her many times, but softly. "Wear thy pearls to-night. I
+wish to see thy triumphant hour in Monterey."
+
+"Yes," she said, "I shall wear the pearls."
+
+
+VI
+
+The corridor of the Custom-house had been enclosed to protect the
+musicians and supper table from the wind and fog. The store-room had
+been cleared, the floor scrubbed, the walls hung with the colours of
+Mexico. All in honour of Pio Pico, again in brief exile from his beloved
+Los Angeles. The Governor, blazing with diamonds, stood at the upper end
+of the room by Dona Modeste Castro's side. About them were Castro and
+other prominent men of Monterey, all talking of the rumoured war between
+the United States and Mexico and prophesying various results. Neither
+Pico nor Castro looked amiable. The Governor had arrived in the morning
+to find that the General had allowed pasquinades representing his
+Excellency in no complimentary light to disfigure the streets of
+Monterey. Castro, when taken to task, had replied haughtily that it
+was the Governor's place to look after his own dignity; he, the
+Commandante-General of the army of the Californias, had more important
+matters to attend to. The result had been a furious war of words, ending
+in a lame peace.
+
+"Tell us, Excellency," said Jose Abrigo, "what will be the outcome?"
+
+"The Americans can have us if they wish," said Pio Pico, bitterly. "We
+cannot prevent."
+
+"Never!" cried Castro. "What? We cannot protect ourselves against the
+invasion of bandoleros? Do you forget what blood stings the veins of
+the Californian? A Spaniard stand with folded arms and see his country
+plucked from him! Oh, sacrilege! They will never have our Californias
+while a Californian lives to cut them down!"
+
+"Bravo! bravo!" cried many voices.
+
+"I tell you--" began Pio Pico, but Dona Modeste interrupted him. "No
+more talk of war to-night," she said peremptorily. "Where is Ysabel?"
+
+"She sent me word by Dona Juana that she could not make herself ready in
+time to come with me, but would follow with my good friend, Don Antonio,
+who of course had to wait for her. Her gown was not finished, I believe.
+I think she had done something naughty, and Dona Juana had tried to
+punish her, but had not succeeded. The old lady looked very sad.
+Ah, here is Dona Ysabel now!"
+
+"How lovely she is!" said Dona Modeste. "I think--What! what!--"
+
+"Dios de mi Alma!" exclaimed Pio Pico, "where did she get those pearls?"
+
+The crowd near the door had parted, and Ysabel entered on the arm of her
+uncle. Don Antonio's form was bent, and she looked taller by contrast.
+His thin sharp profile was outlined against her white neck, bared for
+the first time to the eyes of Monterey. Her shawl had just been laid
+aside, and he was near-sighted and did not notice the pearls.
+
+She had sewn them all over the front of her white silk gown. She had
+wound them in the black coils of her hair. They wreathed her neck and
+roped her arms. Never had she looked so beautiful. Her great green eyes
+were as radiant as spring. Her lips were redder than blood. A pink flame
+burned in her oval cheeks. Her head moved like a Californian lily on its
+stalk. No Montereno would ever forget her.
+
+"El Son!" cried the young men, with one accord. Her magnificent beauty
+extinguished every other woman in the room. She must not hide her light
+in the contradanza. She must madden all eyes at once.
+
+Ysabel bent her head and glided to the middle of the room. The other
+women moved back, their white gowns like a snowbank against the garish
+walls. The thin sweet music of the instruments rose above the boom of
+the tide. Ysabel lifted her dress with curving arms, displaying arched
+feet clad in flesh-coloured stockings and white slippers, and danced El
+Son.
+
+Her little feet tapped time to the music; she whirled her body with
+utmost grace, holding her head so motionless that she could have
+balanced a glass of water upon it. She was inspired that night; and
+when, in the midst of the dance, De la Vega entered the room, a sort of
+madness possessed her. She invented new figures. She glided back and
+forth, bending and swaying and doubling until to the eyes of her
+bewildered admirers the outlines of her lovely body were gone. Even the
+women shouted their approval, and the men went wild. They pulled their
+pockets inside out and flung handfuls of gold at her feet. Those who
+had only silver cursed their fate, but snatched the watches from their
+pockets, the rings from their fingers, and hurled them at her with
+shouts and cheers. They tore the lace ruffles from their shirts; they
+rushed to the next room and ripped the silver eagles from their hats.
+Even Pio Pico flung one of his golden ropes at her feet, a hot blaze in
+his old ugly face, as he cried:--
+
+"Brava! brava! thou Star of Monterey!"
+
+Guido Cabanares, desperate at having nothing more to sacrifice to his
+idol, sprang upon a chair, and was about to tear down the Mexican flag,
+when the music stopped with a crash, as if musicians and instruments had
+been overturned, and a figure leaped into the room.
+
+The women uttered a loud cry and crossed themselves. Even the men fell
+back. Ysabel's swaying body trembled and became rigid. De la Vega, who
+had watched her with folded arms, too entranced to offer her anything
+but the love that shook him, turned livid to his throat. A friar, his
+hood fallen back from his stubbled head, his brown habit stiff with
+dirt, smelling, reeling with fatigue, stood amongst them. His eyes were
+deep in his ashen face. They rolled about the room until they met De la
+Vega's.
+
+General Castro came hastily forward. "What does this mean?" he asked.
+"What do you wish?"
+
+The friar raised his arm, and pointed his shaking finger at De la Vega.
+
+"Kill him!" he said, in a loud hoarse whisper. "He has desecrated the
+Mother of God!"
+
+Every caballero in the room turned upon De la Vega with furious
+satisfaction. Ysabel had quickened their blood, and they were willing
+to cool it in vengeance on the man of whom they still were jealous, and
+whom they suspected of having brought the wondrous pearls which covered
+their Favorita to-night.
+
+"What? What?" they cried eagerly. "Has he done this thing?"
+
+"He has robbed the Church. He has stripped the Blessed Virgin of her
+jewels. He--has--murdered--a--priest of the Holy Catholic Church."
+
+Horror stayed them for a moment, and then they rushed at De la Vega. "He
+does not deny it!" they cried. "Is it true? Is it true?" and they surged
+about him hot with menace.
+
+"It is quite true," said De la Vega, coldly. "I plundered the shrine of
+Loreto and murdered its priest."
+
+The women panted and gasped; for a moment even the men were stunned,
+and in that moment an ominous sound mingled with the roar of the surf.
+Before the respite was over Ysabel had reached his side.
+
+"He did it for me!" she cried, in her clear triumphant voice. "For
+me! And although you kill us both, I am the proudest woman in all the
+Californias, and I love him."
+
+"Good!" cried Castro, and he placed himself before them. "Stand back,
+every one of you. What? are you barbarians, Indians, that you would do
+violence to a guest in your town? What if he has committed a crime? Is
+he not one of you, then, that you offer him blood instead of protection?
+Where is your pride of caste? your _hospitality_? Oh, perfidy! Fall
+back, and leave the guest of your capital to those who are compelled to
+judge him."
+
+The caballeros shrank back, sullen but abashed. He had touched the quick
+of their pride.
+
+"Never mind!" cried the friar. "You cannot protect him from _that_.
+Listen!"
+
+Had the bay risen about the Custom-house?
+
+"What is that?" demanded Castro, sharply.
+
+"The poor of Monterey; those who love their Cross better than the
+aristocrats love their caste. They know."
+
+De la Vega caught Ysabel in his arms and dashed across the room and
+corridor. His knife cut a long rift in the canvas, and in a moment they
+stood upon the rocks. The shrieking crowd was on the other side of the
+Custom-house.
+
+"Marcos!" he called to his boatman, "Marcos!"
+
+No answer came but the waves tugging at the rocks not two feet below
+them. He could see nothing. The fog was thick as night.
+
+"He is not here, Ysabel. We must swim. Anything but to be torn to pieces
+by those wild-cats. Are you afraid?"
+
+"No," she said.
+
+He folded her closely with one arm, and felt with his foot for the edge
+of the rocks. A wild roar came from behind. A dozen pistols were fired
+into the air. De la Vega reeled suddenly. "I am shot, Ysabel," he said,
+his knees bending. "Not in this world, my love!"
+
+She wound her arms about him, and dragging him to the brow of the rocks,
+hurled herself outward, carrying him with her. The waves tossed them on
+high, flung them against the rocks and ground them there, playing with
+them like a lion with its victim, then buried them.
+
+
+
+
+THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS
+
+
+I
+
+"God of my soul! Do not speak of hope to me. Hope? For what are those
+three frigates, swarming with a horde of foreign bandits, creeping about
+our bay? For what have the persons of General Vallejo and Judge Leese
+been seized and imprisoned? Why does a strip of cotton, painted with a
+gaping bear, flaunt itself above Sonoma? Oh, abomination! Oh, execrable
+profanation! Mother of God, open thine ocean and suck them down! Smite
+them with pestilence if they put foot in our capital! Shrivel their
+fingers to the bone if they dethrone our Aztec Eagle and flourish their
+stars and stripes above our fort! O California! That thy sons and thy
+daughters should live to see thee plucked like a rose by the usurper!
+And why? Why? Not because these piratical Americans have the right to
+one league of our land; but because, Holy Evangelists! they want it! Our
+lands are rich, our harbours are fine, gold veins our valleys, therefore
+we must be plucked. The United States of America are mightier than
+Mexico, therefore they sweep down upon us with mouths wide open. Holy
+God! That I could choke but one with my own strong fingers. Oh!" Dona
+Eustaquia paused abruptly and smote her hands together,--"O that I were
+a man! That the women of California were men!"
+
+On this pregnant morning of July seventh, eighteen hundred and
+forty-six, all aristocratic Monterey was gathered in the sala of Dona
+Modeste Castro. The hostess smiled sadly. "That is the wish of my
+husband," she said, "for the men of our country want the Americans."
+
+"And why?" asked one of the young men, flicking a particle of dust from
+his silken riding jacket. "We shall then have freedom from the constant
+war of opposing factions. If General Castro and Governor Pico are not
+calling Juntas in which to denounce each other, a Carillo is pitting his
+ambition against an Alvarado. The Gringos will rule us lightly and bring
+us peace. They will not disturb our grants, and will give us rich prices
+for our lands--"
+
+"Oh, fool!" interrupted Dona Eustaquia. "Thrice fool! A hundred years
+from now, Fernando Altimira, and our names will be forgotten in
+California. Fifty years from now and our walls will tumble upon us
+whilst we cook our beans in the rags that charity--American charity--has
+flung us! I tell you that the hour the American flag waves above the
+fort of Monterey is the hour of the Californians' doom. We have lived in
+Arcadia--ingrates that you are to complain--they will run over us like
+ants and sting us to death!"
+
+"That is the prediction of my husband," said Dona Modeste. "Liberty,
+Independence, Decency, Honour, how long will they be his watch-words?"
+
+"Not a day longer!" cried Dona Eustaquia, "for the men of California are
+cowards."
+
+"Cowards! We? No man should say that to us!" The caballeros were on
+their feet, their eyes flashing, as if they faced in uniform the navy of
+the United States, rather than confronted, in lace ruffles and silken
+smallclothes, an angry scornful woman.
+
+"Cowards!" continued Fernando Altimira. "Are not men flocking about
+General Castro at San Juan Bautista, willing to die in a cause already
+lost? If our towns were sacked or our women outraged would not the
+weakest of us fight until we died in our blood? But what is coming is
+for the best, Dona Eustaquia, despite your prophecy; and as we cannot
+help it--we, a few thousand men against a great nation--we resign
+ourselves because we are governed by reason instead of by passion. No
+one reverences our General more than Fernando Altimira. No grander man
+ever wore a uniform! But he is fighting in a hopeless cause, and the
+fewer who uphold him the less blood will flow, the sooner the struggle
+will finish."
+
+Dona Modeste covered her beautiful face and wept. Many of the women
+sobbed in sympathy. Bright eyes, from beneath gay rebosas or delicate
+mantillas, glanced approvingly at the speaker. Brown old men and women
+stared gloomily at the floor. But the greater number followed every
+motion of their master-spirit, Dona Eustaquia Ortega.
+
+She walked rapidly up and down the long room, too excited to sit down,
+flinging the mantilla back as it brushed her hot cheek. She was a woman
+not yet forty, and very handsome, although the peachness of youth had
+left her face. Her features were small but sharply cut; the square
+chin and firm mouth had the lines of courage and violent emotions, her
+piercing intelligent eyes interpreted a terrible power of love and hate.
+But if her face was so strong as to be almost unfeminine, it was frank
+and kind.
+
+Dona Eustaquia might watch with joy her bay open and engulf the hated
+Americans, but she would nurse back to life the undrowned bodies flung
+upon the shore. If she had been born a queen she would have slain in
+anger, but she would not have tortured. General Castro had flung his hat
+at her feet many times, and told her that she was born to command. Even
+the nervous irregularity of her step to-day could not affect the extreme
+elegance of her carriage, and she carried her small head with the
+imperious pride of a sovereign. She did not speak again for a moment,
+but as she passed the group of young men at the end of the room her eyes
+flashed from one languid face to another. She hated their rich breeches
+and embroidered jackets buttoned with silver and gold, the lace
+handkerchiefs knotted about their shapely throats. No man was a man who
+did not wear a uniform.
+
+Don Fernando regarded her with a mischievous smile as she approached him
+a second time.
+
+"I predict, also," he said, "I predict that our charming Dona Eustaquia
+will yet wed an American--"
+
+"What!" she turned upon him with the fury of a lioness. "Hold thy
+prating tongue! I marry an American? God! I would give every league of
+my ranchos for a necklace made from the ears of twenty Americans. I
+would throw my jewels to the pigs, if I could feel here upon my neck
+the proof that twenty American heads looked ready to be fired from the
+cannon on the hill!"
+
+Everybody in the room laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighter. Muslin
+gowns began to flutter, and the seal of disquiet sat less heavily upon
+careworn or beautiful faces. But before the respite was a moment old a
+young man entered hastily from the street, and throwing his hat on the
+floor burst into tears.
+
+"What is it?" The words came mechanically from every one in the room.
+
+The herald put his hand to his throat to control the swelling muscles.
+"Two hours ago," he said, "Commander Sloat sent one Captain William
+Mervine on shore to demand of our Commandante the surrender of the town.
+Don Mariano walked the floor, wringing his hands, until a quarter of an
+hour ago, when he sent word to the insolent servant of a pirate-republic
+that he had no authority to deliver up the capital, and bade him go to
+San Juan Bautista and confer with General Castro. Whereupon the American
+thief ordered two hundred and fifty of his men to embark in boats--do
+not you hear?"
+
+A mighty cheer shook the air amidst the thunder of cannon; then another,
+and another.
+
+Every lip in the room was white.
+
+"What is that?" asked Dona Eustaquia. Her voice was hardly audible.
+
+"They have raised the American flag upon the Custom-house," said the
+herald.
+
+For a moment no one moved; then as by one impulse, and without a word,
+Dona Modeste Castro and her guests rose and ran through the streets to
+the Custom-house on the edge of the town.
+
+In the bay were three frigates of twenty guns each. On the rocks, in the
+street by the Custom-house and on its corridors, was a small army of men
+in the naval uniform of the United States, respectful but determined.
+About them and the little man who read aloud from a long roll of paper,
+the aristocrats joined the rabble of the town. Men with sunken eyes who
+had gambled all night, leaving even serape and sombrero on the gaming
+table; girls with painted faces staring above cheap and gaudy satins,
+who had danced at fandangos in the booths until dawn, then wandered
+about the beach, too curious over the movements of the American squadron
+to go to bed; shopkeepers, black and rusty of face, smoking big pipes
+with the air of philosophers; Indians clad in a single garment of
+calico, falling in a straight line from the neck; eagle-beaked old
+crones with black shawls over their heads; children wearing only a smock
+twisted about their little waists and tied in a knot behind; a few
+American residents, glancing triumphantly at each other; caballeros,
+gay in the silken attire of summer, sitting in angry disdain upon their
+plunging, superbly trapped horses; last of all, the elegant women in
+their lace mantillas and flowered rebosas, weeping and clinging to each
+other. Few gave ear to the reading of Sloat's proclamation.
+
+Benicia, the daughter of Dona Eustaquia, raised her clasped hands, the
+tears streaming from her eyes. "Oh, these Americans! How I hate them!"
+she cried, a reflection of her mother's violent spirit on her sweet
+face.
+
+Dona Eustaquia caught the girl's hands and flung herself upon her neck.
+"Ay! California! California!" she cried wildly. "My country is flung to
+its knees in the dirt."
+
+A rose from the upper corridor of the Custom-house struck her daughter
+full in the face.
+
+
+II
+
+The same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala where her mother was lying
+on a sofa, and exclaimed excitedly: "My mother! My mother! It is not
+so bad. The Americans are not so wicked as we have thought. The
+proclamation of the Commodore Sloat has been pasted on all the walls of
+the town and promises that our grants shall be secured to us under the
+new government, that we shall elect our own alcaldes, that we shall
+continue to worship God in our own religion, that our priests shall
+be protected, that we shall have all the rights and advantages of the
+American citizen--"
+
+"Stop!" cried Dona Eustaquia, springing to her feet. Her face still
+burned with the bitter experience of the morning. "Tell me of no more
+lying promises! They will keep their word! Ay, I do not doubt but they
+will take advantage of our ignorance, with their Yankee sharpness! I
+know them! Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, it must; and
+at least I have thee." She caught the girl in her arms, and covered the
+flower-like face with passionate kisses. "My little one! My darling!
+Thou lovest thy mother--better than all the world? Tell me!"
+
+The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face which could express
+such fierceness of love and hate.
+
+"My mother! Of course I love thee. It is because I have thee that I do
+not take the fate of my country deeper heart. So long as they do not put
+their ugly bayonets between us, what difference whether the eagle or the
+stars wave above the fort?"
+
+"Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country which is part of my
+soul! But perhaps it is as well, for thou lovest thy mother the more. Is
+it not so, my little one?"
+
+"Surely, my mother; I love no one in the world but you."
+
+Dona Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's fair cheek with her
+finger.
+
+"Not even Don Fernando Altimira?"
+
+"No, my mother."
+
+"Nor Flujencio Hernandez? Nor Juan Perez? Nor any of the caballeros who
+serenade beneath thy window?"
+
+"I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from one throat as from
+another."
+
+Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. "And yet I would have thee marry
+some day, my little one. I was happy with thy father--thanks to God he
+did not live to see this day--I was as happy, for two little years, as
+this poor nature of ours can be, and I would have thee be the same. But
+do not hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! Thine eyes have yet
+the roguishness of youth; I would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouth
+is like a child's; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life the day
+it trembles with passion. Dear little one! Thou hast been more than a
+daughter to me; thou hast been my only companion. I have striven to
+impart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the intellect of thy
+father. And I am proud of thee, very, very proud of thee!"
+
+Benicia pinched her mother's chin, her mischievous eyes softening. "Ay,
+my mother, I have done my little best, but I never shall be you. I am
+afraid I love to dance through the night and flirt my breath away better
+than I love the intellectual conversation of the few people you think
+worthy to sit about you in the evenings. I am like a little butterfly
+sitting on the mane of a mountain lion--"
+
+"Tush! Tush! Thou knowest more than any girl in Monterey, and I am
+satisfied with thee. Think of the books thou hast read, the languages
+thou hast learned from the Senor Hartnell. Ay, my little one, nobody
+but thou wouldst dare to say thou cared for nothing but dancing and
+flirting, although I will admit that even Ysabel Herrera could scarce
+rival thee at either."
+
+"Ay, my poor Ysabel! My heart breaks every night when I say a prayer for
+her." She tightened the clasp of her arms and pressed her face close to
+her mother's. "Mamacita, darling," she said coaxingly, "I have a big
+favour to beg. Ay, an enormous one! How dare I ask it?"
+
+"Aha! What is it? I should like to know. I thought thy tenderness was a
+little anxious."
+
+"Ay, mamacita! Do not refuse me or it will break my heart. On Wednesday
+night Don Thomas Larkin gives a ball at his house to the officers of the
+American squadron. Oh, mamacita! mamacita! _darling!_ do, do let me go!"
+
+"Benicia! Thou wouldst meet those men? Valgame Dios! And thou art a
+child of mine!"
+
+She flung the girl from her, and walked rapidly up and down the room,
+Benicia following with her little white hands outstretched. "Dearest
+one, I know just how you feel about it! But think a moment. They have
+come to stay. They will never go. We shall meet them everywhere--every
+night--every day. And my new gown, mamacita! The beautiful silver
+spangles! There is not such a gown in Monterey! Ay, I must go. And they
+say the Americans hop like puppies when they dance. How I shall laugh
+at them! And it is not once in the year that I have a chance to speak
+English, and none of the other girls can. And all the girls, all the
+girls, all the girls, will go to this ball. Oh, mamacita!"
+
+Her mother was obliged to laugh. "Well, well, I cannot refuse you
+anything; you know that! Go to the ball! Ay, yi, do not smother me! As
+you have said--that little head can think--we must meet these insolent
+braggarts sooner or later. So I would not--" her cheeks blanched
+suddenly, she caught her daughter's face between her hands, and bent her
+piercing eyes above the girl's soft depths. "Mother of God! That could
+not be. My child! Thou couldst never love an American! A Gringo! A
+Protestant! Holy Mary!"
+
+Benicia threw back her head and gave a long laugh--the light rippling
+laugh of a girl who has scarcely dreamed of lovers. "I love an American?
+Oh, my mother! A great, big, yellow-haired bear! When I want only to
+laugh at their dancing! No, mamacita, when I love an American thou shalt
+have his ears for thy necklace."
+
+
+III
+
+Thomas O. Larkin, United States Consul to California until the
+occupation left him without duties, had invited Monterey to meet the
+officers of the _Savannah, Cyane,_ and _Levant_, and only Dona Modeste
+Castro had declined. At ten o'clock the sala of his large house on the
+rise of the hill was thronged with robed girls in every shade and device
+of white, sitting demurely behind the wide shoulders of coffee-coloured
+dowagers, also in white, and blazing with jewels. The young matrons were
+there, too, although they left the sala at intervals to visit the room
+set apart for the nurses and children; no Monterena ever left her little
+ones at home. The old men and the caballeros wore the black coats and
+white trousers which Monterey fashion dictated for evening wear; the
+hair of the younger men was braided with gay ribbons, and diamonds
+flashed in the lace of their ruffles.
+
+The sala was on the second floor; the musicians sat on the corridor
+beyond the open windows and scraped their fiddles and twanged their
+guitars, awaiting the coming of the American officers. Before long the
+regular tramp of many feet turning from Alvarado Street up the little
+Primera del Este, facing Mr. Larkin's house, made dark eyes flash, lace
+and silken gowns flutter. Benicia and a group of girls were standing by
+Dona Eustaquia. They opened their large black fans as if to wave back
+the pink that had sprung to their cheeks. Only Benicia held her head
+saucily high, and her large brown eyes were full of defiant sparkles.
+
+"Why art thou so excited, Blandina?" she asked of a girl who had grasped
+her arm. "I feel as if the war between the United States and Mexico
+began tonight."
+
+"Ay, Benicia, thou hast so gay a spirit that nothing ever frightens
+thee! But, Mary! How many they are! They tramp as if they would go
+through the stair. Ay, the poor flag! No wonder--"
+
+"Now, do not cry over the flag any more. Ah! there is not one to compare
+with General Castro!"
+
+The character of the Californian sala had changed for ever; the blue and
+gold of the United States had invaded it.
+
+The officers, young and old, looked with much interest at the faces,
+soft, piquant, tropical, which made the effect of pansies looking
+inquisitively over a snowdrift. The girls returned their glances with
+approval, for they were as fine and manly a set of men as ever had faced
+death or woman. Ten minutes later California and the United States were
+flirting outrageously.
+
+Mr. Larkin presented a tall officer to Benicia. That the young man was
+very well-looking even Benicia admitted. True, his hair was golden, but
+it was cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a bear; his
+mustache and brows were brown; his gray eyes were as laughing as her
+own.
+
+"I suppose you do not speak any English, senorita," he said helplessly.
+
+"No? I spik Eenglish like the Spanish. The Spanish people no have
+difficult at all to learn the other langues. But Senor Hartnell he
+say it no is easy at all for the Eenglish to spik the French and the
+Spanish, so I suppose you no spik one word our langue, no?"
+
+He gallantly repressed a smile. "Thankfully I may say that I do not,
+else would I not have the pleasure of hearing you speak English. Never
+have I heard it so charmingly spoken before."
+
+Benicia took her skirt between the tips of her fingers and swayed her
+graceful body forward, as a tule bends in the wind.
+
+"You like dip the flag of the conqueror in honey, senor. Ay! We need
+have one compliment for every tear that fall since your eagle stab his
+beak in the neck de ours."
+
+"Ah, the loyal women of Monterey! I have no words to express my
+admiration for them, senorita. A thousand compliments are not worth one
+tear."
+
+Benicia turned swiftly to her mother, her eyes glittering with pleasure.
+"Mother, you hear! You hear!" she cried in Spanish. "These Americans are
+not so bad, after all."
+
+Dona Eustaquia gave the young man one of her rare smiles; it flashed
+over her strong dark face, until the light of youth was there once more.
+
+"Very pretty speech," she said, with slow precision. "I thank you, Senor
+Russell, in the name of the women of Monterey."
+
+"By Jove! Madam--senora--I assure you I never felt so cut up in my
+life as when I saw all those beautiful women crying down there by the
+Custom-house. I am a good American, but I would rather have thrown the
+flag under your feet than have seen you cry like that. And I assure you,
+dear senora, every man among us felt the same. As you have been good
+enough to thank me in the name of the women of Monterey, I, in behalf of
+the officers of the United States squadron, beg that you will forgive
+us."
+
+Dona Eustaquia's cheek paled again, and she set her lips for a moment;
+then she held out her hand.
+
+"Senor," she said, "we are conquered, but we are Californians; and
+although we do not bend the head, neither do we turn the back. We have
+invite you to our houses, and we cannot treat you like enemies. I will
+say with--how you say it--truth?--we did hate the thought that you
+come and take the country that was ours. But all is over and cannot
+be changed. So, it is better we are good friends than poor ones;
+and--and--my house is open to you, senor."
+
+Russell was a young man of acute perceptions; moreover, he had heard
+of Dona Eustaquia; he divined in part the mighty effort by which good
+breeding and philosophy had conquered bitter resentment. He raised the
+little white hand to his lips.
+
+"I would that I were twenty men, senora. Each would be your devoted
+servant."
+
+"And then she have her necklace!" cried Benicia, delightedly.
+
+"What is that?" asked Russell; but Dona Eustaquia shook her fan
+threateningly and turned away.
+
+"I no tell you everything," said Benicia, "so no be too curiosa. You no
+dance the contradanza, no?"
+
+"I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain waltz; will you not
+give it to me?"
+
+Benicia, disregarding the angry glances of approaching caballeros, laid
+her hand on the officer's shoulder, and he spun her down the room.
+
+"Why, you no dance so bad!" she said with surprise. "I think always the
+Americanos dance so terreeblay."
+
+"Who could not dance with a fairy in his arms?"
+
+"What funny things you say. I never been called fairy before."
+
+"You have never been interpreted." And then, in the whirl-waltz of that
+day, both lost their breath.
+
+When the dance was over and they stood near Dona Eustaquia, he took the
+fan from Benicia's hand and waved it slowly before her. She laughed
+outright.
+
+"You think I am so tired I no can fan myself?" she demanded. "How queer
+are these Americanos! Why, I have dance for three days and three nights
+and never estop."
+
+"Senorita!"
+
+"Si, senor. Oh, we estop sometimes, but no for long. It was at Sonoma
+two months ago. At the house de General Vallejo."
+
+"You certainly are able to fan yourself; but it is no reflection upon
+your muscle. It is only a custom we have."
+
+"Then I think much better you no have the custom. You no look like a man
+at all when you fan like a girl."
+
+He handed her back the fan with some choler.
+
+"Really, senorita, you are very frank. I suppose you would have a man
+lie in a hammock all day and roll cigaritos."
+
+"Much better do that than take what no is yours."
+
+"Which no American ever did!"
+
+"Excep' when he pulled California out the pocket de Mexico."
+
+"And what did Mexico do first? Did she not threaten the United States
+with hostilities for a year, and attack a small detachment of our troops
+with a force of seven thousand men--"
+
+"No make any difference what she do. Si she do wrong, that no is excuse
+for you do wrong."
+
+Two angry young people faced each other.
+
+"You steal our country and insult our men. But they can fight, Madre de
+Dios! I like see General Castro take your little Commodore Sloat by the
+neck. He look like a little gray rat."
+
+"Commodore Sloat is a brave and able man, Miss Ortega, and no officer in
+the United States navy will hear him insulted."
+
+"Then much better you lock up the ears."
+
+"My dear Captain Russell! Benicia! what is the matter?"
+
+Mr. Larkin stood before them, an amused smile on his thin intellectual
+face. "Come, come, have we not met to-night to dance the waltz of peace?
+Benicia, your most humble admirer has a favour to crave of you. I would
+have my countrymen learn at once the utmost grace of the Californian.
+Dance El Jarabe, please, and with Don Fernando Altimira."
+
+Benicia lifted her dainty white shoulders. She was not unwilling to
+avenge herself upon the American by dazzling him with her grace and
+beauty. Her eye's swift invitation brought Don Fernando, scowling, to
+her side. He led her to the middle of the room, and the musicians played
+the stately jig.
+
+Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at Russell from beneath
+her curling lashes, then fixed her eyes upon the floor, nor raised them
+again. She held her reed-like body very erect and took either side of
+her spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, lifting it just enough
+to show the arched little feet in their embroidered stockings and satin
+slippers. Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and together they
+rattled their feet on the floor with dexterity and precision, whilst the
+girls sang the words of the dance. The officers gave genuine applause,
+delighted with this picturesque fragment of life on the edge of the
+Pacific. Don Fernando listened to their demonstrations with sombre
+contempt on his dark handsome face; Benicia indicated her pleasure by
+sundry archings of her narrow brows, or coquettish curves of her red
+lips. Suddenly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother, with a
+long sweeping movement, like the bending and lifting of grain in the
+wind. As she approached Russell he took a rose from his coat and threw
+it at her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her thick
+braids, and the next moment he was at her side again.
+
+
+IV
+
+Dona Eustaquia slipped from the crowd and out of the house. Drawing a
+reboso about her head she walked swiftly down the street and across the
+plaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but the
+aristocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to the
+house of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the long
+hall to the sleeping room of Dona Modeste. There was no response to her
+knock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly lit
+by the candles on the altar. Dona Modeste was not in the big mahogany
+bed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Dona Eustaquia
+crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figure
+kneeling there.
+
+"Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, and
+thou art better in bed or with thy friends."
+
+Dona Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took Dona
+Eustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dim
+light, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look like
+a little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bend
+that stately head.
+
+"Religion is my solace," she said, "my only one; for I have not a brain
+of iron nor a soul of fire like thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more cause
+to pray to-night."
+
+"It is true, then, that Jose is in retreat? Ay, Mary!"
+
+"My husband, deserted by all but one hundred men, is flying southward
+from San Juan Bautista. I have it from the wash-tub mail. That never is
+wrong."
+
+"Ingrates! Traitors! But it is true, Modeste--surely, no?--that our
+general will not surrender? That he will stand against the Americans?"
+
+"He will not yield. He would have marched upon Monterey and forced them
+to give him battle here but for this base desertion. Now he will go to
+Los Angeles and command the men of the South to rally about him."
+
+"I knew that he would not kiss the boots of the Americans like the rest
+of our men! Oh, the cowards! I could almost say to-night that I like
+better the Americans than the men of my own race. _They_ are Castros! I
+shall hate their flag so long as life is in me; but I cannot hate the
+brave men who fight for it. But my pain is light to thine. Thy heart is
+wrung, and I am sorry for thee."
+
+"My day is over. Misfortune is upon us. Even if my husband's life is
+spared--ay! shall I ever see him again?--his position will be taken
+from him, for the Americans will conquer in the end. He will be
+Commandante-General of the army of the Californias no longer, but--holy
+God!--a ranchero, a caballero! He at whose back all California has
+galloped! Thou knowest his restless aspiring soul, Eustaquia, his
+ambition, his passionate love of California. Can there be happiness for
+such a man humbled to the dust--no future! no hope? Ay!"--she sprang to
+her feet with arms uplifted, her small slender form looking twice its
+height as it palpitated against the shadows, "I feel the bitterness of
+that spirit! I know how that great heart is torn. And he is alone!"
+She flung herself across Dona Eustaquia's knees and burst into violent
+sobbing.
+
+Dona Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her friend, but her eyes were
+more angry than soft. "Weep no more, Modeste," she said. "Rather, arise
+and curse those who have flung a great man into the dust. But comfort
+thyself. Who can know? Thy husband, weary with fighting, disgusted with
+men, may cling the closer to thee, and with thee and thy children forget
+the world in thy redwood forests or between the golden hills of thy
+ranchos."
+
+Dona Modeste shook her head. "Thou speakest the words of kindness, but
+thou knowest Jose. Thou knowest that he would not be content to be as
+other men. And, ay! Eustaquia, to think that it was opposite our own
+dear home, our favourite home, that the American flag should first have
+been raised! Opposite the home of Jose Castro!"
+
+"To perdition with Fremont! Why did he, of all places, select San Juan
+Bautista in which to hang up his American rag?"
+
+"We never can live there again. The Gabilan Mountains would shut out the
+very face of the sun from my husband."
+
+"Do not weep, my Modeste; remember thy other beautiful ranchos. Dios de
+mi alma!" she added with a flash of humour, "I revere San Juan Bautista
+for your husband's sake, but I weep not that I shall visit you there no
+more. Every day I think to hear that the shaking earth of that beautiful
+valley has opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. God grant
+that Fremont's hair stood up more than once. But go to bed, my friend.
+Look, I will put you there." As if Dona Modeste were an infant, she
+undressed and laid her between the linen sheets with their elaborate
+drawn work, then made her drink a glass of angelica, folded and laid
+away the satin coverlet, and left the house.
+
+She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head high. Monterey at that
+time was infested by dogs, some of them very savage. Dona Eustaquia's
+strong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on her way to General
+Castro's house she had paid no attention to the snarling muzzles thrust
+against her gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang upon her
+with a savage yelp and would have caught her by the throat had not a
+heavy stick cracked its skull. A tall officer in the uniform of the
+United States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair and looked at her
+with blue eyes as piercing as her own.
+
+"You will pardon me, madam," he said, "if I insist upon attending you to
+your door. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets of
+Monterey at night."
+
+Dona Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haughtily. "I thank you much,
+senor, for your kind rescue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten by
+the dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with me. I go only to
+the house of the Senor Larkin. It is there, at the end of the little
+street beyond the plaza."
+
+"My dear madam, you must not deprive the United States of the pleasure
+of protecting California. Pray grant my humble request to walk behind
+you and keep off the dogs."
+
+Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort.
+
+"Walk by me, if you wish," she said graciously. "Why are you not at the
+house of Don Thomas Larkin?"
+
+"I am on my way there now. Circumstances prevented my going earlier."
+His companion did not seem disposed to pilot the conversation, and he
+continued lamely, "Have you noticed, madam, that the English frigate
+_Collingwood_ is anchored in the bay?"
+
+"I saw it in the morning." She turned to him with sudden hope. "Have
+they--the English--come to help California?"
+
+"I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to capture California at the
+first whisper of war between Mexico and the United States; you know that
+England has always cast a covetous eye upon your fair land. It is said
+that the English admiral stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-day
+when he saw the American flag flying on the fort."
+
+"All are alike!" she exclaimed bitterly, then controlled herself.
+"You--do you admeer our country, senor? Have you in America something
+more beautiful than Monterey?"
+
+The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad of a change of
+topic, for he suspected to whom he was talking. "Madam, I have never
+seen anything more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey. What
+a situation! What exquisite proportions! That wide curve of snow-white
+sand about the dark blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with a
+knife. And that semicircle of hills behind the town, with its pine and
+brush forest tapering down to the crescent's points! Nor could anything
+be more picturesque than this scattered little town with its bright red
+tiles above the white walls of the houses and the gray walls of the
+yards; its quaint church surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio;
+its beautiful, strangely dressed women and men who make this corner of
+the earth resemble the pages of some romantic old picture-book--"
+
+"Ay!" she interrupted him. "Much better you feel proud that you conquer
+us; for surely, senor, California shall shine like a diamond in the very
+centre of America's crown." Then she held out her hand impulsively.
+
+"Mucho gracias, senor--pardon--thank you very much. If you love my
+country, senor, you must be my friend and the friend of my daughter. I
+am the Senora Dona Eustaquia Carillo de Ortega, and my house is there
+on the hill--you can see the light, no? Always we shall be glad to see
+you."
+
+He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand.
+
+"And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the United States navy,
+do sincerely thank the most famous woman of Monterey for her gracious
+hospitality. And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm of the American
+who is not the conqueror but the conquered."
+
+"That was very pretty--speech. When you abuse me I put you out the door.
+This is the house of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball. You come in,
+no? You like I take your arm? Very well"
+
+And so the articles of peace were signed.
+
+
+V
+
+"Yes, yes, indeed, Blandina," exclaimed Benicia, "they had no chance at
+all last night, for we danced until dawn, and perhaps they were afraid
+of Don Thomas Larkin. But we shall talk and have music to-night, and
+those fine new tables that came on the last ship from Boston must not be
+destroyed."
+
+"Well, if you really think--" said Blandina, who always thought exactly
+as Benicia did. She opened a door and called:--
+
+"Flujencio."
+
+"Well, my sister?"
+
+A dreamy-looking young man in short jacket and trousers of red silk
+entered the room, sombrero in one hand, a cigarito in the other.
+
+"Flujencio, you know it is said that these 'Yankees' always 'whittle'
+everything. We are afraid they will spoil the furniture to-night; so
+tell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, and you go down
+to the store and buy a box of penknives. Then they will have plenty to
+amuse themselves with and will not cut the furniture."
+
+"True! True! What a good idea! Was it Benicia's?" He gave her a glance
+of languid adoration. "I will buy those knives at once, before I forget
+it," and he tossed the sombrero on his curls and strode out of the
+house.
+
+"How dost thou like the Senor Lieutenant Russell, Benicia?"
+
+Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became very pink.
+
+"Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, very proud, and thinks
+too well of his hateful country. But I shall teach him how to flirt. He
+thinks he can, but he cannot."
+
+"Thou canst do it, Benicia--look! look!"
+
+Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were sauntering slowly by and
+looking straight through the grated window at the beautiful girls in
+their gayly flowered gowns. They saluted, and the girls bent their
+slender necks, but dared not speak, for Dona Francesca Hernandez was in
+the next room and the door was open. Immediately following the American
+officers came Don Fernando Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he saw
+the erect swinging figures of the conquerors, but Benicia kissed the
+tips of her fingers as he flung his sombrero to the ground, and he
+galloped, smiling, on his way.
+
+That night the officers of the United States squadron met the society of
+Monterey at the house of Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, to
+which they could be admiring spectators only, much to the delight of the
+caballeros, Benicia took the guitar presented by Flujencio, and letting
+her head droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk by the
+breeze, sang the most coquettish song she knew. Her mahogany brown hair
+hung unconfined over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered silk
+with its pointed waist and full skirt. Her large brown eyes were
+alternately mischievous and tender, now and again lighted by a sudden
+flash. Her cheeks were pink; her round babylike arms curved with all the
+grace of the Spanish woman. As she finished the song she dropped her
+eyelids for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked straight at
+Russell.
+
+"By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog!" said a brother officer. "She's the
+prettiest girl in the room! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, as
+these ardent Californians do?"
+
+[Illustration: "RUSSELL CROSSED THE ROOM AND SAT BESIDE BENICIA."]
+
+"My cap is in the next room, but I will go over and fling myself there
+instead."
+
+Russell crossed the room and sat down beside Benicia.
+
+"I should like to hear you sing under those cypresses out on the ocean
+about six or eight miles from here," he said to her. "I rode down the
+coast yesterday. Jove! what a coast it is!"
+
+"We will have a merienda there on some evening," said Dona Eustaquia,
+who sat beside her daughter. "It is very beautiful on the big rocks to
+watch the ocean, under the moonlight."
+
+"A merienda?"
+
+"A peek-neek."
+
+"Good! You will not forget that?"
+
+She smiled at his boyishness. "It will be at the next moon. I promise."
+
+Benicia sang another song, and a half-dozen caballeros stood about
+her, regarding her with glances languid, passionate, sentimental,
+reproachful, determined, hopeless. Russell, leaning back in his chair,
+listened to the innocent thrilling voice of the girl, and watched her
+adorers, amused and stimulated. The Californian beauty was like no other
+woman he had known, and the victory would be as signal as the capture of
+Monterey. "More blood, perhaps," he thought, "but a victory is a poor
+affair unless painted in red. It will do these seething caballeros good
+to learn that American blood is quite as swift as Californian."
+
+As the song finished, the musicians began a waltz; Russell took the
+guitar from Benicia's hand and laid it on the floor.
+
+"This waltz is mine, senorita," he said.
+
+"I no know--"
+
+"Senorita!" said Don Fernando Altimira, passionately, "the first waltz
+is always mine. Thou wilt not give it to the American?"
+
+"And the next is mine!"
+
+"And the next contradanza!"
+
+The girl's faithful retinue protested for their rights. Russell could
+not understand, but he translated their glances, and bent his lips to
+Benicia's ear. That ear was pink and her eyes were bright with roguish
+triumph.
+
+"I want this dance, dear senorita. I may go away any day. Orders may
+come to-morrow which will send me where I never can see you again. You
+can dance with these men every night of the year--"
+
+"I give to you," said Benicia, rising hurriedly. "We must be hospitable
+to the stranger who comes to-day and leaves to-morrow," she said in
+Spanish to the other men. "I have plenty more dances for you."
+
+After the dance, salads and cakes, claret and water, were brought to the
+women by Indian girls, who glided about the room with borrowed grace,
+their heads erect, the silver trays held well out. They wore bright red
+skirts and white smocks of fine embroidered linen, open at the throat,
+the sleeves very short. Their coarse hair hung in heavy braids; their
+bright little eyes twinkled in square faces scrubbed until they shone
+like copper.
+
+"Captain," said Russell to Brotherton, as the men followed the host into
+the supper room, "let us buy a ranch, marry two of these stunning
+girls, and lie round in hammocks whilst these Western houris bring us
+aguardiente and soda. What an improvement on Byron and Tom Moore! It
+is all so unhackneyed and unexpected. In spite of Dana and Robinson I
+expected mud huts and whooping savages. This is Arcadia, and the women
+are the most elegant in America."
+
+"Look here, Ned," said his captain, "you had better do less flirting and
+more thinking while you are in this odd country. Your talents will get
+rusty, but you can rub them up when you get home. Neither Californian
+men nor women are to be trifled with. This is the land of passion, not
+of drawing-room sentiment."
+
+"Perhaps I am more serious than you think. What is the matter?" He spoke
+to a brother officer who had joined them and was laughing immoderately.
+
+"Do you see those Californians grinning over there?" The speaker
+beckoned to a group of officers, who joined him at once. "What job do
+you suppose they have put up on us? What do you suppose that mysterious
+table in the sala means, with its penknives and wooden sticks? I thought
+it was a charity bazaar. Well, it is nothing more nor less than a trick
+to keep us from whittling up the furniture. We are all Yankees to them,
+you know. Preserve my Spanish!"
+
+The officers shouted with delight. They marched solemnly back into the
+sala, and seating themselves in a deep circle about the table,
+whittled the slugs all over the floor, much to the satisfaction of the
+Californians.
+
+
+VI
+
+After the entertainment was over, Russell strolled about the town. The
+new moon was on the sky, the stars thick and bright; but dark corners
+were everywhere, and he kept his hand on his pistol. He found himself
+before the long low house of Dona Eustaquia Ortega. Not a light
+glimmered; the shutters were of solid wood. He walked up and down,
+trying to guess which was Benicia's room.
+
+"I am growing as romantic as a Californian," he thought; "but this
+wonderful country pours its colour all through one's nature. If I
+could find her window, I believe I should serenade her in true Spanish
+fashion. By Jove, I remember now, she said something about looking
+through her window at the pines on the hill. It must be at the back of
+the house, and how am I going to get over that great adobe wall? That
+gate is probably fastened with an iron bar--ah!"
+
+He had walked to the corner of the wall surrounding the large yard
+behind and at both sides of Dona Eustaquia's house, and he saw,
+ascending a ladder, a tall figure, draped in a serape, its face
+concealed by the shadow of a sombrero. He drew his pistol, then laughed
+at himself, although not without annoyance. "A rival; and he has got
+ahead of me. He is going to serenade her."
+
+The caballero seated himself uncomfortably on the tiles that roofed the
+wall, removed his sombrero, and Russell recognized Fernando Altimira. A
+moment later the sweet thin chords of the guitar quivered in the quiet
+air, and a tenor, so fine that even Russell stood entranced, sang to
+Benicia one of the old songs of Monterey:--
+
+EL SUSPIRO
+
+  Una mirada un suspiro,
+  Una lagrima querida,
+  Es balsamo a la herida
+  Que abriste en mi corazon.
+
+  Por esa lagrima cara
+  Objeto de mi termina,
+  Yo te ame bella criatura
+  Desde que te vi llorar.
+
+  Te acuerdas de aquella noche
+  En que triste y abatida
+  Una lagrima querida
+  Vi de tus ojos brotar.
+
+Although Russell was at the base of the high wall he saw that a light
+flashed. The light was followed by the clapping of little hands. "Jove!"
+he thought, "am I really jealous? But damn that Californian!"
+
+Altimira sang two more songs and was rewarded by the same
+demonstrations. As he descended the ladder and reached the open street
+he met Russell face to face. The two men regarded each other for a
+moment. The Californian's handsome face was distorted by a passionate
+scowl; Russell was calmer, but his brows were lowered.
+
+Altimira flung the ladder to the ground, but fire-blooded as he was, the
+politeness of his race did not desert him, and his struggle with English
+flung oil upon his passion.
+
+"Senor," he said, "I no know what you do it by the house of the Senorita
+Benicia so late in the night. I suppose you have the right to walk in
+the town si it please yourself."
+
+"Have I not the same right as you--to serenade the Senorita Benicia? If
+I had known her room, I should have been on the wall before you."
+
+Altimira's face flushed with triumph. "I think the Senorita Benicia
+no care for the English song, senor. She love the sweet words of her
+country: she no care for words of ice."
+
+Russell smiled. "Our language may not be as elastic as yours, Don
+Fernando, but it is a good deal more sincere. And it can express as much
+and perhaps--"
+
+"You love Benicia?" interrupted Altimira, fiercely.
+
+"I admire the Senorita Ortega tremendously. But I have seen her twice
+only, and although we may love longer, we take more time to get there,
+perhaps, than you do."
+
+"Ay! Dios de mi vida! You have the heart of rock! You chip it off in
+little pieces, one to-day, another to-morrow, and give to the woman. I,
+senor, I love Benicia, and I marry her. You understand? Si you take her,
+I cut the heart from your body. You understand?"
+
+"I understand. We understand each other." Russell lifted his cap. The
+Californian took his sombrero from his head and made a long sweeping
+bow; and the two men parted.
+
+
+VII
+
+On the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat transferred his authority
+to Commodore Stockton, and the new commander of the Pacific squadron
+organized the California Battalion of Mounted Riflemen, appointing
+Fremont major and Gillespie captain. He ordered them South at once to
+intercept Castro. On the twenty-eighth, Stockton issued a proclamation
+in which he asserted that Mexico was the instigator of the present
+difficulties, and justified the United States in seizing the
+Californias. He denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, a
+boasting and abusive chief, and accused him of having violated every
+principle of national hospitality and good faith toward Captain Fremont
+and his surveying party. Stockton sailed for the South the same day
+in the _Congress_, leaving a number of officers to Monterey and the
+indignation of the people.
+
+"By Jove, I don't dare to go near Dona Eustaquia," said Russell to
+Brotherton. "And I'm afraid we won't have our picnic. It seems to me the
+Commodore need not have used such strong language about California's
+idol. The very people in the streets are ready to unlimb us; and as for
+the peppery Dona--"
+
+"Speak more respectfully of Dona Eustaquia, young man," said the older
+officer, severely. "She is a very remarkable woman and not to be spoken
+slightingly of by young men who are in love with her daughter."
+
+"God forbid that I should slight her, dear Captain. Never have I so
+respected a woman. She frightens the life out of me every time she
+flashes those eyes of hers. But let us go and face the enemy at once,
+like the brave Americans we are."
+
+"Very well." And together they walked along Alvarado Street from the
+harbour, then up the hill to the house of Dona Eustaquia.
+
+That formidable lady and her daughter were sitting on the corridor
+dressed in full white gowns, slowly wielding large black fans, for the
+night was hot. Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she rose and
+courtesied to the officers, but her mother merely bent her head; nor did
+she extend her hand. Her face was very dark.
+
+Brotherton went directly to the point.
+
+"Dear Dona Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our Commodore has used such
+harsh language in regard to General Castro. But remember that he has
+been here a few days only and has had no chance to learn the many noble
+and valiant qualities of your General. He doubtless has been prejudiced
+against him by some enemy, and he adores Fremont:--there is the trouble.
+He resents Castro's treating Fremont as an enemy before the United
+States had declared its intentions. But had he been correctly informed,
+he undoubtedly would have conceived the same admiration and respect for
+your brave General that is felt by every other man among us."
+
+Dona Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but shook her head sternly.
+"Much better he took the trouble to hear true. He insult all
+Californians by those shemful words. All the enemies of our dear General
+be glad. And the poor wife! Poor my Modeste! She fold the arms and raise
+the head, but the heart is broken."
+
+"Jove! I almost wish they had driven us out! Dear senora--" Russell and
+Benicia were walking up and down the corridor--"we have become friends,
+true friends, as sometimes happens--not often--between man and woman.
+Cease to think of me as an officer of the United States navy, only as a
+man devoted to your service. I have already spent many pleasant hours
+with you. Let me hope that while I remain here neither Commodore
+Stockton nor party feeling will exclude me from many more."
+
+She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a gesture peculiar to her,
+and looked upward with a glance half sad, half bitter.
+
+"I much appreciate your friendship, Capitan Brotherton. You give me much
+advice that is good for me, and tell me many things. It is like the
+ocean wind when you have live long in the hot valley. Yes, dear friend,
+I forget you are in the navy of the conqueror."
+
+"Mamacita," broke in Benicia's light voice, "tell us now when we can
+have the peek-neek."
+
+"To-morrow night."
+
+"Surely?"
+
+"Surely, ninita."
+
+"Castro," said Russell, lifting his cap, "peace be with thee."
+
+
+VIII
+
+The great masses of rock on the ocean's coast shone white in the
+moonlight. Through the gaunt outlying rocks, lashed apart by furious
+storms, boiled the ponderous breakers, tossing aloft the sparkling
+clouds of spray, breaking in the pools like a million silver fishes.
+High above the waves, growing out of the crevices of the massive rocks
+of the shore, were weird old cypresses, their bodies bent from the
+ocean as if petrified in flight before the mightier foe. On their gaunt
+outstretched arms and gray bodies, seamed with time, knobs like human
+muscles jutted; between the broken bark the red blood showed. From
+their angry hands, clutching at the air or doubled in imprecation, long
+strands of gray-green moss hung, waving and coiling, in the night wind.
+Only one old man was on his hands and knees as if to crawl from the
+field; but a comrade spurned him with his foot and wound his bony hand
+about the coward's neck. Another had turned his head to the enemy,
+pointing his index finger in scorn, although he stood alone on high.
+
+All along the cliffs ran the ghostly army, sometimes with straining
+arms fighting the air, sometimes thrust blankly outward, all with life
+quivering in their arrested bodies, silent and scornful in their defeat.
+Who shall say what winter winds first beat them, what great waves first
+fought their deathless trunks, what young stars first shone over them?
+They have outstood centuries of raging storm and rending earthquake.
+Tradition says that until convulsion wrenched the Golden Gate apart the
+San Franciscan waters rolled through the long valleys and emptied into
+the Bay of Monterey. But the old cypresses were on the ocean just
+beyond; the incoming and the outgoing of the inland ocean could not
+trouble them; and perhaps they will stand there until the end of time.
+
+Down the long road by the ocean rode a gay cavalcade. The caballeros had
+haughtily refused to join the party, and the men wore the blue and gold
+of the United States.
+
+But the women wore fluttering mantillas, and their prancing
+high-stepping horses were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In a
+lumbering "wagon of the country," drawn by oxen, running on solid wheels
+cut from the trunks of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of the
+older people of the town, disapproving, but overridden by the impatient
+enthusiasm of Dona Eustaquia. Through the pine woods with their softly
+moving shadows and splendid aisles, out between the cypresses and rocky
+beach, wound the stately cavalcade, their voices rising above the
+sociable converse of the seals and the screeching of the seagulls
+spiking the rocks where the waves fought and foamed. The gold on the
+shoulders of the men flashed in the moonlight; the jewels of the women
+sparkled and winked. Two by two they came like a conquering army to the
+rescue of the cypresses. Brotherton, who rode ahead with Dona Eustaquia,
+half expected to see the old trees rise upright with a deep shout of
+welcome.
+
+When they reached a point where the sloping rocks rose high above surf
+and spray, they dismounted, leaving the Indian servants to tether the
+horses. They climbed down the big smooth rocks and sat about in groups,
+although never beyond the range of older eyes, the cypresses lowering
+above them, the ocean tearing through the outer rocks to swirl and
+grumble in the pools. The moon was so bright, its light so broad and
+silver, they almost could imagine they saw the gorgeous mass of colour
+in the pools below.
+
+"You no have seaweed like that in Boston," said Benicia, who had a
+comprehensive way of symbolizing the world by the city from which she
+got many of her clothes and all of her books.
+
+"Indeed, no!" said Russell. "The other day I sat for hours watching
+those great bunches and strands that look like richly coloured chenille.
+And there were stones that looked like big opals studded with vivid
+jewels. God of my soul, as you say, it was magnificent! I never saw such
+brilliant colour, such delicate tints! And those great rugged defiant
+rocks out there, lashed by the waves! Look at that one; misty with spray
+one minute, bare and black the next! They look like an old castle which
+has been battered down with cannon. Captain, do you not feel romantic?"
+
+"I feel that I never want to go into an art gallery again. No wonder the
+women of California are original."
+
+"Benicia," said Russell, "I have tried in vain to learn a Spanish song.
+But teach me a Spanish phrase of endearment. All our 'darlings' and
+'dearests' are too flat for California."
+
+"Bueno; I teach you. Say after me: Mi muy querida prima. That is very
+sweet. Say."
+
+"Mi muy--"
+
+"Querida prima."
+
+"Que--What is it in English?"
+
+"My--very--darling--first. It no sound so pretty in English."
+
+"It does very well. My--very--darling--first--if all these people were
+not about us, I should kiss you. You look exactly like a flower."
+
+"Si you did, Senor Impertinencio, you get that for thanks."
+
+Russell jumped to his feet with a shout, and shook from his neck a
+little crab with a back like green velvet and legs like carven garnet.
+
+"Did you put that crab on my neck, senorita?"
+
+"Si, senor."
+
+A sulky silence of ten minutes ensued, during which Benicia sent little
+stones skipping down into the silvered pools, and Russell, again
+recumbent, stared at the horizon.
+
+"Si you no can talk," she said finally, "I wish you go way and let Don
+Henry Tallant come talk to me. He look like he want."
+
+"No doubt he does; but he can stay where he is. Let me kiss your hand,
+Benicia, and I will forgive you."
+
+Benicia hit his mouth lightly with the back of her hand, but he captured
+it and kissed it several times.
+
+"Your mustache feels like the cat's," said she.
+
+He flung the hand from him, but laughed in a moment. "How sentimental
+you are! Making love to you is like dragging a cannon uphill! Will you
+not at least sing me a love-song? And please do not make faces in the
+tender parts."
+
+Benicia tossed her spirited head, but took her guitar from its case and
+called to the other girls to accompany her. They withdrew from their
+various flirtations with audible sighs, but it was Benicia's merienda,
+and in a moment a dozen white hands were sweeping the long notes from
+the strings.
+
+Russell moved to a lower rock, and lying at Benicia's feet looked
+upward. The scene was all above him--the great mass of white rocks,
+whiter in the moonlight; the rigid cypresses aloft; the beautiful faces,
+dreamy, passionate, stolid, restless, looking from the lace mantillas;
+the graceful arms holding the guitars; the sweet rich voices threading
+through the roar of the ocean like the melody in a grand recitativo; the
+old men and women crouching like buzzards on the stones, their sharp
+eyes never closing; enfolding all with an almost palpable touch, the
+warm voluptuous air. Now and again a bird sang a few notes, a strange
+sound in the night, or the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echo
+through the pines.
+
+The song finished. "Benicia, I love you," whispered Russell.
+
+"We will now eat," said Benicia. "Mamma,"--she raised her voice,--"shall
+I tell Raphael to bring down the supper?"
+
+"Yes, nina."
+
+The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by Russell. The Indian
+servants were some distance off, and as the young people ran through a
+pine grove the bold officer of the United States squadron captured the
+Californian and kissed her on the mouth. She boxed his ears and escaped
+to the light.
+
+Benicia gave her orders, Raphael and the other Indians followed her with
+the baskets, and spread the supper of tomales and salads, dulces and
+wine, on a large table-like rock, just above the threatening spray; the
+girls sang each in turn, whilst the others nibbled the dainties Dona
+Eustaquia had provided, and the Americans wondered if it were not a
+vision that would disappear into the fog bearing down upon them.
+
+A great white bank, writhing and lifting, rolling and bending, came
+across the ocean slowly, with majestic stealth, hiding the swinging
+waves on which it rode so lightly, shrouding the rocks, enfolding the
+men and women, wreathing the cypresses, rushing onward to the pines.
+
+"We must go," said Dona Eustaquia, rising. "There is danger to stay. The
+lungs, the throat, my children. Look at the poor old cypresses."
+
+The fog was puffing through the gaunt arms, festooning the rigid hands.
+It hung over the green heads, it coiled about the gray trunks. The stern
+defeated trees looked like the phantoms of themselves, a long silent
+battalion of petrified ghosts. Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed,
+and during the long ride homeward through the pine woods she had little
+to say to her equally silent companion.
+
+
+IX
+
+Dona Eustaquia seldom gave balls, but once a week she opened her salas
+to the more intellectual people of the town. A few Americans were ever
+attendant; General Vallejo often came from Sonoma to hear the latest
+American and Mexican news in her house; Castro rarely had been absent;
+Alvarado, in the days of his supremacy, could always be found there, and
+she was the first woman upon whom Pio Pico called when he deigned to
+visit Monterey. A few young people came to sit in a corner with Benicia,
+but they had little to say.
+
+The night after the picnic some fifteen or twenty people were gathered
+about Dona Eustaquia in the large sala on the right of the hall; a few
+others were glancing over the Mexican papers in the little sala on the
+left. The room was ablaze with many candles standing, above the heads
+of the guests, in twisted silver candelabra, the white walls reflecting
+their light. The floor was bare, the furniture of stiff mahogany and
+horse-hair, but no visitor to that quaint ugly room ever thought of
+looking beyond the brilliant face of Dona Eustaquia, the lovely eyes of
+her daughter, the intelligence and animation of the people she gathered
+about her. As a rule Dona Modeste Castro's proud head and strange beauty
+had been one of the living pictures of that historical sala, but she was
+not there to-night.
+
+As Captain Brotherton and Lieutenant Russell entered, Dona Eustaquia was
+waging war against Mr. Larkin.
+
+"And what hast thou to say to that proclamation of thy little American
+hero, thy Commodore"--she gave the word a satirical roll, impossible to
+transcribe--"who is heir to a conquest without blood, who struts into
+history as the Commander of the United States Squadron of the Pacific,
+holding a few hundred helpless Californians in subjection? O warlike
+name of Sloat! O heroic name of Stockton! O immortal Fremont, prince
+of strategists and tacticians, your country must be proud of you! Your
+newspapers will glorify you! Sometime, perhaps, you will have a little
+history bound in red morocco all to yourselves; whilst Castro--" she
+sprang to her feet and brought her open palm down violently upon the
+table, "Castro, the real hero of this country, the great man ready to
+die a thousand deaths for the liberty of the Californians, a man who was
+made for great deeds and born for fame, he will be left to rust and rot
+because we have no newspapers to glorify him, and the Gringos send what
+they wish to their country! Oh, profanation! That a great man should be
+covered from sight by an army of red ants!"
+
+"By Jove!" said Russell, "I wish I could understand her! Doesn't she
+look magnificent?"
+
+Captain Brotherton made no reply. He was watching her closely, gathering
+the sense of her words, full of passionate admiration for the woman. Her
+tall majestic figure was quivering under the lash of her fiery temper,
+quick to spring and strike. The red satin of her gown and the diamonds
+on her finely moulded neck and in the dense coils of her hair grew dim
+before the angry brilliancy of her eyes.
+
+The thin sensitive lips of Mr. Larkin curled with their accustomed
+humour, but he replied sincerely, "Yes, Castro is a hero, a great man on
+a small canvas--"
+
+"And they are little men on a big canvas!" interrupted Dona Eustaquia.
+
+Mr. Larkin laughed, but his reply was non-committal. "Remember, they
+have done all that they have been called upon to do, and they have done
+it well. Who can say that they would not be as heroic, if opportunity
+offered, as they have been prudent?"
+
+Dona Eustaquia shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, but resumed her
+seat. "You will not say, but you know what chance they would have with
+Castro in a fair fight. But what chance has even a great man, when at
+the head of a few renegades, against the navy of a big nation? But
+Fremont! Is he to cast up his eyes and draw down his mouth to the world,
+whilst the man who acted for the safety of his country alone, who showed
+foresight and wisdom, is denounced as a violator of international
+courtesy?"
+
+"No," said one of the American residents who stood near, "history will
+right all that. Some day the world will know who was the great and who
+the little man."
+
+"Some day! When we are under our stones! This swaggering Commodore
+Stockton adores Fremont and hates Castro. His lying proclamation will be
+read in his own country--"
+
+The door opened suddenly and Don Fernando Altimira entered the room.
+"Have you heard?" he cried. "All the South is in arms! The Departmental
+Assembly has called the whole country to war, and men are flocking to
+the standard! Castro has sworn that he will never give up the country
+under his charge. Now, Mother of God! let our men drive the usurper from
+the country."
+
+Even Mr. Larkin sprang to his feet in excitement. He rapidly translated
+the news to Brotherton and Russell.
+
+"Ah! There will be a little blood, then," said the younger officer. "It
+was too easy a victory to count."
+
+Every one in the room was talking at once. Dona Eustaquia smote her
+hands together, then clasped and raised them aloft.
+
+"Thanks to God!" she cried. "California has come to her senses at last!"
+
+Altimira bent his lips to her ear. "I go to fight the Americans," he
+whispered.
+
+She caught his hand between both her own and pressed it convulsively to
+her breast. "Go," she said, "and may God and Mary protect thee. Go, my
+son, and when thou returnest I will give thee Benicia. Thou art a son
+after my heart, a brave man and a good Catholic."
+
+Benicia, standing near, heard the words. For the first time Russell saw
+the expression of careless audacity leave her face, her pink colour
+fade.
+
+"What is that man saying to your mother?" he demanded.
+
+"She promise me to him when he come back; he go to join General Castro."
+
+"Benicia!" He glanced about. Altimira had left the house. Every one was
+too excited to notice them. He drew her across the hall and into the
+little sala, deserted since the startling news had come. "Benicia," he
+said hurriedly, "there is no time to be lost. You are such a butterfly I
+hardly know whether you love me or not."
+
+"I no am such butterfly as you think," said the girl, pathetically. "I
+often am very gay, for that is my spirit, senor; but I cry sometimes in
+the night."
+
+"Well, you are not to cry any more, my very darling first!" He took her
+in his arms and kissed her, and she did not box his ears. "I may be
+ordered off at any moment, and what may they not do with you while I am
+gone? So I have a plan! Marry me to-morrow!"
+
+"Ay! Senor!"
+
+"To-morrow. At your friend Blandina's house. The Hernandez like the
+Americans; in fact, as we all know, Tallant is in love with Blandina and
+the old people do not frown. They will let us marry there."
+
+"Ay! Cielo santo! What my mother say? She kill me!"
+
+"She will forgive you, no matter how angry she may be at first. She
+loves you--almost as much as I do."
+
+The girl withdrew from his arms and walked up and down the room. Her
+face was very pale, and she looked older. On one side of the room hung
+a large black cross, heavily mounted with gold. She leaned her face
+against it and burst into tears. "Ay, my home! My mother!" she cried
+under her breath. "How I can leave you? Ay, triste de mi!" She turned
+suddenly to Russell, whose face was as white as her own, and put to him
+the question which we have not yet answered. "What is this love?" she
+said rapidly. "I no can understand. I never feel before. Always I laugh
+when men say they love me; but I never laugh again. In my heart is
+something that shake me like a lion shake what it go to kill, and make
+me no care for my mother or my God--and you are a Protestant! I have
+love my mother like I have love that cross; and now a man come--a
+stranger! a conqueror! a Protestant! an American! And he twist my heart
+out with his hands! But I no can help. I love you and I go."
+
+
+X
+
+The next morning, Dona Eustaquia looked up from her desk as Benicia
+entered the room. "I am writing to Alvarado," she said. "I hope to be
+the first to tell him the glorious news. Ay! my child, go to thy altar
+and pray that the bandoleros may be driven wriggling from the land like
+snakes out of a burning field!"
+
+"But, mother, I thought you had learned to like the Gringos."
+
+"I like the Gringos well enough, but I hate their flag! Ay! I will pull
+it down with my own hands if Castro and Pico roll Stockton and Fremont
+in the dust!"
+
+"I am sorry for that, my mother, for I am going to marry an American
+to-day."
+
+Her mother laughed and glanced over the closely written page.
+
+"I am going to marry the Lieutenant Russell at Blandina's house this
+morning."
+
+"Ay, run, run. I must finish my letter."
+
+Benicia left the sala and crossing her mother's room entered her own.
+From the stout mahogany chest she took white silk stockings and satin
+slippers, and sitting down on the floor put them on. Then she opened the
+doors of her wardrobe and looked for some moments at the many pretty
+frocks hanging there. She selected one of fine white lawn, half covered
+with deshalados, and arrayed herself. She took from the drawer of the
+wardrobe a mantilla of white Spanish lace, and draped it about her head
+and shoulders, fastening it back above one ear with a pink rose. Around
+her throat she clasped a string of pearls, then stood quietly in the
+middle of the room and looked about her. In one corner was a little
+brass bedstead covered with a heavy quilt of satin and lace. The
+pillow-cases were almost as fine and elaborate as her gown. In the
+opposite corner was an altar with little gold candlesticks and an ivory
+crucifix. The walls and floor were bare but spotless. The ugly wardrobe
+built into the thick wall never had been empty: Dona Eustaquia's
+generosity to the daughter she worshipped was unbounded.
+
+Benicia drew a long hysterical breath and went over to the window. It
+looked upon a large yard enclosed by the high adobe wall upon which her
+lovers so often had sat and sung to her. No flowers were in the garden,
+not even a tree. It was as smooth and clean as the floor of a ballroom.
+About the well in the middle were three or four Indian servants
+quarrelling good-naturedly. The house stood on the rise of one of the
+crescent's horns. Benicia looked up at the dark pine woods on the
+hill. What days she had spent there with her mother! She whirled about
+suddenly and taking a large fan from the table returned to the sala.
+
+Dona Eustaquia laughed. "Thou silly child, to dress thyself like a
+bride. What nonsense is this?"
+
+"I will be a bride in an hour, my mother."
+
+"Go! Go, with thy nonsense! I have spoiled thee! What other girl in
+Monterey would dare to dress herself like this at eleven in the morning?
+Go! And do not ruin that mantilla, for thou wilt not get another. Thou
+art going to Blandina's, no? Be sure thou goest no farther! I would not
+let thee go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou speakest
+to no man in the street."
+
+"No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits me
+in the house. Hasta luego." And she flitted out of the door and up the
+street.
+
+
+XI
+
+A few hours later Dona Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler sala
+with Captain Brotherton. He read Shakespeare to her whilst she fanned
+herself, her face aglow with intelligent pleasure. She had not broached
+to him the uprising in the South lest it should lead to bitter words.
+Although an American and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood so
+close to her.
+
+He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia entered the room. Dona
+Eustaquia's heavy brows met.
+
+"Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk with on the street," she
+said in Spanish.
+
+"But, mamacita, he is my husband. We were married this morning at
+Blandina's," Excitement had tuned Benicia's spirit to its accustomed
+pitch, and her eyes danced with mischief. Moreover, although she
+expected violent reproaches, she knew the tenacious strength of her
+mother's affection, and had faith in speedy forgiveness.
+
+Brotherton opened his eyes, but Dona Eustaquia moved back her head
+impatiently. "That silly joke!" Then she smiled at her own impatience.
+What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled children would disobey
+at times. "Welcome, my son," she said to Russell, extending her hand.
+"We celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and the Captain
+helps us, no? my friend."
+
+"Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato sauce," cried Russell.
+"And rice with saffron; and that delightful dish with which I
+remonstrate all night--olives and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and red
+peppers all rolled up in corn-meal cakes."
+
+"Enchiladas? You have them! Now, both you go over to the corner and talk
+not loud, for I wish to hear my friend read."
+
+Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bidden. Benicia, with a
+gay laugh, kissed her mother and flitted like a butterfly about the
+room, singing gay little snatches of song.
+
+"Oh, mamacita, mamacita," she chanted. "Thou wilt not believe thou hast
+lost thy little daughter. Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son. Thou
+wilt not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass bed--"
+
+"Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue! Sit down!" And this Benicia finally
+consented to do, although smothered laughter came now and again from the
+corner.
+
+Dona Eustaquia sat easily against the straight back of her chair,
+looking very handsome and placid as Brotherton read and expounded "As
+You Like It" to her. Her gown of thin black silk threw out the fine
+gray tones of her skin; about her neck and chest was a heavy chain of
+Californian gold; her dense lustreless hair was held high with a shell
+comb banded with gold; superb jewels weighted her little white hands; in
+her small ears were large hoops of gold studded with black pearls. She
+was perfectly contented in that hour. Her woman's vanity was at peace
+and her eager mind expanding.
+
+The party about the supper table in the evening was very gay. The long
+room was bare, but heavy silver was beyond the glass doors of the
+cupboard; a servant stood behind each chair; the wines were as fine
+as any in America, and the favourite dishes of the Americans had been
+prepared. Even Brotherton, although more nervous than was usual with
+him, caught the contagion of the hour and touched his glass more than
+once to that of the woman whose overwhelming personality had more than
+half captured a most indifferent heart.
+
+After supper they sat on the corridor, and Benicia sang her mocking
+love-songs and danced El Son to the tinkling of her own guitar.
+
+"Is she not a light-hearted child?" asked her mother. "But she has her
+serious moments, my friend. We have been like the sisters. Every path of
+the pine woods we walk together, arm in arm. We ride miles on the beach
+and sit down on the rocks for hours and try to think what the seals
+say one to the other. Before you come I have friends, but no other
+companion; but it is good for me you come, for she think only of
+flirting since the Americans take Monterey. Mira! Look at her flash the
+eyes at Senor Russell. It is well he has the light heart like herself."
+
+Brotherton made no reply.
+
+"Give to me the guitar," she continued.
+
+Benicia handed her the instrument and Dona Eustaquia swept the chords
+absently for a moment then sang the song of the troubadour. Her rich
+voice was like the rush of the wind through the pines after the light
+trilling of a bird, and even Russell sat enraptured. As she sang the
+colour came into her face, alight with the fire of youth. Her low notes
+were voluptuous, her high notes rang with piercing sadness. As she
+finished, a storm of applause came from Alvarado Street, which pulsed
+with life but a few yards below them.
+
+"No American woman ever sang like that," said Brotherton. He rose and
+walked to the end of the corridor. "But it is a part of Monterey."
+
+"Most enchanting of mothers-in-law," said Russell, "you have made it
+doubly hard for us to leave you; but it grows late and my wife and I
+must go. Good night," and he raised her hand to his lips.
+
+"Good night, my son."
+
+"Mamacita, good night," and Benicia, who had fluttered into the house
+and found a reboso, kissed her mother, waved her hand to Brotherton, and
+stepped from the corridor to the street.
+
+"Come here, senorita!" cried her mother. "No walk to-night, for I have
+not the wish to walk myself."
+
+"But I go with my husband, mamma."
+
+"Oh, no more of that joke without sense! Senor Russell, go home, that
+she have reason for one moment."
+
+"But, dear Dona Eustaquia, won't you understand that we are really
+married?"
+
+Dona Eustaquia's patience was at an end. She turned to Brotherton and
+addressed a remark to him. Russell and Benicia conferred a moment, then
+the young man walked rapidly down the street.
+
+"Has he gone?" asked Dona Eustaquia. "Then let us go in the house, for
+the fog comes from the bay."
+
+They went into the little sala and sat about the table. Dona Eustaquia
+picked up a silver dagger she used as a paper cutter and tapped a book
+with it.
+
+"Ay, this will not last long," she said to Brotherton. "I much am afraid
+your Commodore send you to the South to fight with our men."
+
+"I shall return," said Brotherton, absently. His eyes were fixed on the
+door.
+
+"But it will not be long that you will be there, my friend. Many people
+are not killed in our wars. Once there was a great battle at Point
+Rincon, near Santa Barbara, between Castro and Carillo. Carillo have
+been appointed governor by Mejico, and Alvarado refuse to resign. They
+fight for three days, and Castro manage so well he lose only one man,
+and the others run away and not lose any."
+
+Brotherton laughed. "I hope all our battles may be as bloodless," he
+said, and then drew a short breath.
+
+Russell, accompanied by Don Jorje and Dona Francesca Hernandez and the
+priest of Monterey, entered the room.
+
+Dona Eustaquia rose and greeted her guests with grace and hospitality.
+
+"But I am glad to see you, my father, my friends. And you always are
+welcome, Senor Russell; but no more joke. Where is our Blandina? Sit
+down--Why, what is it?"
+
+The priest spoke.
+
+"I have that to tell you, Dona Eustaquia, which I fear will give you
+great displeasure. I hoped not to be the one to tell it. I was weak to
+consent, but these young people importuned me until I was weary. Dona
+Eustaquia, I married Benicia to the Senor Russell to-day."
+
+Dona Eustaquia's head had moved forward mechanically, her eyes staring
+incredulously from the priest to the other members of the apprehensive
+group. Suddenly her apathy left her, her arm curved upward like the neck
+of a snake; but as she sprang upon Benicia her ferocity was that of a
+tiger.
+
+"What!" she shrieked, shaking the girl violently by the shoulder. "What!
+ingrate! traitor! Thou hast married an American, a Protestant!"
+
+Benicia burst into terrified sobs. Russell swung the girl from her
+mother's grasp and placed his arm around her.
+
+"She is mine now," he said. "You must not touch her again."
+
+"Yours! Yours!" screamed Dona Eustaquia, beside herself. "Oh, Mother of
+God!" She snatched the dagger from the table and, springing backward,
+plunged it into the cross.
+
+"By that sign I curse thee," she cried. "Accursed be the man who has
+stolen my child! Accursed be the woman who has betrayed her mother and
+her country! God! God!--I implore thee, let her die in her happiest
+hour."
+
+
+XII
+
+On August twelfth Commodore Hull arrived on the frigate _Warren_, from
+Mazatlan, and brought the first positive intelligence of the declaration
+of war between Mexico and the United States. Before the middle of
+the month news came that Castro and Pico, after gallant defence, but
+overwhelmed by numbers, had fled, the one to Sonora, the other to Baja
+California. A few days after, Stockton issued a proclamation to the
+effect that the flag of the United States was flying over every town
+in the territory of California; and Alcalde Colton announced that the
+rancheros were more than satisfied with the change of government.
+
+A month later a mounted courier dashed into Monterey with a note from
+the Alcalde of Los Angeles, wrapped about a cigarito and hidden in his
+hair. The note contained the information that all the South was in
+arms again, and that Los Angeles was in the hands of the Californians.
+Russell was ordered to go with Captain Mervine, on the _Savannah_,
+to join Gillespie at San Pedro; Brotherton was left at Monterey with
+Lieutenant Maddox and a number of men to quell a threatened uprising.
+Later came the news of Mervine's defeat and the night of Talbot from
+Santa Barbara; and by November California was in a state of general
+warfare, each army receiving new recruits every day.
+
+Dona Eustaquia, hard and stern, praying for the triumph of her people,
+lived alone in the old house. Benicia, praying for the return of her
+husband and the relenting of her mother, lived alone in her little house
+on the hill. Friends had interceded, but Dona Eustaquia had closed her
+ears. Brotherton went to her one day with the news that Lieutenant
+Russell was wounded.
+
+"I must tell Benicia," he said, "but it is you who should do that."
+
+"She betray me, my friend."
+
+"Oh, Eustaquia, make allowance for the lightness of youth. She barely
+realized what she did. But she loves him now, and suffers bitterly. She
+should be with you."
+
+"Ay! She suffer for another! She love a strange man--an American--better
+than her mother! And it is I who would die for her! Ay, you cold
+Americans! Never you know how a mother can love her child."
+
+"The Americans know how to love, senora. And Benicia was thoroughly
+spoiled by her devoted mother. She was carried away by her wild spirits,
+nothing more."
+
+"Then much better she live on them now."
+
+Dona Eustaquia sat with her profile against the light. It looked severe
+and a little older, but she was very handsome in her rich black gown and
+the gold chain about her strong throat. Her head, as usual, was held a
+little back. Brotherton sat down beside her and took her hand.
+
+"Eustaquia," he said, "no friendship between man and woman was ever
+deeper and stronger than ours. In spite of the anxiety and excitement of
+these last months we have found time to know each other very intimately.
+So you will forgive me if I tell you that the more a friend loves you
+the more he must be saddened by the terrible iron in your nature. Only
+the great strength of your passions has saved you from hardening into an
+ugly and repellent woman. You are a mother; forgive your child; remember
+that she, too, is about to be a mother--"
+
+She caught his hand between both of hers with a passionate gesture. "Oh,
+my friend," she said, "do not too much reproach me! You never have a
+child, you cannot know! And remember we all are not make alike. If you
+are me, you act like myself. If I am you, I can forgive more easy. But
+I am Eustaquia Ortega, and as I am make, so I do feel now. No judge too
+hard, my friend, and--_infelez de mi!_ do not forsake me."
+
+"I will never forsake you, Eustaquia." He rose suddenly. "I, too, am a
+lonely man, if not a hard one, and I recognize that cry of the soul's
+isolation."
+
+He left her and went up the hill to Benicia's little house, half hidden
+by the cypress trees that grew before it.
+
+She was sitting in her sala working an elaborate deshalados on a baby's
+gown. Her face was pale, and the sparkle had gone out of it; but she
+held herself with all her mother's pride, and her soft eyes were deeper.
+She rose as Captain Brotherton entered, and took his hand in both of
+hers. "You are so good to come to me, and I love you for your friendship
+for my mother. Tell me how she is."
+
+"She is well, Benicia." Then he exclaimed suddenly: "Poor little girl!
+What a child you are--not yet seventeen."
+
+"In a few months, senor. Sit down. No? And I no am so young now. When we
+suffer we grow more than by the years; and now I go to have the baby,
+that make me feel very old."
+
+"But it is very sad to see you alone like this, without your husband or
+your mother. She will relent some day, Benicia, but I wish she would do
+it now, when you most need her."
+
+"Yes, I wish I am with her in the old house," said the girl,
+pathetically, although she winked back the tears. "Never I can be happy
+without her, even si _he_ is here, and you know how I love him. But I
+have love her so long; she is--how you say it?--like she is part of me,
+and when she no spik to me, how I can be happy with all myself when part
+is gone. You understand, senor?"
+
+"Yes, Benicia, I understand." He looked through the bending cypresses,
+down the hill, upon the fair town. He had no relish for the task which
+had brought him to her. She looked up and caught the expression of his
+face.
+
+"Senor!" she cried sharply. "What you go to tell me?"
+
+"There is a report that Ned is slightly wounded; but it is not serious.
+It was Altimira who did it, I believe."
+
+She shook from head to foot, but was calmer than he had expected. She
+laid the gown on a chair and stood up. "Take me to him. Si he is wound,
+I go to nurse him."
+
+"My child! You would die before you got there. I have sent a special
+courier to find out the truth. If Ned is wounded, I have arranged to
+have him sent home immediately."
+
+"I wait for the courier come back, for it no is right I hurt the baby si
+I can help. But si he is wound so bad he no can come, then I go to him.
+It no is use for you to talk at all, senor, I go."
+
+Brotherton looked at her in wonderment. Whence had the butterfly gone?
+Its wings had been struck from it and a soul had flown in.
+
+"Let me send Blandina to you," he said. "You must not be alone."
+
+"I am alone till he or my mother come. I no want other. I love Blandina
+before, but now she make me feel tired. She talk so much and no say
+anything. I like better be alone."
+
+"Poor child!" said Brotherton, bitterly, "truly do love and suffering
+age and isolate." He motioned with his hand to the altar in her bedroom,
+seen through the open door. "I have not your faith, I am afraid I have
+not much of any; but if I cannot pray for you, I can wish with all the
+strength of a man's heart that happiness will come to you yet, Benicia."
+
+She shook her head. "I no know; I no believe much happiness come in
+this life. Before, I am like a fairy; but it is only because I no am
+_un_happy. But when the heart have wake up, senor, and the knife have
+gone in hard, then, after that, always, I think, we are a little sad."
+
+
+XIII
+
+General Kearney and Lieutenant Beale walked rapidly up and down before
+the tents of the wretched remnant of United States troops with which the
+former had arrived overland in California. It was bitterly cold in spite
+of the fine drizzling rain. Lonely buttes studded the desert, whose
+palms and cacti seemed to spring from the rocks; high on one of them was
+the American camp. On the other side of a river flowing at the foot of
+the butte, the white tents of the Californians were scattered among the
+dark huts of the little pueblo of San Pasqual.
+
+"Let me implore you, General," said Beale, "not to think of meeting
+Andres Pico. Why, your men are half starved; your few horses are
+broken-winded; your mules are no match for the fresh trained mustangs of
+the enemy. I am afraid you do not appreciate the Californians. They are
+numerous, brave, and desperate. If you avoid them now, as Commodore
+Stockton wishes, and join him at San Diego, we stand a fair chance
+of defeating them. But now Pico's cavalry and foot are fresh and
+enthusiastic--in painful contrast to yours. And, moreover, they know
+every inch of the ground."
+
+Kearney impatiently knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He had little
+regard for Stockton, and no intention of being dictated to by a
+truculent young lieutenant who spoke his mind upon all occasions.
+
+"I shall attack them at daybreak," he said curtly. "I have one hundred
+and thirty good men; and has not Captain Gillespie joined me with his
+battalion? Never shall it be said that I turned aside to avoid a handful
+of boasting Californians. Now go and get an hour's sleep before we
+start."
+
+The young officer shrugged his shoulders, saluted, and walked down
+the line of tents. A man emerged from one of them, and he recognized
+Russell.
+
+"Hello, Ned," he said. "How's the arm?"
+
+"'Twas only a scratch. Is Altimira down there with Pico, do you know? He
+is a brave fellow! I respect that man; but we have an account to settle,
+and I hope it will be done on the battle-field."
+
+"He is with Pico, and he has done some good fighting. Most of the
+Californians have. They know how to fight and they are perfectly
+fearless. Kearney will find it out to-morrow. He is mad to attack them.
+Why, his men are actually cadaverous. Bueno! as they say here; Stockton
+sent me to guide him to San Diego. If he prefers to go through the
+enemy's lines, there is nothing for me to do but take him."
+
+"Yes, but we may surprise them. I wish to God this imitation war were
+over!"
+
+"It will be real enough before you get through. Don't worry. Well, good
+night. Luck to your skin."
+
+At daybreak the little army marched down the butte, shivering with cold,
+wet to the skin. Those on horseback naturally proceeded more rapidly
+than those mounted upon the clumsy stubborn mules; and Captain Johnson,
+who led the advance guard of twelve dragoons, found himself, when he
+came in sight of the enemy's camp, some distance ahead of the main body
+of Kearney's small army. To his surprise he saw that the Californians
+were not only awake, but horsed and apparently awaiting him. Whether he
+was fired by valour or desperation at the sight is a disputed point;
+but he made a sudden dash down the hill and across the river, almost
+flinging himself upon the lances of the Californians.
+
+Captain Moore, who was ambling down the hill on an old white horse at
+the head of fifty dragoons mounted on mules, spurred his beast as he
+witnessed the foolish charge of the advance, and arrived upon the field
+in time to see Johnson fall dead and to take his place. Pico, seeing
+that reenforcements were coming, began to retreat, followed hotly by
+Moore and the horsed dragoons. Suddenly, however, Fernando Altimira
+raised himself in his stirrups, looked back, laughed and galloped across
+the field to General Pico.
+
+"Look!" he said. "Only a few men on horses are after us. The mules are
+stumbling half a mile behind."
+
+Pico wheeled about, gave the word of command, and bore down upon the
+Americans. Then followed a hand-to-hand conflict, the Californians
+lancing and using their pistols with great dexterity, the Americans
+doing the best they could with their rusty sabres and clubbed guns.
+
+They were soon reenforced by Moore's dragoons and Gillespie's battalion,
+despite the unwilling mules; but the brutes kicked and bucked at every
+pistol shot and fresh cloud of smoke. The poor old horses wheezed and
+panted, but stood their ground when not flung out of position by the
+frantic mules. The officers and soldiers of the United States army were
+a sorry sight, and in pointed contrast to the graceful Californians on
+their groomed steeds, handsomely trapped, curvetting and rearing and
+prancing as lightly as if on the floor of a circus. Kearney cursed his
+own stupidity, and Pico laughed in his face. Beale felt satisfaction and
+compunction in saturating the silk and silver of one fine saddle with
+the blood of its owner. The point of the dying man's lance pierced his
+face, but he noted the bleaching of Kearney's, as one dragoon after
+another was flung upon the sharp rocks over which his bewildered brute
+stumbled, or was caught and held aloft in the torturing arms of the
+cacti.
+
+On the edge of the battle two men had forgotten the Aztec Eagle and the
+Stars and Stripes; they fought for love of a woman. Neither had had time
+to draw his pistol; they fought with lance and sabre, thrusting and
+parrying. Both were skilful swordsmen, but Altimira's horse was far
+superior to Russell's, and he had the advantage of weapons.
+
+"One or the other die on the rocks," said the Californian, "and si I
+kill you, I marry Benicia."
+
+Russell made no reply. He struck aside the man's lance and wounded his
+wrist. But Altimira was too excited to feel pain. His face was quivering
+with passion.
+
+It is not easy to parry a lance with a sabre, and still more difficult
+to get close enough to wound the man who wields it. Russell rose
+suddenly in his stirrups, described a rapid half-circle with his weapon,
+brought it down midway upon the longer blade, and snapped the latter in
+two. Altimira gave a cry of rage, and spurring his horse sought to ride
+his opponent down; but Russell wheeled, and the two men simultaneously
+snatched their pistols from the holsters. Altimira fired first, but his
+hand was unsteady and his ball went through a cactus. Russell raised
+his pistol with firm wrist, and discharged it full in the face of the
+Californian.
+
+Then he looked over the field. Moore, fatally lanced, lay under a palm,
+and many of his men were about him. Gillespie was wounded, Kearney had
+received an ugly thrust. The Californians, upon the arrival of the main
+body of the enemy's troops, had retreated unpursued; the mules attached
+to one of the American howitzers were scampering over to the opposite
+ranks, much to the consternation of Kearney. The sun, looking over the
+mountain, dissipated the gray smoke, and cast a theatrical light on the
+faces of the dead. Russell bent over Altimira. His head was shattered,
+but his death was avenged. Never had an American troop suffered a more
+humiliating defeat. Only six Californians lay on the field; and when
+the American surgeon, after attending to his own wounded, offered his
+services to Pico's, that indomitable general haughtily replied that he
+had none.
+
+"By Jove!" said Russell to Beale that night, "you know your
+Californians! I am prouder than ever of having married one! That army is
+of the stuff of which my mother-in-law is made!"
+
+
+XIV
+
+That was a gay Christmas at Monterey, despite the barricades in the
+street. News had come of the defeat of Kearney at San Pasqual, and the
+Monterenos, inflated with hope and pride, gave little thought to the
+fact that his forces were now joined with Stockton's at San Diego.
+
+On Christmas eve light streamed from every window, bonfires flared on
+the hills; the streets were illuminated, and every one was abroad. The
+clear warm night was ablaze with fireworks; men and women were in their
+gala gowns; rockets shot upward amidst shrieks of delight which mingled
+oddly with the rolling of drums at muster; even the children caught the
+enthusiasm, religious and patriotic.
+
+"I suppose you would be glad to see even your friends driven out," said
+Brotherton to Dona Eustaquia, as they walked through the brilliant town
+toward the church: bells called them to witness the dramatic play of
+"The Shepherds."
+
+"I be glad to see the impertinent flag come down," said she, frankly;
+"but you can make resignation from the army, and have a little store on
+Alvarado Street. You can have beautiful silks and crepes from America. I
+buy of you."
+
+"Thanks," he said grimly. "You would put a dunce cap on poor America,
+and stand her in a corner. If I resign, Dona Eustaquia, it will be to
+become a ranchero, not a shopkeeper. To tell the truth, I have little
+desire to leave California again."
+
+"But you were make for the fight," she said, looking up with some pride
+at the tall military figure, the erect head and strong features. "You
+not were make to lie in the hammock and horseback all day."
+
+"But I should do a good deal else, senora. I should raise cattle with
+some method; and I should have a library--and a wife."
+
+"Ah! you go to marry?"
+
+"Some day, I hope. It would be lonely to be a ranchero without a wife."
+
+"Truly."
+
+"What is the matter with those women?"
+
+A group of old women stood by the roadside. Their forms were bent, their
+brown faces gnarled like apples. Some were a shapeless mass of fat,
+others were parchment and bone; about the head and shoulders of each was
+a thick black shawl. Near them stood a number of young girls clad in
+muslin petticoats, flowered with purple and scarlet. Bright satin shoes
+were on their feet, cotton rebosas covered their pretty, pert little
+heads. All were looking in one direction, whispering and crossing
+themselves.
+
+Dona Eustaquia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned heavily on
+Brotherton's arm.
+
+"It is Benicia," she said. "It is because she was cursed and is with
+child that they cross themselves."
+
+Brotherton held her arm closely and laid his hand on hers, but he spoke
+sternly.
+
+"The curse is not likely to do her any harm. You prayed that she should
+die when happiest, and you have done your best to make her wretched."
+
+She did not reply, and they walked slowly onward. Benicia followed,
+leaning on the arm of an Indian servant. Her friends avoided her, for
+they bitterly resented Altimira's death. But she gave them little
+regret. Since her husband could not be with her on this Christmas eve,
+she wished only for reconciliation with her mother. In spite of the
+crowd she followed close behind Dona Eustaquia and Brotherton, holding
+her head proudly, but ready to fall at the feet of the woman she
+worshipped.
+
+"My friend," said Dona Eustaquia, after a moment, "perhaps it is best
+that I do not forgive her. Were she happy, then might the curse come
+true."
+
+"She has enough else to make her unhappy. Besides, who ever heard of
+a curse coming true? It has worked its will already for the matter of
+that. You kept your child from happiness with her husband during the
+brief time she had him. The bitterness of death is a small matter beside
+the bitterness of life. You should be satisfied."
+
+"You are hard, my friend."
+
+"I see your other faults only to respect and love them."
+
+"Does she look ill, Captain?"
+
+"She cannot be expected to look like the old Benicia. Of course she
+looks ill, and needs care."
+
+"Look over the shoulder. Does she walk heavily?"
+
+"Very. But as haughtily as do you."
+
+"Talk of other things for a little while, my friend."
+
+"Truly there is much to claim the interest to-night. This may be an old
+scene to you, but it is novel and fascinating to me. How lovely are
+those stately girls, half hidden by their rebosas, telling their beads
+as they hurry along. It is the very coquetry of religion. And those--But
+here we are."
+
+The church was handsomer without than within, for the clever old
+padres that built it had more taste than their successors. About the
+whitewashed walls of the interior were poor copies of celebrated
+paintings--the Passion of Christ, and an extraordinary group of nude
+women and grinning men representing the temptation of St. Anthony. In a
+glass case a beautiful figure of the Saviour reclined on a stiff couch
+clumsily covered with costly stuffs. The Virgin was dressed much like
+the aristocratic ladies of Monterey, and the altar was a rainbow of
+tawdry colours.
+
+But the ceremonies were interesting, and Brotherton forgot Benicia for
+the hour. After the mass the priest held out a small waxen image of the
+infant Jesus, and all approached and kissed it. Then from without came
+the sound of a guitar; the worshippers arose and ranged themselves
+against the wall; six girls dressed as shepherdesses; a man representing
+Lucifer; two others, a hermit and the lazy vagabond Bartola; a boy, the
+archangel Gabriel, entered the church. They bore banners and marched
+to the centre of the building, then acted their drama with religious
+fervour.
+
+The play began with the announcement by Gabriel of the birth of the
+Saviour, and exhortations to repair to the manger. On the road came
+the temptation of Lucifer; the archangel appeared once more; a violent
+altercation ensued in which all took part, and finally the prince of
+darkness was routed. Songs and fanciful by-play, brief sermons, music,
+gay and solemn, diversified the strange performance. When all was over,
+the players were followed by an admiring crowd to the entertainment
+awaiting them.
+
+"Is it not beautiful--our Los Pastores?" demanded Dona Eustaquia,
+looking up at Brotherton, her fine face aglow with enthusiasm. "Do not
+you feel the desire to be a Catholic, my friend?"
+
+"Rather would I see two good Catholics united, dear senora," and he
+turned suddenly to Benicia, who also had remained in the church, almost
+at her mother's side.
+
+"Mamacita!" cried Benicia.
+
+Dona Eustaquia opened her arms and caught the girl passionately to her
+heart; and Brotherton left the church.
+
+
+XV
+
+The April flowers were on the hills. Beds of gold-red poppies and
+silver-blue baby eyes were set like tiles amidst the dense green
+undergrowth beneath the pines, and on the natural lawns about the white
+houses. Although hope of driving forth the intruder had gone forever in
+January, Monterey had resumed in part her old gayety; despair had bred
+philosophy. But Monterey was Monterey no longer. An American alcalde
+with a power vested in no judge of the United States ruled over her; to
+add injury to insult, he had started a newspaper. The town was full of
+Americans; the United States was constructing a fort on the hill; above
+all, worse than all, the Californians were learning the value of money.
+Their sun was sloping to the west.
+
+A thick India shawl hung over the window of Benicia's old room in her
+mother's house, shutting out the perfume of the hills. A carpet had been
+thrown on the floor, candles burned in the pretty gold candlesticks that
+had stood on the altar since Benicia's childhood. On the little brass
+bedstead lay Benicia, very pale and very pretty, her transparent skin
+faintly reflecting the pink of the satin coverlet. By the bed sat an old
+woman of the people. Her ragged white locks were bound about by a fillet
+of black silk; her face, dark as burnt umber, was seamed and lined like
+a withered prune; even her long broad nose was wrinkled; her dull eyes
+looked like mud-puddles; her big underlip was pursed up as if she had
+been speaking mincing words, and her chin was covered with a short white
+stubble. Over her coarse smock and gown she wore a black cotton reboso.
+In her arms she held an infant, muffled in a white lace mantilla.
+
+Dona Eustaquia came in and bent over the baby, her strong face alight
+with joy.
+
+"Didst thou ever nurse so beautiful a baby?" she demanded.
+
+The old woman grunted; she had heard that question before.
+
+"See how pink and smooth it is--not red and wrinkled like other babies!
+How becoming is that mantilla! No, she shall not be wrapped in blankets,
+cap, and shawls."
+
+"She catch cold, most likely," grunted the nurse.
+
+"In this weather? No; it is soft as midsummer. I cannot get cool. Ay,
+she looks like a rosebud lying in a fog-bank!" She touched the baby's
+cheek with her finger, then sat on the bed, beside her daughter.
+"And how dost thou feel, my little one? Thou wert a baby thyself but
+yesterday, and thou art not much more to-day."
+
+"I feel perfectly well, my mother, and--ay, Dios, so happy! Where is
+Edourdo?"
+
+"Of course! Always the husband! They are all alike! Hast thou not thy
+mother and thy baby?"
+
+"I adore you both, mamacita, but I want Edourdo. Where is he?"
+
+Her mother grimaced. "I suppose it is no use to protest. Well, my little
+one, I think he is at this moment on the hill with Lieutenant Ord."
+
+"Why did he not come to see me before he went out?"
+
+"He did, my daughter, but thou wert asleep. He kissed thee and stole
+away."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Right there on your cheek, one inch below your eyelashes."
+
+"When will he return?"
+
+"Holy Mary! For dinner, surely, and that will be in an hour."
+
+"When can I get up?"
+
+"In another week. Thou art so well! I would not have thee draw too
+heavily on thy little strength. Another month and thou wilt not remember
+that thou hast been ill. Then we will go to the rancho, where thou and
+thy little one will have sun all day and no fog."
+
+"Have I not a good husband, mamacita?"
+
+"Yes; I love him like my own son. Had he been unkind to thee, I should
+have killed him with my own hands; but as he has his lips to thy little
+slipper, I forgive him for being an American."
+
+"And you no longer wish for a necklace of American ears! Oh, mamma!"
+
+Dona Eustaquia frowned, then sighed. "I do not know the American head
+for which I have not more like than hate, and they are welcome to their
+ears; but _the spirit_ of that wish is in my heart yet, my child. Our
+country has been taken from us; we are aliens in our own land; it is the
+American's. They--holy God!--permit us to live here!"
+
+"But they like us better than their own women."
+
+"Perhaps; they are men and like what they have not had too long."
+
+"Mamacita, I am thirsty."
+
+"What wilt thou have? A glass of water?"
+
+"Water has no taste."
+
+"I know!"
+
+Dona Eustaquia left the room and returned with an orange. "This will be
+cool and pleasant on so warm a day. It is just a little sour," she said;
+but the nurse raised her bony hand.
+
+"Do not give her that," she said in her harsh voice. "It is too soon."
+
+"Nonsense! The baby is two weeks old. Why, I ate fruit a week after
+childing. Look how dry her mouth is! It will do her good."
+
+She pared the orange and gave it to Benicia, who ate it gratefully.
+
+"It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me always, but that is because
+you are so good. And one day I hope you will be as happy as your little
+daughter; for there are other good Americans in the world. No? mamma. I
+think--Mamacita!"
+
+She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curving rigidly; her soft
+brown eyes stared horribly; froth gathered about her mouth; she gasped
+once or twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms that strove to
+hold it, then fell limply down, her features relaxing.
+
+"She is dead," said the nurse.
+
+"Benicia!" whispered Dona Eustaquia. "Benicia!"
+
+"You have killed her," said the old woman, as she drew the mantilla
+about the baby's face.
+
+Dona Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. She
+put out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and from
+thence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her.
+
+"Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! _My dear_! What has happened? What--"
+
+She raised her hand and pointed to the cross. The mark of the dagger was
+still there.
+
+"Benicia!" she uttered. "The curse!" and then she fell at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+THE WASH-TUB MAIL
+
+
+PART I
+
+"Mariquita! Thou good-for-nothing, thou art wringing that smock in
+pieces! Thy senora will beat thee! Holy heaven, but it is hot!"
+
+"For that reason I hurry, old Faquita. Were I as slow as thou, I should
+cook in my own tallow."
+
+"Aha, thou art very clever! But I have no wish to go back to the rancho
+and wash for the cooks. Ay, yi! I wonder will La Tulita ever give me her
+bridal clothes to wash. I have no faith that little flirt will marry the
+Senor Don Ramon Garcia. He did not well to leave Monterey until after
+the wedding. And to think--Ay! yi!"
+
+"Thou hast a big letter for the wash-tub mail, Faquita."
+
+"Aha, my Francesca, thou hast interest! I thought thou wast thinking
+only of the bandits."
+
+Francesca, who was holding a plunging child between her knees, actively
+inspecting its head, grunted but did not look up, and the oracle of
+the wash-tubs, provokingly, with slow movements of her knotted
+coffee-coloured arms, flapped a dainty skirt, half-covered with drawn
+work, before she condescended to speak further.
+
+Twenty women or more, young and old, dark as pine cones, stooped or sat,
+knelt or stood, about deep stone tubs sunken in the ground at the foot
+of a hill on the outskirts of Monterey. The pines cast heavy shadows on
+the long slope above them, but the sun was overhead. The little white
+town looked lifeless under its baking red tiles, at this hour of
+siesta. On the blue bay rode a warship flying the American colours. The
+atmosphere was so clear, the view so uninterrupted, that the younger
+women fancied they could read the name on the prow: the town was on the
+right; between the bay and the tubs lay only the meadow, the road, the
+lake, and the marsh. A few yards farther down the road rose a hill where
+white slabs and crosses gleamed beneath the trees. The roar of the surf
+came refreshingly to their hot ears. It leaped angrily, they fancied, to
+the old fort on the hill where men in the uniform of the United States
+moved about with unsleeping vigilance. It was the year 1847. The
+Americans had come and conquered. War was over, but the invaders guarded
+their new possessions.
+
+The women about the tubs still bitterly protested against the downfall
+of California, still took an absorbing interest in all matters,
+domestic, social, and political. For those old women with grizzled locks
+escaping from a cotton handkerchief wound bandwise about their heads,
+their ample forms untrammelled by the flowing garment of calico, those
+girls in bright skirts and white short-sleeved smock and young hair
+braided, knew all the news of the country, past and to come, many hours
+in advance of the dons and donas whose linen they washed in the great
+stone tubs: the Indians, domestic and roving, were their faithful
+friends.
+
+"Sainted Mary, but thou art more slow than a gentleman that walks!"
+cried Mariquita, an impatient-looking girl. "Read us the letter. La
+Tulita is the prettiest girl in Monterey now that the Senorita Ysabel
+Herrera lies beneath the rocks, and Benicia Ortega has died of her
+childing. But she is a flirt--that Tulita! Four of the Gringos are under
+her little slipper this year, and she turn over the face and roll in the
+dirt. But Don Ramon, so handsome, so rich--surely she will marry him."
+
+Faquita shook her head slowly and wisely. "There--come
+--yesterday--from--the--South--a--young--lieutenant--of--America." She
+paused a moment, then proceeded leisurely, though less provokingly. "He
+come over the great American deserts with General Kearney last year and
+help our men to eat the dust in San Diego. He come only yesterday to
+Monterey, and La Tulita is like a little wild-cat ever since. She box my
+ears this morning when I tell her that the Americans are bandoleros, and
+say she never marry a Californian. And never Don Ramon Garcia, ay, yi!"
+
+By this time the fine linen was floating at will upon the water, or
+lying in great heaps at the bottom of the clear pools. The suffering
+child scampered up through the pines with whoops of delight. The
+washing-women were pressed close about Faquita, who stood with thumbs on
+her broad hips, the fingers contracting and snapping as she spoke, wisps
+of hair bobbing back and forth about her shrewd black eyes and scolding
+mouth.
+
+"Who is he? Where she meet him?" cried the audience. "Oh, thou old
+carreta! Why canst thou not talk faster?"
+
+"If thou hast not more respect, Senorita Mariquita, thou wilt hear
+nothing. But it is this. There is a ball last night at Dona Maria
+Ampudia's house for La Tulita. She look handsome, that witch! Holy Mary!
+When she walk it was like the tule in the river. You know. Why she have
+that name? She wear white, of course, but that frock--it is like the
+cobweb, the cloud. She has not the braids like the other girls, but the
+hair, soft like black feathers, fall down to the feet. And the eyes like
+blue stars! You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so long, and
+black like the hair. And the sparkle! No eyes ever sparkle like those.
+The eyes of Ysabel Herrera look like they want the world and never
+can get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the child's. But La
+Tulita's! They sparkle like the devil sit behind and strike fire out
+red-hot iron--"
+
+"Mother of God!" cried Mariquita, impatiently, "we all know thou art
+daft about that witch! And we know how she looks. Tell us the story."
+
+"Hush thy voice or thou wilt hear nothing. It is this way. La Tulita
+have the castanets and just float up and down the sala, while all stand
+back and no breathe only when they shout. I am in the garden in the
+middle the house, and I stand on a box and look through the doors. Ay,
+the roses and the nasturtiums smell so sweet in that little garden!
+Well! She dance so beautiful, I think the roof go to jump off so she can
+float up and live on one the gold stars all by herself. Her little feet
+just twinkle! Well! The door open and Lieutenant Ord come in. He have
+with him another young man, not so handsome, but so straight, so sharp
+eye and tight mouth. He look at La Tulita like he think she belong to
+America and is for him. Lieutenant Ord go up to Dona Maria and say, so
+polite: 'I take the liberty to bring Lieutenant'--I no can remember that
+name, so American! 'He come to-day from San Diego and will stay with us
+for a while.' And Dona Maria, she smile and say, very sweet, 'Very glad
+when I have met all of our conquerors.' And he turn red and speak very
+bad Spanish and look, look, at La Tulita. Then Lieutenant Ord speak to
+him in English and he nod the head, and Lieutenant Ord tell Dona Maria
+that his friend like be introduced to La Tulita, and she say, 'Very
+well,' and take him over to her who is now sit down. He ask her to waltz
+right away, and he waltz very well, and then they dance again, and once
+more. And then they sit down and talk, talk. God of my soul, but the
+caballeros are mad! And Dona Maria! By and by she can stand it no more
+and she go up to La Tulita and take away from the American and say, 'Do
+you forget--and for a bandolero--that you are engage to my nephew?' And
+La Tulita toss the head and say: 'How can I remember Ramon Garcia when
+he is in Yerba Buena? I forget he is alive.' And Dona Maria is very
+angry. The eyes snap. But just then the little sister of La Tulita run
+into the sala, the face red like the American flag. 'Ay, Herminia!' she
+just gasp. 'The donas! The donas! It has come!'"
+
+"The donas!" cried the washing-women, old and young. "Didst thou see
+it, Faquita? Oh, surely. Tell us, what did he send? Is he a generous
+bridegroom? Were there jewels? And satins? Of what was the rosary?"
+
+"Hush the voice or you will hear nothing. The girls all jump and clap
+their hands and they cry: 'Come, Herminia. Come quick! Let us go and
+see.' Only La Tulita hold the head very high and look like the donas is
+nothing to her, and the Lieutenant look very surprise, and she talk to
+him very fast like she no want him to know what they mean. But the girls
+just take her hands and pull her out the house. I am after. La Tulita
+look very mad, but she cannot help, and in five minutes we are at the
+Casa Rivera, and the girls scream and clap the hands in the sala for
+Dona Carmen she have unpack the donas and the beautiful things are on
+the tables and the sofas and the chairs, Mother of God!"
+
+"Go on! Go on!" cried a dozen exasperated voices.
+
+"Well! Such a donas. Ay, he is a generous lover. A yellow crepe shawl
+embroidered with red roses. A white one with embroidery so thick it can
+stand up. A string of pearls from Baja California. (Ay, poor Ysabel
+Herrera!) Hoops of gold for the little ears of La Tulita. A big chain
+of California gold. A set of topaz with pearls all round. A rosary of
+amethyst--purple like the violets. A big pin painted with the Ascension,
+and diamonds all round. Silks and satins for gowns. A white lace
+mantilla, Dios de mi alma! A black one for the visits. And the
+night-gowns like cobwebs. The petticoats!" She stopped abruptly.
+
+"And the smocks?" cried her listeners, excitedly. "The smocks? They are
+more beautiful than Blandina's? They were pack in rose-leaves--"
+
+"Ay! yi! yi! yi!" The old woman dropped her head on her breast and waved
+her arms. She was a study for despair. Even she did not suspect how
+thoroughly she was enjoying herself.
+
+"What! What! Tell us! Quick, thou old snail. They were not fine? They
+had not embroidery?"
+
+"Hush the voices. I tell you when I am ready. The girls are like crazy.
+They look like they go to eat the things. Only La Tulita sit on the
+chair in the door with her back to all and look at the windows of Dona
+Maria. They look like a long row of suns, those windows.
+
+"I am the one. Suddenly I say: 'Where are the smocks?' And they all cry:
+'Yes, where are the smocks? Let us see if he will be a good husband.
+Dona Carmen, where are the smocks?'
+
+"Dona Carmen turn over everything in a hurry. 'I did not think of the
+smocks,' she say. 'But they must be here. Everything was unpack in this
+room.' She lift all up, piece by piece. The girls help and so do I.
+La Tulita sit still but begin to look more interested. We search
+everywhere--everywhere--for twenty minutes. There--are--no--smocks!"
+
+"God of my life! The smocks! He did not forget!"
+
+"He forget the smocks!"
+
+There was an impressive pause. The women were too dumfounded to comment.
+Never in the history of Monterey had such a thing happened before.
+
+Faquita continued: "The girls sit down on the floor and cry. Dona Carmen
+turn very white and go in the other room. Then La Tulita jump up and
+walk across the room. The lashes fall down over the eyes that look like
+she is California and have conquer America, not the other way. The
+nostrils just jump. She laugh, laugh, laugh. 'So!' she say, 'my rich and
+generous and ardent bridegroom, he forget the smocks of the donas. He
+proclaim as if by a poster on the streets that he will be a bad husband,
+a thoughtless, careless, indifferent husband. He has vow by the stars
+that he adore me. He has serenade beneath my window until I have beg for
+mercy. He persecute my mother. And now he flings the insult of insults
+in my teeth. And he with six married sisters!'
+
+"The girls just sob. They can say nothing. No woman forgive that. Then
+she say loud, 'Ana,' and the girl run in. 'Ana,' she say, 'pack this
+stuff and tell Jose and Marcos take it up to the house of the Senor Don
+Ramon Garcia. I have no use for it.' Then she say to me: 'Faquita, walk
+back to Dona Maria's with me, no? I have engagement with the American.'
+And I go with her, of course; I think I go jump in the bay if she tell
+me; and she dance all night with that American. He no look at another
+girl--all have the eyes so red, anyhow. And Dona Maria is crazy that her
+nephew do such a thing, and La Tulita no go to marry him now. Ay, that
+witch! She have the excuse and she take it."
+
+For a few moments the din was so great that the crows in a neighbouring
+grove of willows sped away in fear. The women talked all at once, at
+the top of their voices and with no falling inflections. So rich an
+assortment of expletives, secular and religious, such individuality yet
+sympathy of comment, had not been called upon for duty since the seventh
+of July, a year before, when Commodore Sloat had run up the American
+flag on the Custom-house. Finally they paused to recover breath.
+Mariquita's young lungs being the first to refill, she demanded of
+Faquita:--
+
+"And Don Ramon--when does he return?"
+
+"In two weeks, no sooner."
+
+
+PART II
+
+Two weeks later they were again gathered about the tubs.
+
+For a time after arrival they forgot La Tulita--now the absorbing topic
+of Monterey--in a new sensation. Mariquita had appeared with a basket of
+unmistakable American underwear.
+
+"What!" cried Faquita, shrilly. "Thou wilt defile these tubs with the
+linen of bandoleros? Hast thou had thy silly head turned with a kiss?
+Not one shirt shall go in this water."
+
+Mariquita tossed her head defiantly. "Captain Brotherton say the Indian
+women break his clothes in pieces. They know not how to wash anything
+but dish-rags. And does he not go to marry our Dona Eustaquia?"
+
+"The Captain is not so bad," admitted Faquita. The indignation of the
+others also visibly diminished: the Captain had been very kind the year
+before when gloom lay heavy on the town. "But," continued the autocrat,
+with an ominous pressing of her lips, "sure he must change three times a
+day. Is all that Captain Brotherton's?"
+
+"He wear many shirts," began Mariquita, when Faquita pounced upon the
+basket and shook its contents to the grass.
+
+"Aha! It seems that the Captain has sometimes the short legs and
+sometimes the long. Sometimes he put the tucks in his arms, I suppose.
+What meaning has this? Thou monster of hypocrisy!"
+
+The old women scowled and snorted. The girls looked sympathetic: more
+than one midshipman had found favour in the lower quarter.
+
+"Well," said Mariquita, sullenly, "if thou must know, it is the linen of
+the Lieutenant of La Tulita. Ana ask me to wash it, and I say I will."
+
+At this announcement Faquita squared her elbows and looked at Mariquita
+with snapping eyes.
+
+"Oho, senorita, I suppose thou wilt say next that thou knowest what
+means this flirtation! Has La Tulita lost her heart, perhaps? And Don
+Ramon--dost thou know why he leaves Monterey one hour after he comes?"
+Her tone was sarcastic, but in it was a note of apprehension.
+
+Mariquita tossed her head, and all pressed close about the rivals.
+
+"What dost thou know, this time?" inquired the girl, provokingly. "Hast
+thou any letter to read today? Thou dost forget, old Faquita, that Ana
+is my friend--"
+
+"Throw the clothes in the tubs," cried Faquita, furiously. "Do we come
+here to idle and gossip? Mariquita, thou hussy, go over to that tub by
+thyself and wash the impertinent American rags. Quick. No more talk. The
+sun goes high."
+
+No one dared to disobey the queen of the tubs, and in a moment the women
+were kneeling in irregular rows, tumbling their linen into the water,
+the brown faces and bright attire making a picture in the colorous
+landscape which some native artist would have done well to preserve. For
+a time no sound was heard but the distant roar of the surf, the sighing
+of the wind through the pines on the hill, the less romantic grunts of
+the women and the swish of the linen in the water. Suddenly Mariquita,
+the proscribed, exclaimed from her segregated tub:--
+
+"Look! Look!"
+
+Heads flew up or twisted on their necks. A party of young people,
+attended by a duena, was crossing the meadow to the road. At the head of
+the procession were a girl and a man, to whom every gaze which should
+have been intent upon washing-tubs alone was directed. The girl wore a
+pink gown and a reboso. Her extraordinary grace made her look taller
+than she was; the slender figure swayed with every step. Her pink lips
+were parted, her blue starlike eyes looked upward into the keen cold
+eyes of a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the United
+States army.
+
+The dominant characteristics of the young man's face, even then, were
+ambition and determination, and perhaps the remarkable future was
+foreshadowed in the restless scheming mind. But to-day his deep-set eyes
+were glowing with a light more peculiar to youth, and whenever bulging
+stones afforded excuse he grasped the girl's hand and held it as long
+as he dared. The procession wound past the tubs and crossing the road
+climbed up the hill to the little wooded cemetery of the early fathers,
+the cemetery where so many of those bright heads were to lie forgotten
+beneath the wild oats and thistles.
+
+"They go to the grave of Benicia Ortega and her little one," said
+Francesca. "Holy Mary! La Tulita never look in a man's eyes like that
+before."
+
+"But she have in his," said Mariquita, wisely.
+
+"No more talk!" cried Faquita, and once more silence came to her own.
+But fate was stronger than Faquita. An hour later a little girl came
+running down, calling to the old woman that her grandchild, the
+consolation of her age, had been taken ill. After she had hurried away
+the women fairly leaped over one another in their efforts to reach
+Mariquita's tub.
+
+"Tell us, tell us, chiquita," they cried, fearful lest Faquita's
+snubbing should have turned her sulky, "what dost thou know?"
+
+But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to keep back her story,
+opened them and spoke fluently.
+
+"Ay, my friends! Dona Eustaquia and Benicia Ortega are not the only ones
+to wed Americans. Listen! La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no more
+handsome than the palm of my hand when it has all day been in the water.
+Yesterday morning came Don Ramon. I am in the back garden of the Casa
+Rivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front garden sitting under the
+wall. I can look through the doors of the sala and see and hear all.
+Such a handsome caballero, my friends! The gold six inches deep on the
+serape. Silver eagles on the sombrero. And the botas! Stamp with birds
+and leaves, ay, yi! He fling open the gates so bold, and when he see La
+Tulita he look like the sun is behind his face. (Such curls, my friends,
+tied with a blue ribbon!) But listen!
+
+"'Mi querida!' he cry, 'mi alma!' (Ay, my heart jump in my throat like
+he speak to me.) Then he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand. But
+she throw herself back like she hate him. Her eyes are like the bay in
+winter. And then she laugh. When she do that, he stand up and say with
+the voice that shake:--
+
+"'What is the matter, Herminia? Do you not love me any longer?'
+
+"'I never love you,' she say. 'They give me no peace until I say I marry
+you, and as I love no one else--I do not care much. But now that you
+have insult me, I have the best excuse to break the engagement, and I do
+it.'
+
+"'I insult you?' He hardly can speak, my friends, he is so surprised and
+unhappy.
+
+"'Yes; did you not forget the smocks?'
+
+"'The--smocks!' he stammer, like that. 'The smocks?'
+
+"'No one can be blame but you,' she say. 'And you know that no bride
+forgive that. You know all that it means.'
+
+"'Herminia!' he say. 'Surely you will not put me; away for a little
+thing like that!'
+
+"'I have no more to say,' she reply, and then she get up and go in the
+house and shut the door so I cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorry
+for him if he did forget the smocks. Well! That evening I help Ana water
+the flowers in the front garden, and every once in the while we look
+through the windows at La Tulita and the Lieutenant. They talk, talk,
+talk. He look so earnest and she--she look so beautiful. Not like a
+devil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in the morning, but like an angel.
+Sure, a woman can be both! It depends upon the man. By and by Ana go
+away, but I stay there, for I like look at them. After a while they get
+up and come out. It is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and the
+trees throw the shadows, so they cannot see me. They walk up and down,
+and by and by the Lieutenant take out his knife and cut a shoot from the
+rose-bush that climb up the house.
+
+"'These Castilian roses,' he say, very soft, but in very bad Spanish,
+'they are very beautiful and a part of Monterey--a part of you. Look, I
+am going to plant this here, and long before it grow to be a big bush I
+come back and you will wear its buds in your hair when we are married in
+that lovely old church. Now help me,' and then they kneel down and he
+stick it in the ground, and all their fingers push the earth around it.
+Then she give a little sob and say, 'You must go?'
+
+"He lift her up and put his arms around her tight. 'I must go,' he say.
+'I am not my own master, you know, and the orders have come. But my
+heart is here, in this old garden, and I come back for it.' And then she
+put her arms around him and he kiss her, and she love him so I forget to
+be sorry for Don Ramon. After all, it is the woman who should be happy.
+He hold her a long time, so long I am afraid Dona Carmen come out to
+look for her. I lift up on my knees (I am sit down before) and look in
+the window and I see she is asleep, and I am glad. Well! After a while
+they walk up and down again, and he tell her all about his home far
+away, and about some money he go to get when the law get ready, and how
+he cannot marry on his pay. Then he say how he go to be a great general
+some day and how she will be the more beautiful woman in--how you call
+it?--Washington, I think. And she cry and say she does not care, she
+only want him. And he tell her water the rose-bush every day and think
+of him, and he will come back before it is large, and every time a bud
+come out she can know he is thinking of her very hard."
+
+"Ay, pobrecita!" said Francesca, "I wonder will he come back. These
+men!"
+
+"Surely. Are not all men mad for La Tulita?"
+
+"Yes--yes, but he go far away. To America! Dios de mi alma! And men,
+they forget." Francesca heaved a deep sigh. Her youth was far behind
+her, but she remembered many things.
+
+"He return," said Mariquita, the young and romantic.
+
+"When does he go?"
+
+Mariquita pointed to the bay. A schooner rode at anchor. "He go to Yerba
+Buena on that to-morrow morning. From there to the land of the American.
+Ay, yi! Poor La Tulita! But his linen is dry. I must take it to iron for
+I have it promised for six in the morning." And she hastily gathered the
+articles from the low bushes and hurried away.
+
+That evening as the women returned to town, talking gayly, despite the
+great baskets on their heads, they passed the hut of Faquita and paused
+at the window to inquire for the child. The little one lay gasping on
+the bed. Faquita sat beside her with bowed head. An aged crone brewed
+herbs over a stove. The dingy little house faced the hills and was dimly
+lighted by the fading rays of the sun struggling through the dark pine
+woods.
+
+"Holy Mary, Faquita!" said Francesca, in a loud whisper. "Does Liseta
+die?"
+
+Faquita sprang to her feet. Her cross old face was drawn with misery.
+"Go, go!" she said, waving her arms, "I want none of you."
+
+The next evening she sat in the same position, her eyes fixed upon the
+shrinking features of the child. The crone had gone. She heard the door
+open, and turned with a scowl. But it was La Tulita that entered and
+came rapidly to the head of the bed. The girl's eyes were swollen, her
+dress and hair disordered.
+
+"I have come to you because you are in trouble," she said. "I, too, am
+in trouble. Ay, my Faquita!"
+
+The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl down to her lap. She had
+never touched her idol before, but sorrow levels even social barriers.
+
+"Pobrecita!" she said, and the girl cried softly on her shoulder.
+
+"Will he come back, Faquita?"
+
+"Surely, ninita. No man could forget you."
+
+"But it is so far."
+
+"Think of what Don Vicente do for Dona Ysabel, mijita."
+
+"But he is an American. Oh, no, it is not that I doubt him. He loves me!
+It is so far, like another world. And the ocean is so big and cruel."
+
+"We ask the priest to say a mass."
+
+"Ah, my Faquita! I will go to the church to-morrow morning. How glad I
+am that I came to thee." She kissed the old woman warmly, and for the
+moment Faquita forgot her trouble.
+
+But the child threw out its arms and moaned. La Tulita pushed the hair
+out of her eyes and brought the medicine from the stove, where it
+simmered unsavourily. The child swallowed it painfully, and Faquita
+shook her head in despair. At the dawn it died. As La Tulita laid her
+white fingers on the gaping eyelids, Faquita rose to her feet. Her ugly
+old face was transfigured. Even the grief had gone out of it. For a
+moment she was no longer a woman, but one of the most subtle creations
+of the Catholic religion conjoined with racial superstitions.
+
+"As the moon dieth and cometh to life again," she repeated with a sort
+of chanting cadence, "so man, though he die, will live again. Is it
+not better that she will wander forever through forests where crystal
+streams roll over golden sands, than grow into wickedness, and go
+out into the dark unrepenting, perhaps, to be bitten by serpents and
+scorched by lightning and plunged down cataracts?" She turned to La
+Tulita. "Will you stay here, senorita, while I go to bid them make
+merry?"
+
+The girl nodded, and the woman went out. La Tulita watched the proud
+head and erect carriage for a moment, then bound up the fallen jaw of
+the little corpse, crossed its hands and placed weights on the eyelids.
+She pushed the few pieces of furniture against the wall, striving to
+forget the one trouble that had come into her triumphant young life. But
+there was little to do, and after a time she knelt by the window and
+looked up at the dark forest upon which long shafts of light were
+striking, routing the fog that crouched in the hollows. The town was as
+quiet as a necropolis. The white houses, under the black shadows of the
+hills, lay like tombs. Suddenly the roar of the surf came to her ears,
+and she threw out her arms with a cry, dropping her head upon them and
+sobbing convulsively. She heard the ponderous waves of the Pacific
+lashing the keel of a ship.
+
+She was aroused by shouting and sounds of merriment. She raised her head
+dully, but remembered in a moment what Faquita had left her to await.
+The dawn lay rosily on the town. The shimmering light in the pine woods
+was crossed and recrossed by the glare of rockets. Down the street came
+the sound of singing voices, the words of the song heralding the flight
+of a child-spirit to a better world. La Tulita slipped out of the back
+door and went to her home without meeting the procession. But before she
+shut herself in her room she awakened Ana, and giving her a purse of
+gold, bade her buy a little coffin draped with white and garlanded with
+white flowers.
+
+
+PART III
+
+"Tell us, tell us, Mariquita, does she water the rose-tree every night?"
+
+"Every night, ay, yi!"
+
+"And is it big yet? Ay, but that wall is high! Not a twig can I see!"
+
+"Yes, it grows!"
+
+"And he comes not?"
+
+"He write. I see the letters."
+
+"But what does he say?"
+
+"How can I know?"
+
+"And she goes to the balls and meriendas no more. Surely, they will
+forget her. It is more than a year now. Some one else will be La
+Favorita."
+
+"She does not care."
+
+"Hush the voices," cried Faquita, scrubbing diligently. "It is well that
+she stay at home and does not dance away her beauty before he come. She
+is like a lily."
+
+"But lilies turn brown, old Faquita, when the wind blow on them too
+long. Dost thou think he will return?"
+
+"Surely," said Faquita, stoutly. "Could any one forget that angel?"
+
+"Ay, these men, these men!" said Francesca, with a sigh.
+
+"Oh, thou old raven!" cried Mariquita. "But truly--truly--she has had no
+letter for three months."
+
+"Aha, senorita, thou didst not tell us that just now."
+
+"Nor did I intend to. The words just fell from my teeth."
+
+"He is ill," cried Faquita, angrily. "Ay, my probrecita! Sometimes I
+think Ysabel is more happy under the rocks."
+
+"How dost thou know he is ill? Will he die?" The wash-tub mail had made
+too few mistakes in its history to admit of doubt being cast upon the
+assertion of one of its officials.
+
+"I hear Captain Brotherton read from a letter to Dona Eustaquia. Ay,
+they are happy!"
+
+"When?"
+
+"Two hours ago."
+
+"Then we know before the town--like always."
+
+"Surely. Do we not know all things first? Hist!"
+
+The women dropped their heads and fumbled at the linen in the water. La
+Tulita was approaching.
+
+She came across the meadow with all her old swinging grace, the blue
+gown waving about her like the leaves of a California lily when the wind
+rustled the forest. But the reboso framed a face thin and pale, and the
+sparkle was gone from her eyes. She passed the tubs and greeted the old
+women pleasantly, walked a few steps up the hill, then turned as if in
+obedience to an afterthought, and sat down on a stone in the shade of a
+willow.
+
+"It is cool here," she said.
+
+"Yes, senorita." They were not deceived, but they dared not stare at
+her, with Faquita's scowl upon them.
+
+"What news has the wash-tub mail to-day?" asked the girl, with an
+attempt at lightness. "Did an enemy invade the South this morning, and
+have you heard it already, as when General Kearney came? Is General
+Castro still in Baja California, or has he fled to Mexico? Has Dona
+Prudencia Iturbi y Moncada given a ball this week at Santa Barbara? Have
+Don Diego and Dona Chonita--?"
+
+"The young Lieutenant is ill," blurted out one of the old women, then
+cowered until she almost fell into her tub. Faquita sprang forward and
+caught the girl in her arms.
+
+"Thou old fool!" she cried furiously. "Thou devil! Mayst thou find a
+tarantula in thy bed to-night. Mayst thou dream thou art roasting in
+hell." She carried La Tulita rapidly across the meadow.
+
+"Ah, I thought I should hear there," said the girl, with a laugh. "Thank
+heaven for the wash-tub mail."
+
+Faquita nursed her through a long illness. She recovered both health
+and reason, and one day the old woman brought her word that the young
+Lieutenant was well again--and that his illness had been brief and
+slight.
+
+
+THE LAST
+
+"Ay, but the years go quick!" said Mariquita, as she flapped a piece of
+linen after taking it from the water. "I wonder do all towns sleep like
+this. Who can believe that once it is so gay? The balls! The grand
+caballeros! The serenades! The meriendas! No more! No more! Almost I
+forget the excitement when the Americanos coming. I no am young any
+more. Ay, yi!"
+
+"Poor Faquita, she just died of old age," said a woman who had been
+young with Mariquita, spreading an article of underwear on a bush. "Her
+life just drop out like her teeth. No one of the old women that taught
+us to wash is here now, Mariquita. We are the old ones now, and we teach
+the young, ay, yi!"
+
+"Well, it is a comfort that the great grow old like the low people. High
+birth cannot keep the skin white and the body slim. Ay, look! Who can
+think she is so beautiful before?"
+
+A woman was coming down the road from the town. A woman, whom
+passing years had browned, although leaving the fine strong features
+uncoarsened. She was dressed simply in black, and wore a small American
+bonnet. The figure had not lost the slimness of its youth, but the walk
+was stiff and precise. The carriage evinced a determined will.
+
+"Ay, who can think that once she sway like the tule!" said Mariquita,
+with a sigh. "Well, when she come to-day I have some news. A letter, we
+used to call it, dost thou remember, Brigida? Who care for the wash-tub
+mail now? These Americanos never hear of it, and our people--triste de
+mi--have no more the interest in anything."
+
+"Tell us thy news," cried many voices. The older women had never lost
+their interest in La Tulita. The younger ones had heard her story many
+times, and rarely passed the wall before her house without looking at
+the tall rose-bush which had all the pride of a young tree.
+
+"No, you can hear when she come. She will come to-day. Six months ago
+to-day she come. Ay, yi, to think she come once in six months all these
+years! And never until to-day has the wash-tub mail a letter for her."
+
+"Very strange she did not forget a Gringo and marry with a caballero,"
+said one of the girls, scornfully. "They say the caballeros were so
+beautiful, so magnificent. The Americans have all the money now, but she
+been rich for a little while."
+
+"All women are not alike. Sometimes I think she is more happy with the
+memory." And Mariquita, who had a fat lazy husband and a swarm of brown
+children, sighed heavily. "She live happy in the old house and is not so
+poor. And always she have the rose-bush. She smile, now, sometimes, when
+she water it."
+
+"Well, it is many years," said the girl, philosophically. "Here she
+come."
+
+La Tulita, or Dona Herminia, as she now was called, walked briskly
+across the meadow and sat down on the stone which had come to be called
+for her. She spoke to each in turn, but did not ask for news. She had
+ceased long since to do that. She still came because the habit held her,
+and because she liked the women.
+
+"Ah, Mariquita," she said, "the linen is not as fine as when we were
+young. And thou art glad to get the shirts of the Americans now. My poor
+Faquita!"
+
+"Coarse things," said Mariquita, disdainfully. Then a silence fell,
+so sudden and so suggestive that Dona Herminia felt it and turned
+instinctively to Mariquita.
+
+"What is it?" she asked rapidly. "Is there news to-day? Of what?"
+
+Mariquita's honest face was grave and important.
+
+"There is news, senorita," she said.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+The washing-women had dropped back from the tubs and were listening
+intently.
+
+"Ay!" The oracle drew a long breath. "There is war over there, you know,
+senorita," she said, making a vague gesture toward the Atlantic states.
+
+"Yes, I know. Is it decided? Is the North or the South victorious? I am
+glad that the wash-tub mail has not--"
+
+"It is not that, senorita."
+
+"Then what?"
+
+"The Lieutenant--he is a great general now."
+
+"Ay!"
+
+"He has won a great battle--And--they speak of his wife, senorita."
+
+Dona Herminia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and
+glanced slowly about her. The blue bay, the solemn pines, the golden
+atmosphere, the cemetery on the hill, the women washing at the stone
+tubs--all was unchanged. Only the flimsy wooden houses of the Americans
+scattered among the adobes of the town and the aging faces of the women
+who had been young in her brief girlhood marked the lapse of years.
+There was a smile on her lips. Her monotonous life must have given her
+insanity or infinite peace, and peace had been her portion. In a few
+minutes she said good-by to the women and went home. She never went to
+the tubs again.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA
+
+
+I
+
+A forest of willows cut by a forking creek, and held apart here and
+there by fields of yellow mustard blossoms fluttering in their pale
+green nests, or meadows carpeted with the tiny white and yellow flowers
+of early summer. Wide patches of blue where the willows ended, and
+immense banks of daisies bordering fields of golden grain, bending and
+shimmering in the wind with the deep even sweep of rising tide. Then the
+lake, long, irregular, half choked with tules, closed by a marsh. The
+valley framed by mountains of purplish gray, dull brown, with patches of
+vivid green and yellow; a solitary gray peak, barren and rocky, in
+sharp contrast to the rich Californian hills; on one side fawn-coloured
+slopes, and slopes with groves of crouching oaks in their hollows;
+opposite and beyond the cold peak, a golden hill rising to a mount of
+earthy green; still lower, another peak, red and green, mulberry and
+mould; between and afar, closing the valley, a line of pink-brown
+mountains splashed with blue.
+
+Such was a fragment of Don Roberto Duncan's vast rancho, Los Quervos,
+and on a plateau above the willows stood the adobe house, white and
+red-tiled, shaped like a solid letter H. On the deep veranda, sunken
+between the short forearms of the H, Dona Jacoba could stand and issue
+commands in her harsh imperious voice to the Indians in the rancheria
+among the willows, whilst the long sala behind overflowed with the gay
+company her famous hospitality had summoned, the bare floor and ugly
+velvet furniture swept out of thought by beautiful faces and flowered
+silken gowns.
+
+Behind the sala was an open court, the grass growing close to the great
+stone fountain. On either side was a long line of rooms, and above the
+sala was a library opening into the sleeping room of Dona Jacoba on one
+side, and into that of Elena, her youngest and loveliest daughter, on
+the other. Beyond the house were a dozen or more buildings: the kitchen;
+a room in which steers and bullocks, sheep and pigs, were hanging;
+a storehouse containing provisions enough for a hotel; and the
+manufactories of the Indians. Somewhat apart was a large building with
+a billiard-room in its upper story and sleeping rooms below. From her
+window Elena could look down upon the high-walled corral with its
+prancing horses always in readiness for the pleasure-loving guests, and
+upon the broad road curving through the willows and down the valley.
+
+The great house almost shook with life on this brilliant day of the
+month of June, 1852. Don Roberto Duncan, into whose shrewd Scotch hands
+California had poured her wealth for forty years, had long ago taken
+to himself a wife of Castilian blood; to-morrow their eldest remaining
+daughter was to be married to a young Englishman, whose father had been
+a merchant in California when San Francisco was Yerba Buena. Not a room
+was vacant in the house. Young people had come from Monterey and San
+Francisco, Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. Beds had been put up in the
+library and billiard-room, in the store-rooms and attics. The corral was
+full of strange horses, and the huts in the willows had their humbler
+guests.
+
+Francisca sat in her room surrounded by a dozen chattering girls. The
+floor beneath the feet of the Californian heiress was bare, and the
+heavy furniture was of uncarved mahogany. But a satin quilt covered the
+bed, lavish Spanish needlework draped chest and tables, and through
+the open window came the June sunshine and the sound of the splashing
+fountain.
+
+Francisca was putting the last stitches in her wedding-gown, and the
+girls were helping, advising, and commenting.
+
+"Art thou not frightened, Panchita," demanded one of the girls, "to go
+away and live with a strange man? Just think, thou hast seen him but ten
+times."
+
+"What of that?" asked Francisca, serenely, holding the rich corded silk
+at arm's length, and half closing her eyes as she readjusted the deep
+flounce of Spanish lace. "Remember, we shall ride and dance and play
+games together for a week with all of you, dear friends, before I go
+away with him. I shall know him quite well by that time. And did not my
+father know him when he was a little boy? Surely, he cannot be a cruel
+man, or my father would not have chosen him for my husband."
+
+"I like the Americans and the Germans and the Russians," said the girl
+who had spoken, "particularly the Americans. But these English are so
+stern, so harsh sometimes."
+
+"What of that?" asked Francisca again. "Am I not used to my father?"
+
+She was a singular-looking girl, this compound of Scotch and Spanish.
+Her face was cast in her father's hard mould, and her frame was large
+and sturdy, but she had the black luxuriant hair of Spain, and much
+grace of gesture and expression.
+
+"I would not marry an Englishman," said a soft voice.
+
+Francisca raised her eyebrows and glanced coldly at the speaker, a girl
+of perfect loveliness, who sat behind a table, her chin resting on her
+clasped hands.
+
+"Thou wouldst marry whom our father told thee to marry, Elena," said her
+sister, severely. "What hast thou to say about it?"
+
+"I will marry a Spaniard," said Elena, rebelliously. "A Spaniard, and no
+other."
+
+"Thou wilt do what?" asked a cold voice from the door. The girls gave a
+little scream. Elena turned pale, even Francisca's hands twitched.
+
+Dona Jacoba was an impressive figure as she stood in the doorway; a tall
+unbowed woman with a large face and powerful penetrating eyes. A thin
+mouth covering white teeth separated the prominent nose and square chin.
+A braid of thick black hair lay over her fine bust, and a black silk
+handkerchief made a turban for her lofty head. She wore a skirt of heavy
+black silk and a shawl of Chinese crepe, one end thrown gracefully over
+her shoulder.
+
+"What didst thou say?" she demanded again, a sneer on her lips.
+
+Elena made no answer. She stared through the window at the servants
+laying the table in the dining room on the other side of the court, her
+breath shortening as if the room had been exhausted of air.
+
+"Let me hear no more of that nonsense," continued her mother. "A strange
+remark, truly, to come from the lips of a Californian! Thy father has
+said that his daughters shall marry men of his race--men who belong to
+that island of the North; and I have agreed, and thy sisters are well
+married. No women are more virtuous, more industrious, more religious,
+than ours; but our men--our young men--are a set of drinking gambling
+vagabonds. Go to thy room and pray there until supper."
+
+Elena ran out of an opposite door, and Dona Jacoba sat down on a
+high-backed chair and held out her hand for the wedding-gown. She
+examined it, then smiled brilliantly.
+
+"The lace is beautiful," she said. "There is no richer in California,
+and I have seen Dona Trinidad Iturbi y Moncada's and Dona Modeste
+Castro's. Let me see thy mantilla once more."
+
+Francisca opened a chest nearly as large as her bed, and shook out a
+long square of superb Spanish lace. It had arrived from the city of
+Mexico but a few days before. The girls clapped their admiring hands, as
+if they had not looked at it twenty times, and Dona Jacoba smoothed it
+tenderly with her strong hands. Then she went over to the chest and
+lifted the beautiful silk and crepe gowns, one by one, her sharp eyes
+detecting no flaw. She opened another chest and examined the piles of
+underclothing and bed linen, all of finest woof, and deeply bordered
+with the drawn work of Spain.
+
+"All is well," she said, returning to her chair. "I see nothing more to
+be done. Thy brother will bring the emeralds, and the English plate will
+come before the week is over."
+
+"Is it sure that Santiago will come in time for the wedding?" asked
+a half-English granddaughter, whose voice broke suddenly at her own
+temerity.
+
+But Dona Jacoba was in a gracious mood.
+
+"Surely. Has not Don Roberto gone to meet him? He will be here at four
+to-day."
+
+"How glad I shall be to see him!" said Francisca. "Just think, my
+friends, I have not seen him for seven years. Not since he was eleven
+years old. He has been on that cold dreadful island in the North all
+this time. I wonder has he changed!"
+
+"Why should he change?" asked Dona Jacoba. "Is he not a Cortez and a
+Duncan? Is he not a Californian and a Catholic? Can a few years in an
+English school make him of another race? He is seven years older, that
+is all."
+
+"True," assented Francisca, threading her needle; "of course he could
+not change."
+
+Dona Jacoba opened a large fan and wielded it with slow curves of her
+strong wrist. She had never been cold in her life, and even a June day
+oppressed her.
+
+"We have another guest," she said in a moment--"a young man, Don Dario
+Castanares of Los Robles Rancho. He comes to buy cattle of my husband,
+and must remain with us until the bargain is over."
+
+Several of the girls raised their large black eyes with interest. "Don
+Dario Castanares," said one; "I have heard of him. He is very rich and
+very handsome, they say."
+
+"Yes," said Dona Jacoba, indifferently. "He is not ugly, but much too
+dark. His mother was an Indian. He is no husband, with all his leagues,
+for any Californian of pure Castilian blood."
+
+
+II
+
+Elena had gone up to her room, and would have locked the door had she
+possessed a key. As it was, she indulged in a burst of tears at the
+prospect of marrying an Englishman, then consoled herself with the
+thought that her best-beloved brother would be with her in a few hours.
+
+She bathed her face and wound the long black coils about her shapely
+head. The flush faded out of her white cheeks, and her eyelids were less
+heavy. But the sadness did not leave her eyes nor the delicate curves of
+her mouth. She had the face of the Madonna, stamped with the heritage of
+suffering; a nature so keenly capable of joy and pain that she drew both
+like a magnet, and would so long as life stayed in her.
+
+She curled herself in the window-seat, looking down the road for the
+gray cloud of dust that would herald her brother. But only black flocks
+of crows mounted screaming from the willows, to dive and rise again.
+Suddenly she became conscious that she was watched, and her gaze swept
+downward to the corral. A stranger stood by the gates, giving orders to
+a vaquero but looking hard at her from beneath his low-dropped sombrero.
+
+He was tall, this stranger, and very slight. His face was nearly as dark
+as an Indian's, but set with features so perfect that no one but Dona
+Jacoba had ever found fault with his skin. Below his dreaming ardent
+eyes was a straight delicate nose; the sensuous mouth was half parted
+over glistening teeth and but lightly shaded by a silken mustache. About
+his graceful figure hung a dark red serape embroidered and fringed
+with gold, and his red velvet trousers were laced, and his yellow
+riding-boots gartered, with silver.
+
+Elena rose quickly and pulled the curtain across the window; the blood
+had flown to her hair, and a smile chased the sadness from her mouth.
+Then she raised her hands and pressed the palms against the slope of the
+ceiling, her dark upturned eyes full of terror. For many moments she
+stood so, hardly conscious of what she was doing, seeing only the
+implacable eyes of her mother. Then down the road came the loud regular
+hoof-falls of galloping horses, and with an eager cry she flung aside
+the curtain, forgetting the stranger.
+
+Down the road, half hidden by the willows, came two men. When they
+reached the rancheria, Elena saw the faces: a sandy-haired hard-faced
+old Scotsman, with cold blue eyes beneath shaggy red brows, and a dark
+slim lad, every inch a Californian. Elena waved her handkerchief and the
+lad his hat. Then the girl ran down the stairs and over to the willows.
+Santiago sprang from his horse, and the brother and sister clung
+together kissing and crying, hugging each other until her hair fell down
+and his hat was in the dust.
+
+"Thou hast come!" cried Elena at last, holding him at arm's length
+that she might see him better, then clinging to him again with all her
+strength. "Thou never wilt leave me again--promise me! Promise me, my
+Santiago! Ay, I have been so lonely."
+
+"Never, my little one. Have I not longed to come home that I might be
+with you? O my Elena! I know so much. I will teach you everything."
+
+"Ay, I am proud of thee, my Santiago! Thou knowest more than any boy in
+California--I know."
+
+"Perhaps that would not be much," with fine scorn. "But come, Elena mia,
+I must go to my mother; she is waiting. She looks as stern as ever; but
+how I have longed to see her!"
+
+They ran to the house, passing the stranger, who had watched them with
+folded arms and scowling brows. Santiago rushed impetuously at his
+mother; but she put out her arm, stiff and straight, and held him back.
+Then she laid her hand, with its vice-like grip, on his shoulder, and
+led him down the sala to the chapel at the end. It was arranged for the
+wedding, with all the pomp of velvet altar-cloth and golden candelabra.
+He looked at it wonderingly. Why had she brought him to look upon this
+before giving him a mother's greeting?
+
+"Kneel down," she said, "and repeat the prayers of thy Church--prayers
+of gratitude for thy safe return."
+
+The boy folded his hands deprecatingly.
+
+"But, mother, remember it is seven long years since I have said the
+Catholic prayers. Remember I have been educated in an English college,
+in a Protestant country."
+
+Her tall form curved slowly toward him, the blood blazed in her dark
+cheeks.
+
+"What!" she screamed incredulously. "Thou hast forgotten the prayers of
+thy Church--the prayers thou learned at my knee?"
+
+"Yes, mother, I have," he said desperately. "I cannot--"
+
+"God! God! Mother of God! My son says this to me!" She caught him by the
+shoulder again and almost hurled him from the room. Then she locked her
+hand about his arm and dragged him down the sala to his father's room.
+She took a greenhide reata from the table and brought it down upon his
+back with long sweeps of her powerful arm, but not another word came
+from her rigid lips. The boy quivered with the shame and pain, but made
+no resistance--for he was a Californian, and she was his mother.
+
+
+III
+
+Joaquin, the eldest son, who had been hunting bear with a number of his
+guests, returned shortly after his brother's arrival and was met at the
+door by his mother.
+
+"Where is Santiago?" he asked. "I hear he has come."
+
+"Santiago has been sent to bed, where he will remain for the present. We
+have an unexpected guest, Joaquin. He leans there against the tree--Don
+Dario Castanares. Thou knowest who he is. He comes to buy cattle of thy
+father, and will remain some days. Thou must share thy room with him,
+for there is no other place--even on the billiard-table."
+
+Joaquin liked the privacy of his room, but he had all the hospitality of
+his race. He went at once to the stranger, walking a little heavily,
+for he was no longer young and slender, but with a cordial smile on his
+shrewd warmly coloured face.
+
+"The house is at your service, Don Dario," he said, shaking the
+newcomer's hand. "We are honoured that you come in time for my sister's
+wedding. It distresses me that I cannot offer you the best room in the
+house, but, Dios! we have a company here. I have only the half of my
+poor bed to offer you, but if you will deign to accept that--"
+
+"I am miserable, wretched, to put you to such inconvenience--"
+
+"Never think of such a thing, my friend. Nothing could give me greater
+happiness than to try to make you comfortable in my poor room. Will you
+come now and take a siesta before supper?"
+
+Dario followed him to the house, protesting at every step, and Joaquin
+threw open the door of one of the porch rooms.
+
+"At your service, senor--everything at your service."
+
+He went to one corner of the room and kicked aside a pile of saddles,
+displaying a small hillock of gold in ten-and fifty-dollar slugs. "You
+will find about thirty thousand dollars there. We sold some cattle a
+days ago. I beg that you will help yourself. It is all at your service.
+I will now go and send you some aguardiente, for you must be thirsty."
+And he went out and left his guest alone.
+
+Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. He was in love, and the
+lady had kissed another man as if she had no love to spare. True, it was
+but her brother she had kissed, but would she have eyes for any one else
+during a stranger's brief visit? And how, in this crowded house, could
+he speak a word with her alone? And that terrible dragon of a mother!
+He sprang to his feet as an Indian servant entered with a glass of
+aguardiente. When he had burnt his throat, he felt better. "I will stay
+until I have won her, if I remain a month," he vowed. "It will be some
+time before Don Roberto will care to talk business."
+
+But Don Roberto was never too occupied to talk business. After he had
+taken his bath and siesta, he sent a servant to request Don Dario
+Castanares to come up to the library, where he spent most of his time,
+received all his visitors, reprimanded his children, and took his
+after-dinner naps. It was a luxurious room for the Californian of that
+day. A thick red English carpet covered the floor; one side of the room
+was concealed by a crowded bookcase, and the heavy mahogany furniture
+was handsomely carved, although upholstered with horse-hair.
+
+In an hour every detail of the transaction had been disposed of, and
+Dario had traded a small rancho for a herd of cattle. The young man's
+face was very long when the last detail had been arranged, but he had
+forgotten that his host was as Californian as himself. Don Roberto
+poured him a brimming glass of angelica and gave him a hearty slap on
+the back.
+
+"The cattle will keep for a few days, Don Dario," he said, "and you
+shall not leave this house until the festivities are over. Not until
+a week from to-morrow--do you hear? I knew your father. We had many a
+transaction together, and I take pleasure in welcoming his son under my
+roof. Now get off to the young people, and do not make any excuses."
+
+Dario made none.
+
+
+IV
+
+The next morning at eight, Francisca stood before the altar in the
+chapel, looking very handsome in her rich gown and soft mantilla. The
+bridegroom, a sensible-looking young Englishman, was somewhat nervous,
+but Francisca might have been married every morning at eight o'clock.
+Behind them stood Don Roberto in a new suit of English broadcloth, and
+Dona Jacoba in heavy lilac silk, half covered with priceless lace. The
+six bridesmaids looked like a huge bouquet, in their wide delicately
+coloured skirts. Their dark eyes, mischievous, curious, thoughtful,
+flashed more brilliantly than the jewels they wore.
+
+The sala and Don Roberto's room beyond were so crowded that some of the
+guests stood in the windows, and many could not enter the doors; every
+family within a hundred leagues had come to the wedding. The veranda was
+crowded with girls, the sparkling faces draped in black mantillas or
+bright rebosos, the full gay gowns fluttering in the breeze. Men in
+jingling spurs and all the bravery of gold-laced trousers and short
+embroidered jackets respectfully elbowed their way past brown and stout
+old women that they might whisper a word into some pretty alert little
+ear. They had all ridden many leagues that morning, but there was not
+a trace of fatigue on any face. The court behind the sala was full of
+Indian servants striving to catch a glimpse of the ceremony.
+
+Dario stood just within the front door, his eyes eagerly fixed upon
+Elena. She looked like a California lily in her white gown; even her
+head drooped a little as if a storm had passed. Her eyes were absent and
+heavy; they mirrored nothing of the solemn gayety of the morning; they
+saw only the welts on her brother's back.
+
+Dario had not seen her since Santiago's arrival. She had not appeared at
+supper, and he had slept little in consequence; in fact, he had spent
+most of the night playing _monte_ with Joaquin and a dozen other young
+men in the billiard-room.
+
+During the bridal mass the padre gave communion to the young couple, and
+to those that had made confession the night before. Elena was not of the
+number, and during the intense silence she drew back and stood and knelt
+near Dario. They were not close enough to speak, had they dared; but the
+Californian had other speech than words, and Dario and Elena made their
+confession that morning.
+
+During breakfast they were at opposite ends of the long table in the
+dining room, but neither took part in the songs and speeches, the toasts
+and laughter. Both had done some manoeuvring to get out of sight of the
+old people, and sit at one of the many other tables in the sala, on the
+corridor, in the court; but Elena had to go with the bridesmaids, and
+Joaquin insisted upon doing honour to the uninvited guest. The Indian
+servants passed the rich and delicate, the plain and peppered, dishes,
+the wines and the beautiful cakes for which Dona Jacoba and her
+daughters were famous. The massive plate that had done duty for
+generations in Spain was on the table; the crystal had been cut in
+England. It was the banquet of a grandee, and no one noticed the silent
+lovers.
+
+After breakfast the girls flitted to their rooms and changed their
+gowns, and wound rebosos or mantillas about their heads; the men put off
+their jackets for lighter ones of flowered calico, and the whole party,
+in buggies or on horseback, started for a bull-fight which was to take
+place in a field about a mile behind the house. Elena went in a buggy
+with Santiago, who was almost as pale as she. Dario, on horseback, rode
+as near her as he dared; but when they reached the fence about the field
+careless riders crowded between, and he could only watch her from afar.
+
+The vaqueros in their broad black hats shining with varnish, their black
+velvet jackets, their crimson sashes, and short, black velvet trousers
+laced with silver cord over spotless linen, looked very picturesque as
+they dashed about the field jingling their spurs and shouting at each
+other. When the bulls trotted in and greeted each other pleasantly,
+the vaqueros swung their hissing reatas and yelled until the maddened
+animals wreaked their vengeance on each other, and the serious work of
+the day began.
+
+Elena leaned back with her fan before her eyes, but Santiago looked on
+eagerly in spite of his English training.
+
+"Caramba!" he cried, "but that old bull is tough. Look, Elena! The
+little one is down. No, no! He has the big one. Ay! yi, yi! By Jove! he
+is gone--no, he has run off--he is on him again! He has ripped him up!
+Brava! brava!"
+
+A cheer as from one throat made the mountains echo, but Elena still held
+her fan before the field.
+
+"How canst thou like such bloody sport?" she asked disgustedly. "The
+poor animals! What pleasure canst thou take to see a fine brute kicking
+in his death-agony, his bowels trailing on the ground?"
+
+"Fie, Elena! Art thou not a Californian? Dost thou not love the sport of
+thy country? Why, look at the other girls! They are mad with excitement.
+By Jove! I never saw so many bright eyes. I wonder if I shall be too
+stiff to dance to-night. Elena, she gave me a beating! But tell me,
+little one, why dost thou not like the bull-fight? I feel like another
+man since I have seen it."
+
+"I cannot be pleased with cruelty. I shall never get used to see beasts
+killed for amusement. And Don Dario Castanares does not like it either.
+He never smiled once, nor said 'Brava!'"
+
+"Aha! And how dost thou know whether he did or not? I thought thy face
+was behind that big black fan."
+
+"I saw him through the sticks. What does 'By Jove' mean, my Santiago?"
+
+He enlightened her, then stood up eagerly. Another bull had been brought
+in, and one of the vaqueros was to fight him. During the next two hours
+Santiago gave little thought to his sister, and sometimes her long
+black lashes swept above the top of her fan. When five or six bulls had
+stamped and roared and gored and died, the guests of Los Quervos went
+home to chocolate and siesta, the others returned to their various
+ranchos.
+
+But Dario took no nap that day. Twice he had seen an Indian girl at
+Elena's window, and as the house settled down to temporary calm, he saw
+the girl go to the rancheria among the willows. He wrote a note, and
+followed her as soon as he dared. She wore a calico frock, exactly like
+a hundred others, and her stiff black hair cut close to her neck in the
+style enforced by Dona Jacoba; but Dario recognized her imitation of
+Elena's walk and carriage. He was very nervous, but he managed to stroll
+about and make his visit appear one of curiosity. As he passed the girl
+he told her to follow him, and in a few moments they were alone in
+a thicket. He had hard work to persuade her to take the note to her
+mistress, for she stood in abject awe of Dona Jacoba; but love of Elena
+and sympathy for the handsome stranger prevailed, and the girl went off
+with the missive.
+
+The staircase led from Don Roberto's room to Dona Jacoba's; but the
+lady's all-seeing eyes were closed, and the master was snoring in his
+library. Malia tiptoed by both, and Elena, who had been half asleep, sat
+up, trembling with excitement, and read the impassioned request for an
+interview. She lifted her head and listened, panting a little. Then
+she ran to the door and looked into the library. Her father was sound
+asleep; there could he no doubt of that. She dared not write an answer,
+but she closed the door and put her lips to the girl's ear.
+
+"Tell him," she murmured, horrified at her own boldness--"tell him to
+take me out for the contradanza tonight. There is no other chance." And
+the girl went back and delivered the message.
+
+
+V
+
+The guests and family met again at supper; but yards of linen and mounds
+of plate, spirited, quickly turning heads, flowered muslin gowns and
+silken jackets, again separated Dario and Elena. He caught a glimpse now
+and again of her graceful head turning on its white throat, or of her
+sad pure profile shining before her mother's stern old face.
+
+Immediately after supper the bride and groom led the way to the sala,
+the musicians tuned their violins and guitars, and after an hour's
+excited comment upon the events of the day the dancing began. Dona
+Jacoba could be very gracious when she chose, and she moved among her
+guests like a queen to-night, begging them to be happy, and electrifying
+them with her brilliant smile. She dispelled their awe of her with
+magical tact, and when she laid her hand on one young beauty's shoulder,
+and told her that her eyes put out the poor candles of Los Quervos, the
+girl was ready to fling herself on the floor and kiss the tyrant's feet.
+Elena watched her anxiously. Her father petted her in his harsh abrupt
+way. If she had ever received a kiss from her mother, she did not
+remember it; but she worshipped the blinding personality of the woman,
+although she shook before the relentless will. But that her mother was
+pleased to be gracious tonight was beyond question, and she gave Dario a
+glance of timid encouragement, which brought him to her side at once.
+
+"At your feet, senorita," he said; "may I dare to beg the honour of the
+contradanza?"
+
+She bent her slender body in a pretty courtesy. "It is a small favour to
+grant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence."
+
+He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the graceful
+swaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventional
+remarks.
+
+"You did not like bull-fighting, senorita?"
+
+"He watched me," she thought. "No, senor. I like nothing that is cruel."
+
+"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful,
+senorita."
+
+"I am but a little country girl, senor. You must have seen far more
+beautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"
+
+"Yes, senorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even Dona
+Modeste Castro. Once, too--that was before the Americans came--I saw the
+Senorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a church
+and murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you,
+senorita."
+
+The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. "He must love me," she
+told herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin
+says she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen."
+
+"You compliment me, senor," she answered vaguely. "She had wonderful
+green eyes. So has the Senora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so many
+other girls'."
+
+"They are the most beautiful eyes in California. They are like the
+Madonna's. I do not care for green eyes." His black ones flashed their
+language to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been unhappy. She
+barely remembered where she was, forgot that she was a helpless bird in
+a golden cage. Her mate had flown through the open door.
+
+The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario held her in his arms his
+last remnant of prudence gave way.
+
+"Elena, Elena," he murmured passionately, "I love thee. Dost thou not
+know it? Dost thou not love me a little? Ay, Elena! I have not slept one
+hour since I saw thee."
+
+She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still dwelt in their
+depths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust. She had no
+coquetry in her straightforward and simple nature.
+
+"Yes," she whispered, "I love thee."
+
+"And thou art happy, querida mia? Thou art happy here in my arms?"
+
+She let her cheek rest for a moment against his shoulder. "Yes, I am
+very happy."
+
+"And thou wilt marry me?"
+
+The words brought her back to reality, and the light left her face.
+
+"Ay," she said, "why did you say that? It cannot ever be."
+
+"But it shall be! Why not? I will speak with Don Roberto in the
+morning."
+
+The hand that lay on his shoulder clutched him suddenly. "No, no," she
+said hurriedly; "promise me that you will not speak to him for two or
+three days at least. My father wants us all to marry Englishmen. He is
+kind, and he loves me, but he is mad for Englishmen. And we can be happy
+meanwhile."
+
+The music stopped, and he could only murmur his promises before leading
+her back to her mother.
+
+He dared not take her out again, but he danced with no one else in spite
+of many inviting eyes, and spent the rest of the night on the corridor,
+where he could watch her unobserved. The walls were so thick at Los
+Quervos that each window had a deep seat within and without. Dario
+ensconced himself, and was comfortable, if tumultuous.
+
+
+VI
+
+With dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon Los Quervos. But at
+twelve gay voices and laughter came through every window. The family and
+guests were taking their cold bath, ready for another eighteen hours of
+pleasure.
+
+Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates of the corral were
+thrown open and a band of horses, golden bronze in colour, with silvern
+mane and tail, silken embroidered saddles on their slender backs,
+trotted up to the door. The beautiful creatures shone in the sun like
+burnished armour; they arched their haughty necks and lifted their small
+feet as if they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son.
+
+The girls wore short riding-skirts, gay sashes, and little round
+hats. The men wore thin jackets of brightly coloured silk, gold-laced
+knee-breeches, and silver spurs. They tossed the girls upon their
+saddles, vaulted into their own, and all started on a wild gallop for
+the races.
+
+Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride by Elena's side. It was
+impossible to exchange a word with her, for keen and mischievous ears
+were about them; but they were close together, and a kind of ecstasy
+possessed them both. The sunshine was so golden, the quivering visible
+air so full of soft intoxication! They were filled with a reckless
+animal joy of living--the divine right of youth to exist and be happy.
+The bars of Elena's cage sank into the warm resounding earth; she wanted
+to cry aloud her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as it
+passed. Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full. She looked at Dario, and
+he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks.
+
+The representatives of many ranchos, their wives and daughters, awaited
+the party from Los Quervos. But none pushed his way between Dario and
+Elena that day. And they both enjoyed the races; they were in a mood to
+enjoy anything. They became excited and shouted with the rest as the
+vaqueros flew down the field. Dario bet and lost a ranchita, then bet
+and won another. He won a herd of cattle, a band of horses, a saddle-bag
+of golden slugs. Surely, fortune smiled on him from the eyes of Elena.
+When the races were over they galloped down to the ocean and over the
+cliffs and sands, watching the ponderous waves fling themselves on the
+rocks, then retreat and rear their crests, to thunder on again.
+
+"The fog!" cried some one. "The fog!" And with shrieks of mock terror
+they turned their horses' heads and raced down the valley, the fog after
+them like a phantom tidal wave; but they outstripped it, and sprang from
+their horses at the corridor of Los Quervos with shouts of triumph and
+lightly blown kisses to the enemy.
+
+After supper they found eggs piled upon silver dishes in the sala, and
+with cries of "Cascaron! Cascaron!" they flung them at each other, the
+cologne and flour and tinsel with which the shells were filled deluging
+and decorating them.
+
+Dona Jacoba again was in a most gracious mood, and leaned against the
+wall, an amused smile on her strong serene face. Her husband stood by
+her, and she indicated Elena by a motion of her fan.
+
+"Is she not beautiful to-night, our little one?" she asked proudly.
+"See how pink her cheeks are! Her eyes shine like stars. She is the
+handsomest of all our children, viejo."
+
+"Yes," he said, something like tenderness in his cold blue eyes, "there
+is no prettier girl on twenty ranchos. She shall marry the finest
+Englishman of them all."
+
+Elena threw a cascaron directly into Dario's mouth, and although the
+cologne scalded his throat, he heroically swallowed it, and revenged
+himself by covering her black locks with flour. The guests, like the
+children they were, chased each other all over the house, up and down
+the stairs; the men hid under tables, only to have a sly hand break a
+cascaron on the back of their heads, and to receive a deluge down the
+spinal column. The bride chased her dignified groom out into the yard,
+and a dozen followed. Then Dario found his chance.
+
+Elena was after him, and as they passed beneath a tree he turned like a
+flash and caught her in his arms and kissed her. For a second she tried
+to free herself, mindful that her sisters had not kissed their lovers
+until they stood with them in the chapel; but she was made for love, and
+in a moment her white arms were clinging about his neck. People were
+shouting around them; there was time for but few of the words Dario
+wished to say.
+
+"Thou must write me a little note every day," he commanded. "Thy
+brother's coat, one that he does not wear, hangs behind the door in my
+room. To-morrow morning thou wilt find a letter from me in the pocket.
+Let me find one there, too. Kiss me again, consuelo de mi alma!" and
+they separated suddenly, to speak no more that night.
+
+
+VII
+
+The next morning, when Elena went to Joaquin's room to make the bed,
+she found Dario's note in the pocket of the coat, but she had had no
+opportunity to write one herself. Nor did she have time to read his
+until after dinner, although it burned her neck and took away her
+appetite. When the meal was over, she ran down to the willows and read
+it there, then went straight to the favourite lounging-place of an old
+vaquero who had adored her from the days when she used to trot about the
+rancho holding his forefinger, or perch herself upon his shoulder and
+command him to gallop.
+
+He was smoking his pipe, and he looked up in some wonder as she stood
+before him, flushed and panting, her eyes-darting apprehensive glances.
+
+"Pedro," she said imperiously, "get down on thy hands and knees."
+
+Pedro was the colour of tanned leather and very hairy, but his face
+beamed with good-nature. He put his pipe between his teeth and did as
+he was bidden. Elena produced the pencil and paper she had managed
+to purloin from her father's table, and kneeling beside her faithful
+vaquero, wrote a note on his back. It took her a long time to coin that
+simple epistle, for she never had written a love-letter before. But
+Pedro knelt like a rock, although his old knees ached. When the note was
+finished she thrust it into her gown, and patted Pedro on the head.
+
+"I love thee, my old man. I will make thee a new salve for thy
+rheumatism, and a big cake."
+
+As she approached the house her mother stood on the corridor watching
+the young people mount, and Elena shivered as she met a fiery and
+watchful eye. Yesterday had been a perfect day, but the chill of fear
+touched this. She sprang on her horse and went with the rest to the
+games. Her brother Joaquin kept persistently by her side, and Dario
+thought it best not to approach her. She took little interest in the
+games. The young men climbed the greased pole amidst soft derisive
+laughter. The greased pig was captured by his tail in a tumult of
+excitement, which rivalled the death of the bull, but Elena paid no
+attention. It was not until Dario, restive with inaction, entered the
+lists for the buried rooster, and by its head twisted it from the ground
+as his horse flew by, that she was roused to interest; and as many had
+failed, and as his was the signal victory of the day, he rode home
+somewhat consoled.
+
+That night, as Dario and Elena danced the contradanza together, they
+felt the eyes of Dona Jacoba upon them, but he dared to whisper:--
+
+"To-morrow morning I speak with thy father. Our wedding-day must be set
+before another sun goes down."
+
+"No, no!" gasped Elena; but for once Dario would not listen.
+
+
+VIII
+
+As soon as Elena had left his room next morning, Dario returned and read
+the note she had put in her brother's pocket. It gave him courage, his
+dreamy eyes flashed, his sensitive mouth curved proudly. As soon as
+dinner was over he followed Don Roberto up to the library. The old man
+stretched himself out in the long brass and leather chair which had been
+imported from England for his comfort, and did not look overjoyed when
+his guest begged a few moments' indulgence.
+
+"I am half asleep," he said. "Is it about those cattle? Joaquin knows as
+much about them as I do."
+
+Dario had not been asked to sit down, and he stood before Don Roberto
+feeling a little nervous, and pressing his hand against the mantelpiece.
+
+"I do not wish to speak of cattle, senor."
+
+"No? What then?" The old man's face was flushed with wine, and his
+shaggy brows were drooping heavily.
+
+"It is--it is about Elena."
+
+The brows lifted a little.
+
+"Elena?"
+
+"Yes, senor. We love each other very much. I wish to ask your permission
+that we may be married."
+
+The brows went up with a rush; the stiff hairs stood out like a roof
+above the cold angry eyes. For a moment Don Roberto stared at the
+speaker as if he had not heard; then he sprang to his feet, his red face
+purple.
+
+"Get out of my house, you damned vagabond!" he shouted. "Go as fast as
+God Almighty'll let you. You marry my daughter,--you damned Indian! I
+wouldn't give her to you if you were pure-blooded Castilian, much less
+to a half-breed whelp. And you have dared to make love to her. Go! Do
+you hear? Or I'll kick you down the stairs!"
+
+Dario drew himself up and looked back at his furious host with a pride
+that matched his own. The blood was smarting in his veins, but he made
+no sign and walked down the stair.
+
+Don Roberto went at once in search of his wife. Failing to find her, he
+walked straight into the sala, and taking Elena by the arm before the
+assembled guests, marched her upstairs and into her room, and locked the
+door with his key.
+
+Elena fell upon the floor and sobbed with rebellious mortification and
+terror. Her father had not uttered a word, but she knew the meaning of
+his summary act, and other feelings soon gave way to despair. That she
+should never see Dario Castanares again was certain, and she wept and
+prayed with all the abandon of her Spanish nature. A picture of the
+Virgin hung over the bed, and she raised herself on her knees and lifted
+her clasped hands to it beseechingly. With her tumbled hair and white
+face, her streaming upturned eyes and drawn mouth, she looked more like
+the Mater Dolorosa than the expressionless print she prayed to.
+
+"Mary! Mother!" she whispered, "have mercy on thy poor little daughter.
+Give him to me. I ask for nothing else in this world. I do not care for
+gold or ranchos, only to be his wife. I am so lonely, my mother, for
+even Santiago thinks of so many other things than of me. I only want to
+be loved, and no one else will ever love me who can make me love him.
+Ay! give him to me! give him to me!" And she threw herself on her face
+once more, and sobbed until her tears were exhausted. Then she dragged
+herself to the window and leaned over the deep seat. Perhaps she might
+have one glimpse of him as he rode away.
+
+She gave a little cry of agony and pleasure. He was standing by the
+gates of the corral whilst the vaqueros rounded up the cattle he had
+bought. His arms were folded, his head hung forward. As he heard her
+cry, he lifted his face, and Elena saw the tears in his eyes. For the
+moment they gazed at each other, those lovers of California's long-ago,
+while the very atmosphere quivering between them seemed a palpable
+barrier. Elena flung out her arms with a sudden passionate gesture; he
+gave a hoarse cry, and paced up and down like a race-horse curbed with a
+Spanish bit. How to have one last word with her? If she were behind the
+walls of the fort of Monterey it would be as easy. He dared not speak
+from where he was. Already the horses were at the door to carry the
+eager company to a fight between a bull and a bear. But he could write a
+note if only he had the materials. It was useless to return to his room,
+for Joaquin was there; and he hoped never to see that library again. But
+was there ever a lover in whom necessity did not develop the genius of
+invention? Dario flashed upward a glance of hope, then took from his
+pocket a slip of the rice-paper used for making cigaritos. He burnt a
+match, and with the charred stump scrawled a few lines.
+
+
+"Elena! Mine! Star of my life! My sweet! Beautiful and idolized.
+Farewell! Farewell, my darling! My heart is sad. God be with thee.
+
+"DARIO."
+
+
+He wrapped the paper about a stone, and tied it with a wisp of grass.
+With a sudden flexile turn of a wrist that had thrown many a reata, he
+flung it straight through the open window. Elena read the meaningless
+phrases, then fell insensible to the floor.
+
+
+IX
+
+It was the custom of Dona Jacoba personally to oversee her entire
+establishment every day, and she always went at a different hour, that
+laziness might never feel sure of her back. To-day she visited the
+rancheria immediately after dinner, and looked through every hut with
+her piercing eyes. If the children were dirty, she peremptorily ordered
+their stout mammas to put them into the clean clothes which her bounty
+had provided. If a bed was unmade, she boxed the ears of the owner and
+sent her spinning across the room to her task. But she found little to
+scold about; her discipline was too rigid. When she was satisfied that
+the huts were in order, she went down to the great stone tubs sunken
+in the ground, where the women were washing in the heavy shade of the
+willows. In their calico gowns they made bright bits of colour against
+the drooping green of the trees.
+
+"Maria," she cried sharply, "thou art wringing that fine linen too
+harshly. Dost thou wish to break in pieces the bridal clothes of thy
+senorita? Be careful, or I will lay the whip across thy shoulders."
+
+She walked slowly through the willows, enjoying the shade. Her fine old
+head was held sternly back, and her shoulders were as square as her
+youngest son's; but she sighed a little, and pressed a willow branch
+to her face with a caressing motion. She looked up to the gray
+peak standing above its fellows, bare, ugly, gaunt. She was not an
+imaginative woman, but she always had felt in closer kinship with that
+solitary peak than with her own blood. As she left the wood and saw
+the gay cavalcade about to start--the burnished horses, the dashing
+caballeros, the girls with their radiant faces and jaunty habits--she
+sighed again. Long ago she had been the bride of a brilliant young
+Mexican officer for a few brief years; her youth had gone with his life.
+
+She avoided the company and went round to the buildings at the back
+of the house. Approving here, reproaching there, she walked leisurely
+through the various rooms where the Indians were making lard, shoes,
+flour, candles. She was in the chocolate manufactory when her husband
+found her.
+
+"Come--come at once," he said. "I have good news for thee."
+
+She followed him to his room, knowing by his face that tragedy had
+visited them. But she was not prepared for the tale he poured forth with
+violent interjections of English and Spanish oaths. She had detected
+a flirtation between her daughter and the uninvited guest, and not
+approving of flirtations, had told Joaquin to keep his eyes upon them
+when hers were absent; but that the man should dare and the girl should
+stoop to think of marriage wrought in her a passion to which her
+husband's seemed the calm flame of a sperm-candle.
+
+"What!" she cried, her hoarse voice breaking. "What! A half-breed
+aspire to a Cortez!" She forgot her husband's separateness with true
+Californian pride. "My daughter and the son of an Indian! Holy God! And
+she has dared!--she has dared! The little imbecile! The little--But,"
+and she gave a furious laugh, "she will not forget again."
+
+She caught the greenhide reata from the nail and went up the stair.
+Crossing the library with heavy tread, as if she would stamp her rage
+through the floor, she turned the key in the door of her daughter's room
+and strode in. The girl still lay on the floor, although consciousness
+had returned. As Elena saw her mother's face she cowered pitifully.
+That terrible temper seldom dominated the iron will of the woman, but
+Santiago had shaken it a few days ago, and Elena knew that her turn had
+come.
+
+Dona Jacoba shut the door and towered above her daughter, red spots on
+her face, her small eyes blazing, an icy sneer on her mouth. She did not
+speak a word. She caught the girl by her delicate shoulder, jerked her
+to her feet, and lashed her with the heavy whip until screams mingled
+with the gay laughter of the parting guests. When she had beaten her
+until her own arm ached, she flung her on the bed and went out and
+locked the door.
+
+Elena was insensible again for a while, then lay dull and inert for
+hours. She had a passive longing for death. After the suffering and the
+hideous mortification of that day there seemed no other climax. The
+cavalcade rode beneath her windows once more, with their untired
+laughter, their splendid vitality. They scattered to their rooms to don
+their bright evening gowns, then went to the dining room and feasted.
+
+After supper Francisca unlocked Elena's door and entered with a little
+tray on her hand. Elena refused to eat, but her sister's presence roused
+her, and she turned her face to the wall and burst into tears.
+
+"Nonsense!" said Francisca, kindly. "Do not cry, my sister. What is
+a lover? The end of a little flirtation? My father will find thee a
+husband--a strong fair English husband like mine. Dost thou not prefer
+blondes to brunettes, my sister? I am sorry my mother beat thee, but she
+has such a sense of her duty. She did it for thy good, my Elena. Let me
+dress thee in thy new gown, the white silk with the pale blue flowers.
+It is high in the neck and long in the sleeves, and will hide the marks
+of the whip. Come down and play cascarones and dance until dawn and
+forget all about it."
+
+But Elena only wept on, and Francisca left her for more imperative
+duties.
+
+The next day the girl still refused to eat, although Dona Jacoba opened
+her mouth and poured a cup of chocolate down her throat. Late in the
+afternoon Santiago slipped into the room and bent over her.
+
+"Elena," he whispered hurriedly. "Look! I have a note for thee."
+
+Elena sat upright on the bed, and he thrust a piece of folded paper into
+her hand. "Here it is. He is in San Luis Obispo and says he will stay
+there. Remember it is but a few miles away. My--"
+
+Elena sank back with a cry, and Santiago blasphemed in English. Dona
+Jacoba unlocked her daughter's hand, took the note, and led Santiago
+from the room. When she reached her own, she opened a drawer and handed
+him a canvas bag full of gold.
+
+"Go to San Francisco and enjoy yourself," she said. "Interfere no
+farther between your sister and your parents, unless you prefer that
+reata to gold. Your craft cannot outwit mine, and she will read no
+notes. You are a foolish boy to set your sense against your mother's. I
+may seem harsh to my children, but I strive on my knees for their good.
+And when I have made up my mind that a thing is right to do, you know
+that my nature is of iron. No child of mine shall marry a lazy vagabond
+who can do nothing but lie in a hammock and bet and gamble and make
+love. And a half-breed! Mother of God! Now go to San Francisco, and send
+for more money when this is gone."
+
+Santiago obeyed. There was nothing else for him to do.
+
+Elena lay in her bed, scarcely touching food. Poor child! her nature
+demanded nothing of life but love, and that denied her, she could
+find no reason for living. She was not sport-loving like Joaquin, nor
+practical like Francisca, nor learned like Santiago, nor ambitious
+to dance through life like her many nieces. She was but a clinging
+unreasoning creature, with warm blood and a great heart. But she no
+longer prayed to have Dario given her. It seemed to her that after such
+suffering her saddened and broken spirit would cast its shadows over her
+happiest moments, and she longed only for death.
+
+Her mother, becoming alarmed at her increasing weakness, called in an
+old woman who had been midwife and doctor of the county for half a
+century. She came, a bent and bony woman who must have been majestic in
+her youth. Her front teeth were gone, her face was stained with dark
+splashes like the imprint of a pre-natal hand. Over her head she wore a
+black shawl; and she looked enough like a witch to frighten her patients
+into eternity had they not been so well used to her. She prodded Elena
+all over as if the girl were a loaf of bread and her knotted fingers
+sought a lump of flour in the dough.
+
+"The heart," she said to Dona Jacoba with sharp emphasis, her back teeth
+meeting with a click, as if to proclaim their existence. "I have no
+herbs for that," and she went back to her cabin by the ocean.
+
+That night Elena lifted her head suddenly. From the hill opposite her
+window came the sweet reverberation of a guitar: then a voice, which,
+though never heard by her in song before, was as unmistakable as if it
+had serenaded beneath her window every night since she had known Dario
+Castanares.
+
+  EL ULTIMO ADIOS
+
+  "Si dos con el alma
+  Se amaron en vida,
+  Y al fin se separan
+  En vida las dos;
+  Sabeis que es tan grande
+  Le pena sentida
+  Que con esa palabra
+  Se dicen adios.
+  Y en esa palabra
+  Que breve murmura,
+  Ni verse prometen
+  Niamarse se juran;
+  Que en esa palabra
+  Se dicen adios.
+  No hay queja mas honda,
+  Suspiro mas largo;
+  Que aquellas palabras
+  Que dicen adios.
+  Al fin ha llegado,
+  La muerte en la vida;
+  Al fin para entrambos
+  Muramos los dos:
+  Al fin ha llegado
+  La hora cumplida,
+  Del ultimo adios.
+  Ya nunca en la vida,
+  Gentil companera
+  Ya nunca volveremos
+  A vernos los dos:
+  Por eso es tan triste
+  Mi acento postrere,
+  Por eso es tan triste
+  El ultimo adios."--
+
+They were dancing downstairs; laughter floated through the open windows.
+Francisca sang a song of the bull-fight, in her strong high voice; the
+frogs chanted their midnight mass by the creek in the willows; the
+coyotes wailed; the owls hooted. But nothing could drown that message of
+love. Elena lit a candle and held it at arm's length before the window.
+She knew that its ray went straight through the curtains to the singer
+on the hill, for his voice broke suddenly, then swelled forth in
+passionate answer. He sat there until dawn singing to her; but the next
+night he did not come, and Elena knew that she had not been his only
+audience.
+
+
+X
+
+The week of festivity was over; the bridal pair, the relatives, the
+friends went away. Quiet would have taken temporary possession of Los
+Quervos had it not been for the many passing guests lavishly entertained
+by Don Roberto.
+
+And still Elena lay in her little iron bed, refusing to get out of it,
+barely eating, growing weaker and thinner every day. At the end of three
+weeks Dona Jacoba was thoroughly alarmed, and Don Roberto sent Joaquin
+to San Francisco for a physician.
+
+The man of science came at the end of a week. He asked many questions,
+and had a long talk with his patient. When he left the sick-room, he
+found Don Roberto and Dona Jacoba awaiting him in the library. They were
+ready to accept his word as law, for he was an Englishman, and had won
+high reputation during his short stay in the new country.
+
+He spoke with curt directness. "My dear sir, your child is dying because
+she does not wish to live. People who write novels call it dying of a
+broken heart; but it does not make much difference about the name.
+Your child is acutely sensitive, and has an extremely delicate
+constitution--predisposition to consumption. Separation from the young
+man she desires to marry has prostrated her to such an extent that she
+is practically dying. Under existing circumstances she will not live
+two months, and, to be brutally frank, you will have killed her. I
+understand that the young man is well-born on his father's side, and
+possessed of great wealth. I see no reason why she should not marry him.
+I shall leave her a tonic, but you can throw it out of the window unless
+you send for the young man," and he walked down the stair and made ready
+for his departure.
+
+Don Roberto translated the verdict to his wife. She turned very gray,
+and her thin lips pressed each other. But she bent her head. "So be it,"
+she said; "I cannot do murder. Send for Dario Castanares."
+
+"And tell him to take her to perdition," roared the old man. "Never let
+me see her again."
+
+He went down the stair, filled a small bag with gold, and gave it to the
+doctor. He found Joaquin and bade him go for Dario, then shut himself in
+a remote room, and did not emerge until late that day.
+
+Dona Jacoba sent for the maid, Malia.
+
+"Bring me one of your frocks," she said, "a set of your undergarments, a
+pair of your shoes and stockings." She walked about the room until
+the girl's return, her face terrible in its repressed wrath, its gray
+consciousness of defeat. When Malia came with the garments she told her
+to follow, and went into Elena's room and stood beside the bed.
+
+"Get up," she said. "Dress thyself in thy bridal clothes. Thou art going
+to marry Dario Castanares to-day."
+
+The girl looked up incredulously, then closed her eyes wearily.
+
+"Get up," said her mother. "The doctor has said that we must let our
+daughter marry the half-breed or answer to God for her murder." She
+turned to the maid: "Malia, go downstairs and make a cup of chocolate
+and bring it up. Bring, too, a glass of angelica."
+
+But Elena needed neither. She forgot her desire for death, her
+misgivings of the future; she slipped out of bed, and would have taken a
+pair of silk stockings from the chest, but her mother stopped her with
+an imperious gesture, and handed her the coarse shoes and stockings the
+maid had brought. Elena raised her eyes wonderingly, but drew them
+on her tender feet without complaint. Then her mother gave her the
+shapeless undergarments, the gaudy calico frock, and she put them on.
+When the maid returned with the chocolate and wine, she drank both. They
+gave her colour and strength; and as she stood up and faced her mother,
+she had never looked more beautiful nor more stately in the silken gowns
+that were hers no longer.
+
+[Illustration: "HE BENT DOWN AND CAUGHT HER IN HIS ARMS."]
+
+"There are horses' hoofs," said Dona Jacoba. "Leave thy father's house
+and go to thy lover."
+
+Elena followed her from the room, walking steadily, although she was
+beginning to tremble a little. As she passed the table in the library,
+she picked up an old silk handkerchief of her father's and tied it about
+her head and face. A smile was on her lips, but no joy could crowd the
+sadness from her eyes again. Her spirit was shadowed; her nature had
+come to its own.
+
+They walked through the silent house, and to Elena's memory came the
+picture of that other bridal, when the very air shook with pleasure and
+the rooms were jewelled with beautiful faces; but she would not have
+exchanged her own nuptials for her sister's calm acceptance.
+
+When she reached the veranda she drew herself up and turned to her
+mother with all that strange old woman's implacable bearing.
+
+"I demand one wedding present," she said. "The greenhide reata. I wish
+it as a memento of my mother."
+
+Dona Jacoba, without the quiver of a muscle, walked into her husband's
+room and returned with the reata and handed it to her. Then Elena turned
+her back upon her father's house and walked down the road through the
+willows. Dario did not notice the calico frock or the old handkerchief
+about her head. He bent down and caught her in his arms and kissed her,
+then lifting her to his saddle, galloped down the road to San Luis
+Obispo. Dona Jacoba turned her hard old face to the wall.
+
+
+
+
+A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA[1]
+
+[Footnote 1: Pronounced a-oo-lo-hia.]
+
+
+I
+
+Dona Pomposa crossed her hands on her stomach and twirled her thumbs. A
+red spot was in each coffee-coloured cheek, and the mole in her scanty
+eyebrow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut line, and her
+angry little eyes were fixed upon a girl who sat by the window strumming
+a guitar, her chin raised with an air of placid impertinence.
+
+"Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more glances at Juan Tornel!"
+commanded Dona Pomposa. "Thou little brat! Dost thou think that I am
+one to let my daughter marry before she can hem? Thank God we have more
+sense than our mothers! No child of mine shall marry at fifteen. Now
+listen--thou shalt be locked in a dark room if I am kept awake again
+by that hobo serenading at thy window. To-morrow, when thou goest to
+church, take care that thou throwest him no glance. Dios de mi alma!
+I am worn out! Three nights have I been awakened by that _tw-a-n-g,
+tw-a-n-g."_
+
+"You need not be afraid," said her daughter, digging her little heel
+into the floor. "I shall not fall in love. I have no faith in men."
+
+Her mother laughed outright in spite of her anger.
+
+"Indeed, my Eulogia! Thou art very wise. And why, pray, hast thou no
+faith in men?"
+
+Eulogia tossed the soft black braid from her shoulder, and fixed her
+keen roguish eyes on the old lady's face.
+
+"Because I have read all the novels of the Senor Dumas, and I well know
+all those men he makes. And they never speak the truth to women; always
+they are selfish, and think only of their own pleasure. If the women
+suffer, they do not care; they do not love the women--only themselves.
+So I am not going to be fooled by the men. I shall enjoy life, but I
+shall think of _myself_, not of the men."
+
+Her mother gazed at her in speechless amazement. She never had read a
+book in her life, and had not thought of locking from her daughter
+the few volumes her dead husband had collected. Then she gasped with
+consternation.
+
+"Por Dios, senorita, a fine woman thou wilt make of thyself with such
+ideas! a nice wife and mother--when the time comes. What does Padro
+Flores say to that, I should like to know? It is very strange that he
+has let you read those books."
+
+"I have never told him," said Eulogia, indifferently.
+
+"What!" screamed her mother. "You never told at confession?"
+
+"No, I never did. It was none of his business what I read. Reading is no
+sin. I confessed all--"
+
+"Mother of God!" cried Dona Pomposa, and she rushed at Eulogia with
+uplifted hand; but her nimble daughter dived under her arm with a
+provoking laugh, and ran out of the room.
+
+That night Eulogia pushed aside the white curtain of her window and
+looked out. The beautiful bare hills encircling San Luis Obispo were
+black in the silvered night, but the moon made the town light as day.
+The owls were hooting on the roof of the mission; Eulogia could see them
+flap their wings. A few Indians were still moving among the dark huts
+outside the walls, and within, the padre walked among his olive trees.
+Beyond the walls the town was still awake. Once a horseman dashed
+down the street, and Eulogia wondered if murder had been done in the
+mountains; the bandits were thick in their fastnesses. She did wish
+she could see one. Then she glanced eagerly down the road beneath
+her window. In spite of the wisdom she had accepted from the French
+romanticist, her fancy was just a little touched by Juan Tornel. His
+black flashing eyes could look so tender, and he rode so beautifully.
+She twitched the curtain into place and ran across the room, her feet
+pattering on the bare floor, jumped into her little iron bed, and drew
+the dainty sheet to her throat. A ladder had fallen heavily against the
+side of the house.
+
+She heard an agile form ascend and seat itself on the deep window-sill.
+Then the guitar vibrated under the touch of master fingers, and a rich
+sweet tenor sang to her:--
+
+EL CORAZON
+
+  "El corazon del amor palpita,
+  Al oir de tu dulce voz,
+  Cuando mi sangre
+  Se pone en agitacion,
+  Tu eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la gloria mia,
+  Tu eres mi dulce bien.
+
+  "Negro tienes el cabello,
+  Talle lineas hermosas,
+  Mano blanca, pie precioso,
+  No hay que decir en ti:--Tu
+  eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la prenda mia,
+  Tu me haras morir.
+
+  "Que importa que noche y dia,
+  En ti sola estoy pensando,
+  El corazon palpitante
+  No cesa de repetir:--
+  Tu eres la mas hermosa,
+  Tu eres la luz del dia,
+  Tu eres la prenda mia,
+  Tu me haras morir--Eulogia!"
+
+Eulogia lay as quiet as a mouse in the daytime, not daring to applaud,
+hoping fatigue had sent her mother to sleep. Her lover tuned his guitar
+and began another song, but she did not hear it; she was listening to
+footfalls in the garret above. With a presentiment of what was about
+to happen she sprang out of bed with a warning cry; but she was too
+late. There was a splash and rattle on the window-seat, a smothered
+curse, a quick descent, a triumphant laugh from above. Eulogia stamped
+her foot with rage. She cautiously raised the window and passed her hand
+along the outer sill. This time she beat the casement with both hands:
+they were covered with warm ashes.
+
+"Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?" said a voice behind her,
+and Eulogia sat down on the window-seat and swung her feet in silent
+wrath.
+
+Dona Pomposa wore a rather short night-gown, and her feet were encased
+in a pair of her husband's old boots. Her hair was twisted under a red
+silk kerchief, and again she crossed her hands on her stomach, but the
+thumbs upheld a candle. Eulogia giggled suddenly.
+
+"What dost thou laugh at, senorita? At the way I have served thy lover?
+Dost thou think he will come soon again?"
+
+"No, mamma, you have proved the famous hospitality of the Californians
+which the Americans are always talking about. You need have no more
+envy of the magnificence of Los Quervos." And then she kicked her heels
+against the wall.
+
+"Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, thou impertinent little brat; but
+Juan Tornel will serenade under thy window no more. Dios! the ashes must
+look well on his pretty mustachios. Go to bed. I will put thee to board
+in the convent to-morrow." And she shuffled out of the room, her ample
+figure swinging from side to side like a large pendulum.
+
+
+II
+
+The next day Eulogia was sitting on her window-seat, her chin resting on
+her knees, a volume of Dumas beside her, when the door was cautiously
+opened and her Aunt Anastacia entered the room. Aunt Anastacia was
+very large; in fact she nearly filled the doorway; she also disdained
+whalebones and walked with a slight roll. Her ankles hung over her feet,
+and her red cheeks and chin were covered with a short black down. Her
+hair was twisted into a tight knot and protected by a thick net, and she
+wore a loose gown of brown calico, patterned with large red roses. But
+good-nature beamed all over her indefinite features, and her little eyes
+dwelt adoringly upon Eulogia, who gave her an absent smile.
+
+"Poor little one," she said in her indulgent voice. "But it was cruel in
+my sister to throw ashes on thy lover. Not but what thou art too young
+for lovers, my darling,--although I had one at twelve. But times have
+changed. My little one--I have a note for thee. Thy mother is out, and
+he has gone away, so there can be no harm in reading it--"
+
+"Give it to me at once"--and Eulogia dived into her aunt's pocket and
+found the note.
+
+"Beautiful and idolized Eulogia.--Adios! Adios! I came a stranger to
+thy town. I fell blinded at thy feet. I fly forever from the scornful
+laughter in thine eyes. Ay, Eulogia, how couldst thou? But no! I will
+not believe it was thou! The dimples that play in thy cheeks, the sparks
+that fly in thine eyes--Dios de mi vida! I cannot believe that they come
+from a malicious soul. No, enchanting Eulogia! Consolation of my soul!
+It was thy mother who so cruelly humiliated me, who drives me from thy
+town lest I be mocked in the streets. Ay, Eulogia! Ay, misericordia!
+Adios! Adios!
+
+"JUAN TORNEL."
+
+
+Eulogia shrugged her shoulders. "Well, my mother is satisfied, perhaps.
+She has driven him away. At least, I shall not have to go to the
+convent."
+
+"Thou art so cold, my little one," said Aunt Anastacia, disapprovingly.
+"Thou art but fifteen years, and yet thou throwest aside a lover as if
+he were an old reboso. Madre de Dios! In your place I should have wept
+and beaten the air. But perhaps that is the reason all the young men are
+wild for thee. Not but that I had many lovers--"
+
+"It is too bad thou didst not marry one," interrupted Eulogia,
+maliciously. "Perhaps thou wouldst"--and she picked up her book--"if
+thou hadst read the Senor Dumas."
+
+"Thou heartless baby!" cried her indignant aunt, "when I love thee so,
+and bring thy notes at the risk of my life, for thou knowest that thy
+mother would pull the hair from my head. Thou little brat! to say I
+could not marry, when I had twenty--"
+
+Eulogia jumped up and pecked her on the chin like a bird. "Twenty-five,
+my old mountain. I only joked with thee. Thou didst not marry because
+thou hadst more sense than to trot about after a man. Is it not so, my
+old sack of flour? I was but angry because I thought thou hadst helped
+my mother last night."
+
+"Never! I was sound asleep."
+
+"I know, I know. Now trot away. I hear my mother coming," and Aunt
+Anastacia obediently left her niece to the more congenial company of the
+Senor Dumas.
+
+
+III
+
+The steep hills of San Luis Obispo shot upward like the sloping sides of
+a well, so round was the town. Scarlet patches lay on the slopes--the
+wide blossoms of the low cacti. A gray-green peak and a mulberry peak
+towered, kithless and gaunt, in the circle of tan-coloured hills brushed
+with purple. The garden of the mission was green with fruit trees and
+silver with olive groves. On the white church and long wing lay the red
+tiles; beyond the wall the dull earth huts of the Indians. Then the
+straggling town with its white adobe houses crouching on the grass.
+
+Eulogia was sixteen. A year had passed since Juan Tornel serenaded
+beneath her window, and, if the truth must be told, she had almost
+forgotten him. Many a glance had she shot over her prayer-book in the
+mission church; many a pair of eyes, dreamy or fiery, had responded. But
+she had spoken with no man. After a tempestuous scene with her mother,
+during which Aunt Anastacia had wept profusely, a compromise had been
+made: Eulogia had agreed to have no more flirtations until she was
+sixteen, but at that age she should go to balls and have as many lovers
+as she pleased.
+
+She walked through the olive groves with Padre Moraga on the morning of
+her sixteenth birthday. The new padre and she were the best of friends.
+
+"Well," said the good old man, pushing the long white hair from his dark
+face--it fell forward whenever he stooped--"well, my little one, thou
+goest to thy first ball to-night. Art thou happy?"
+
+Eulogia lifted her shoulder. Her small nose also tilted.
+
+"Happy? There is no such thing as happiness, my father. I shall dance,
+and flirt, and make all the young men fall in love with me. I shall
+enjoy myself, that is enough."
+
+The padre smiled; he was used to her.
+
+"Thou little wise one!" He collected himself suddenly. "But thou art
+right to build thy hopes of happiness on the next world alone." Then
+he continued, as if he merely had broken the conversation to say the
+Angelus: "And thou art sure that thou wilt be La Favorita? Truly, thou
+hast confidence in thyself--an inexperienced chit who has not half the
+beauty of many other girls."
+
+"Perhaps not; but the men shall love me better, all the same. Beauty is
+not everything, my father. I have a greater attraction than soft eyes
+and a pretty mouth."
+
+"Indeed! Thou baby! Why, thou art no bigger than a well-grown child, and
+thy mouth was made for a woman twice thy size. Where dost thou keep that
+extraordinary charm?" Not but that he knew, for he liked her better
+than any girl in the town, but he felt it his duty to act the part of
+curb-bit now and again.
+
+"You know, my father," said Eulogia, coolly; "and if you have any doubt,
+wait until to-morrow."
+
+The ball was given in the long sala of Dona Antonia Ampudia, on the edge
+of the rambling town. As the night was warm, the young people danced
+through the low windows on to the wide corridor; and, if watchful eyes
+relaxed their vigilance, stepped off to the grass and wandered among
+the trees. The brown old women in dark silks sat against the wall, as
+dowagers do to-day. Most of the girls wore bright red or yellow gowns,
+although softer tints blossomed here and there. Silken black hair was
+braided close to the neck, the coiffure finished with a fringe of
+chenille. As they whirled in the dance, their full bright gowns looked
+like an agitated flower-bed suddenly possessed by a wandering tribe of
+dusky goddesses.
+
+Eulogia came rather late. At the last moment her mother had wavered in
+her part of the contract, and it was not until Eulogia had sworn by
+every saint in the calendar that she would not leave the sala, even
+though she stifled, that Dona Pomposa had reluctantly consented to take
+her. Eulogia's perfect little figure was clad in a prim white silk gown,
+but her cold brilliant eyes were like living jewels, her large mouth was
+as red as the cactus patches on the hills, and a flame burned in either
+cheek. In a moment she was surrounded by the young men who had been
+waiting for her. It might be true that twenty girls in the room were
+more beautiful than she, but she had a quiet manner more effective than
+animation, a vigorous magnetism of which she was fully aware, and a cool
+coquetry which piqued and fired the young men, who were used to more
+sentimental flirtations.
+
+She danced as airily as a flower on the wind, but with untiring
+vitality.
+
+"Senorita!" exclaimed Don Carmelo Pena, "thou takest away my breath.
+Dost thou never weary?"
+
+"Never. I am not a man."
+
+"Ay, senorita, thou meanest--"
+
+"That women were made to make the world go round, and men to play the
+guitar."
+
+"Ay, I can play the guitar. I will serenade thee to-morrow night."
+
+"Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for thy pains. Better stay at home, and
+prepare thy soul with three-card _monte_"
+
+"Ay, senorita, but thou art cruel! Does no man please thee?"
+
+"_Men_ please me. How tiresome to dance with a woman!"
+
+"And that is all the use thou hast for us? For us who would die for
+thee?"
+
+"In a barrel of aguardiente? I prefer thee to dance with. To tell the
+truth, thy step suits mine."
+
+"Ay, senorita mia! thou canst put honey on thy tongue. God of my life,
+senorita--I fling my heart at thy feet!"
+
+"I fear to break it, senor, for I have faith that it is made of thin
+glass. It would cut my feet. I like better this smooth floor. Who is
+that standing by the window? He has not danced to-night?"
+
+"Don Pablo Ignestria of Monterey. He says the women of San Luis are not
+half so beautiful nor so elegant as the women of Monterey; he says they
+are too dark and too small. He does not wish to dance with any one; nor
+do any of the girls wish to dance with him. They are very angry."
+
+"I wish to dance with him. Bring him to me."
+
+"But, senorita, I tell thee thou wouldst not like him. Holy heaven! Why
+do those eyes flash so? Thou lookest as if thou wouldst fight with thy
+little fists."
+
+"Bring him to me."
+
+Don Carmelo walked obediently over to Don Pablo, although burning with
+jealousy.
+
+"Senor, at your service," he said. "I wish to introduce you to the most
+charming senorita in the room."
+
+"Which?" asked Ignestria, incuriously.
+
+Don Carmelo indicated Eulogia with a grand sweep of his hand.
+
+"That little thing? Why, there are a dozen prettier girls in the room
+than she, and I have not cared to meet any of them!"
+
+"But she has commanded me to take you to her, senor, and--look at the
+men crowding about her--do you think I dare to disobey?"
+
+The stranger's dark gray eyes became less insensible. He was a handsome
+man, with a tall figure, and a smooth strong face; but about him hung
+the indolence of the Californian.
+
+"Very well," he said, "take me to her."
+
+He asked her to dance, and after a waltz Eulogia said she was tired, and
+they sat down within a proper distance of Dona Pomposa's eagle eye.
+
+"What do you think of the women of San Luis Obispo?" asked Eulogia,
+innocently. "Are not they handsome?"
+
+"They are not to be compared with the women of Monterey--since you ask
+me."
+
+"Because they find the men of San Luis more gallant than the Senor Don
+Pablo Ignestria!"
+
+"Do they? One, I believe, asked to have me introduced to her!"
+
+"True, senor. I wished to meet you that you might fall in love with me,
+and that the ladies of San Luis might have their vengeance."
+
+He stared at her.
+
+"Truly, senorita, but you do not hide your cards. And why, then, should
+I fall in love with you?"
+
+"Because I am different from the women of Monterey."
+
+"A good reason why I should not. I have been in every town in
+California, and I admire no women but those of my city."
+
+"And because you will hate me first."
+
+"And if I hate you, how can I love you?"
+
+"It is the same. You hate one woman and love another. Each is the same
+passion, only to a different person out goes a different side. Let the
+person loved or hated change his nature, and the passion will change."
+
+He looked at her with more interest.
+
+"In truth I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, senorita.
+But that wisdom was not born in your little head; for sixteen years, I
+think, have not sped over it, no? It went in, if I mistake not, through
+those bright eyes."
+
+"Yes, senor, that is true. I am not content to be just like other girls
+of sixteen. I want to _know_--_to know._ Have you ever read any books,
+senor?"
+
+"Many." He looked at her with a lively interest now. "What ones have you
+read?"
+
+"Only the beautiful romances of the Senor Dumas. I have seen no others,
+for there are not many books in San Luis. Have you read others?"
+
+"A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish books--'Don Quixote de la
+Mancha' and 'Gil Blas,' and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote--a man of
+England, and some lives of famous men, senorita. A great man lent them
+to me--the greatest of our Governors--Alvarado."
+
+"And you will lend them to me?" cried Eulogia, forgetting her coquetry,
+"I want to read them."
+
+"Aha! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break in
+two. By the holy Evangelists, senorita, thou shalt have every book I
+possess."
+
+"Will the Senorita Dona Eulogia favour us with a song?"
+
+Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathful
+eyes fixed upon Don Pablo.
+
+"Yes," said Eulogia.
+
+She took the guitar and sang a love-song in a manner which can best be
+described as no manner at all; her expression never changed, her voice
+never warmed. At first the effect was flat, then the subtle fascination
+of it grew until the very memory of impassioned tones was florid and
+surfeiting. When she finished, Ignestria's heart was hammering upon the
+steel in which he fancied he had prisoned it.
+
+
+IV
+
+"Well," said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks later, "am I not La
+Favorita?"
+
+"Thou art, thou little coquette. Thou hast a power over men which thou
+must use with discretion, my Eulogia. Tell thy beads three times a day
+and pray that thou mayest do no harm."
+
+"I wish to do harm, my father, for men have broken the hearts of women
+for ages--"
+
+"Chut, chut, thou baby! Men are not so black as they are painted. Harm
+no one, and the world will be better that thou hast lived in it."
+
+"If I scratch, fewer women will be scratched," and she raised her
+shoulders beneath the flowered muslin of her gown, swung her guitar
+under her arm, and walked down the grove, the silver leaves shining
+above her smoky hair.
+
+The padre had bidden all the young people of the upper class to a picnic
+in the old mission garden. Girls in gay muslins and silk rebosos were
+sitting beneath the arches of the corridor or flitting under the trees
+where the yellow apricots hung among the green leaves. Languid and
+sparkling faces coquetted with caballeros in bright calico jackets and
+knee-breeches laced with silken cord, their slender waists girt with
+long sashes hanging gracefully over the left hip. The water rilled in
+the winding creek, the birds carolled in the trees; but above all rose
+the sound of light laughter and sweet strong voices.
+
+They took their dinner behind the arches, at a table the length of the
+corridor, and two of the young men played the guitar and sang, whilst
+the others delighted their keen palates with the goods the padre had
+provided.
+
+Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he very often managed to fill; but he
+never had seen her for a moment alone.
+
+"I must go soon, Eulogia," he murmured, as the voices waxed louder.
+"Duty calls me back to Monterey."
+
+"I am glad to know thou hast a sense of thy duty."
+
+"Nothing but that would take me away from San Luis Obispo. But both my
+mother and--and--a dear friend are ill, and wish to see me."
+
+"Thou must go to-night. How canst thou eat and be gay when thy mother
+and--and--a dear friend are ill?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! wouldst thou scoff over my grave? I go, but it is for thee
+to say if I return."
+
+"Do not tell me that thou adorest me here at the table. I shall blush,
+and all will be about my smarting ears like the bees down in the padre's
+hive."
+
+"I shall not tell thee that before all the world, Eulogia. All I ask
+is this little favour: I shall send thee a letter the night I leave.
+Promise me that thou wilt answer it--to Monterey."
+
+"No, sir! Long ago, when I was twelve, I made a vow I would never write
+to a man. I never break that vow."
+
+"Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia."
+
+"And why for you, senor? Half the trouble in the world has been made on
+paper."
+
+"Oh, thou wise one! What trouble can a piece of paper make when it lies
+on a man's heart?"
+
+"It can crackle when another head lies on it."
+
+"No head will ever lie here but--"
+
+"Mine?"
+
+"Eulogia!"
+
+"To thee, Senorita Dona Eulogia," cried a deep voice. "May the jewels in
+thine eyes shine by the stars when thou art above them. May the tears
+never dim them while they shine for us below," and a caballero pushed
+back his chair, leaned forward, and touched her glass with his, then
+went down on one knee and drank the red wine.
+
+Eulogia threw him a little absent smile, sipped her wine, and went on
+talking to Ignestria in her soft monotonous voice.
+
+"My friend--Graciosa La Cruz--went a few weeks ago to Monterey for a
+visit. You will tell her I think of her, no?"
+
+"I will dance with her often because she is your friend--until I return
+to San Luis Obispo."
+
+"Will that be soon, senor?"
+
+"I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. Thou wilt answer my
+letter--promise me, Eulogia."
+
+"I will not, senor. I intend to be wiser than other women. At the very
+least, my follies shall not burn paper. If you want an answer, you will
+return."
+
+"I will _not_ return without that answer. I never can see thee alone,
+and if I could, thy coquetry would not give me a plain answer. I must
+see it on paper before I will believe."
+
+"Thou canst wait for the day of resurrection for thy knowledge, then!"
+
+
+V
+
+Once more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure through Eulogia's
+doorway and handed her a letter.
+
+"From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby," she said. "Oh, what a man! what a
+caballero! And so smart. He waited an hour by the creek in the mission
+gardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then he brought the note to
+me. He begged to see thee, but I dared not grant that, ninita, for thy
+mother will be back in ten minutes."
+
+"Go downstairs and keep my mother there," commanded Eulogia, and Aunt
+Anastacia rolled off, whilst her niece with unwonted nervousness opened
+the letter.
+
+"Sweet of my soul! Day-star of my life! I dare not speak to thee of love
+because, strong man as I am, still am I a coward before those mocking
+eyes. Therefore if thou laugh the first time thou readest that I love
+thee, I shall not see it, and the second time thou mayest be more kind.
+Beautiful and idolized Eulogia, men have loved thee, but never will be
+cast at thy little feet a heart stronger or truer than mine. Ay, dueno
+adorada, I love thee! Without hope? No! I believe that thou lovest me,
+thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to think that the
+heart thou hast sealed can open to let love in. But, Eulogia! Star of my
+eyes! I love thee so I will break that heart in pieces, and give thee
+another so soft and warm that it will beat all through the old house to
+which I will take thee. For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette?
+Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with thee in the mission
+while the good padre asks the saints to bless us? Eulogia, thou hast
+sworn thou wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my little
+one. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives in thine.
+
+"I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I kiss--ay, Eulogia!
+Adios! Adios!
+
+"PABLO."
+
+
+Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, after
+an entire day of agonized composition, she sent these lines:--
+
+"You can come back to San Luis Obispo.
+
+"EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE CARILLO."
+
+
+VI
+
+Another year had passed. No answer had come from Pablo Ignestria. Nor
+had he returned to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent
+her letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, containing the
+information that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love for
+him had been the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Her
+flirtations had earned her far and wide the title of Dona Coquetta, and
+she was cooler, calmer, and more audacious than ever.
+
+"Dost thou never intend to marry?" demanded Dona Pomposa one day, as she
+stood over the kitchen stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan full
+of lard.
+
+Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her small feet. "Why do you
+wish me to marry? I am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castanares so
+happy with the man who was mad for her that I should hasten to be a
+neglected wife? Poor my Elena! Four years, and then consumption and
+death. Three children and an indifferent husband, who was dying of love
+when he could not get her."
+
+"Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because thou hast just heard of
+Elena's death. But there are many others."
+
+"Did you hear of the present she left her mother?"
+
+"No." Dona Pomposa dropped her spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip.
+"What was it?"
+
+"You know that a year ago Elena went home to Los Quervos and begged Don
+Roberto and Dona Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, and
+were glad to do it. Dona Jacoba was with her when she was so ill at the
+last, and just before she died Elena said: 'Mother, in that chest you
+will find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I have in the
+world, and I leave it to you. Do not take it until I am dead.' And what
+do you think it was? The greenhide reata."
+
+"Mother of God! But Jacoba must have felt as if she were already in
+purgatory."
+
+"It is said that she grew ten years older in the night."
+
+"May the saints be praised, my child can leave me no such gift. But all
+men are not like Dario Castanares. I would have thee marry an American.
+They are smart and know how to keep the gold. Remember, I have little
+now, and thou canst not be young forever."
+
+"I have seen no American I would marry."
+
+"There is Don Abel Hudson."
+
+"I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet and his face is handsome,
+but always when I meet him I feel a little afraid, although it goes away
+in a minute. The Senor Dumas says that a woman's instincts--"
+
+"To perdition with Senor Dumas! Does he say that a chit's instincts are
+better than her mother's? Don Abel throws about the money like rocks.
+He has the best horses at the races. He tells me that he has a house in
+Yerba Buena--"
+
+"San Francisco. And I would not live in that bleak and sandy waste. Did
+you notice how he limped at the ball last night?"
+
+"No. What of that? But I am not in love with Don Abel Hudson if thou art
+so set against him. It is true that no one knows just who he is, now I
+think of it. I had not made up my mind that he was the husband for thee.
+But let it be an American, my Eulogia. Even when they have no money they
+will work for it, and that is what no Californian will do--"
+
+But Eulogia had run out of the room: she rarely listened to the end of
+her mother's harangues. She draped a reboso about her head, and went
+over to the house of Graciosa La Cruz. Her friend was sitting by her
+bedroom window, trimming a yellow satin bed-spread with lace, and
+Eulogia took up a half-finished sheet and began fastening the drawn
+threads into an intricate pattern.
+
+"Only ten days more, my Graciosa," she said mischievously. "Art thou
+going to run back to thy mother in thy night-gown, like Josefita
+Olvera?"
+
+"Never will I be such a fool! Eulogia, I have a husband for thee."
+
+"To the tunnel of the mission with husbands! I shall be an old maid like
+Aunt Anastacia, fat, with black whiskers."
+
+Graciosa laughed. "Thou wilt marry and have ten children."
+
+"By every station in the mission I will not. Why bring more women into
+the world to suffer?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! thou art always saying things I cannot understand and that
+thou shouldst not think about. But I have a husband for thee. He came
+from Los Angeles this morning, and is a friend of my Carlos. His name is
+not so pretty--Tomas Garfias. There he rides now."
+
+Eulogia looked out of the window with little curiosity. A small young
+man was riding down the street on a superb horse coloured like golden
+bronze, with silver mane and tail. His saddle of embossed leather was
+heavily mounted with silver; the spurs were inlaid with gold and silver,
+and the straps of the latter were worked with gleaming metal threads. He
+wore a light red serape, heavily embroidered and fringed. His botas of
+soft deerskin, dyed a rich green and stamped with Aztec Eagles, were
+tied at the knee by a white silk cord wound about the leg and finished
+with heavy silver tassels. His short breeches were trimmed with gold
+lace. As he caught Graciosa's eye he raised his sombrero, then rode
+through the open door of a neighbouring saloon and tossed off an
+American drink without dismounting from his horse.
+
+Eulogia lifted her shoulders. "I like his saddle and his horse, but he
+is too small. Still, a new man is not disagreeable. When shall I meet
+him?"
+
+"To-night, my Eulogia. He goes with us to Miramar."
+
+
+VII
+
+A party of young people started that night for a ball at Miramar, the
+home of Don Polycarpo Quijas. Many a caballero had asked the lady of
+his choice to ride on his saddle while he rode on the less comfortable
+aquera behind and guided his horse with arm as near her waist as he
+dared. Dona Pomposa, with a small brood under her wing, started last of
+all in an American wagon. The night was calm, the moon was high, the
+party very gay.
+
+Abel Hudson and the newcomer, Don Tomas Garfias, sat on either side of
+Eulogia, and she amused herself at the expense of both.
+
+"Don Tomas says that he is handsomer than the men of San Luis," she said
+to Hudson. "Do not you think he is right? See what a beautiful curl his
+mustachios have, and what a droop his eyelids. Holy Mary!--how that
+yellow ribbon becomes his hair! Ay, senor! Why have you come to dazzle
+the eyes of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?"
+
+"Ah, senorita," said the little dandy, "it will do their eyes good to
+see an elegant young man from the city. And they should see my sister.
+She would teach them how to dress and arrange their hair."
+
+"Bring her to teach us, senor, and for reward we will find her a tall
+and modest husband such as the girls of San Luis Obispo admire. Don
+Abel, why do you not boast of your sisters? Have you none, nor mother,
+nor father, nor brother? I never hear you speak of them. Maybe you grow
+alone out of the earth."
+
+Hudson's gaze wandered to the canon they were approaching. "I am alone,
+senorita; a lonely man in a strange land."
+
+"Is that the reason why you are such a traveller, senor? Are you never
+afraid, in your long lonely rides over the mountains, of that dreadful
+bandit, John Power, who murders whole families for the sack of gold they
+have under the floor? I hope you always carry plenty of pistols, senor."
+
+"True, dear senorita. It is kind of you to put me on my guard. I never
+had thought of this man."
+
+"This devil, you mean. When last night I saw you come limping into the
+room--"
+
+"Ay, yi, yi, Dios!" "Maria!" "Dios de mi alma!" "Dios de mi vida!"
+"Cielo santo!"
+
+A wheel had given way, and the party was scattered about the road.
+
+No one was hurt, but loud were the lamentations. No Californian had ever
+walked six miles, and the wheel was past repair. But Abel Hudson came to
+the rescue.
+
+"Leave it to me," he said. "I pledge myself to get you there," and he
+went off in the direction of a ranch-house.
+
+"Ay! the good American! The good American!" cried the girls. "Eulogia!
+how canst thou be so cold to him? The handsome stranger with the kind
+heart!"
+
+"His heart is like the Sacramento Valley, veined with gold instead of
+blood." "Holy Mary!" she cried some moments later, "what is he bringing?
+The wagon of the country!"
+
+Abel Hudson was standing erect on the low floor of a wagon drawn by two
+strong black mules. The wagon was a clumsy affair,--a large wooden frame
+covered with rawhide, and set upon a heavy axle. The wheels were made of
+solid sections of trees, and the harness was of greenhide. An Indian boy
+sat astride one of the mules. On either side rode a vaquero, with his
+reata fastened to the axle-tree.
+
+"This is the best I can do," said Hudson. "There is probably not another
+American wagon between San Luis and Miramar. Do you think you can stand
+it?"
+
+The girls shrugged their pretty shoulders. The men swore into their
+mustachios. Dona Pomposa groaned at the prospect of a long ride in a
+springless wagon. But no one was willing to return, and when Eulogia
+jumped lightly in, all followed, and Hudson placed them as comfortably
+as possible, although they were obliged to sit on the floor.
+
+The wagon jolted down the canon, the mules plunging, the vaqueros
+shouting; but the moon glittered like a silvered snow peak, the wild
+green forest was about them, and even Eulogia grew a little sentimental
+as Abel Hudson's blue eyes bent over hers and his curly head cut off
+Dona Pomposa's view.
+
+"Dear senorita," he said, "thy tongue is very sharp, but thou hast a
+kind heart. Hast thou no place in it for Abel Hudson?"
+
+"In the sala, senor--where many others are received--with mamma and Aunt
+Anastacia sitting in the corner."
+
+He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest! But I would take all the rooms, and
+turn every one out, even to Dona Pomposa and Dona Anastacia!"
+
+"And leave me alone with you! God of my soul! How I should yawn!"
+
+"Oh, yes, Dona Coquetta, I am used to such pretty little speeches. When
+you began to yawn I should ride away, and you would be glad to see me
+when I returned."
+
+"What would you bring me from the mountains, senor?"
+
+He looked at her steadily. "Gold, senorita. I know of many rich veins.
+I have a little canon suspected by no one else, where I pick out a sack
+full of gold in a day. Gold makes the life of a beloved wife very sweet,
+senorita."
+
+"In truth I should like the gold better than yourself, senor," said
+Eulogia, frankly. "For if you will have the truth--Ay! Holy heaven! This
+is worse than the other!"
+
+A lurch, splash, and the party with shrill cries sprang to their feet;
+the low cart was filling with water. They had left the canon and were
+crossing a slough; no one had remembered that it would be high tide. The
+girls, without an instant's hesitation, whipped their gowns up round
+their necks; but their feet were wet and their skirts draggled. They
+made light of it, however, as they did of everything, and drove up to
+Miramar amidst high laughter and rattling jests.
+
+Dona Luisa Quijas, a handsome shrewd-looking woman, magnificently
+dressed in yellow satin, the glare and sparkle of jewels on her neck,
+came out upon the corridor to meet them.
+
+"What is this? In a wagon of the country! An accident? Ay, Dios de mi
+vida, the slough! Come in--quick! quick! I will give you dry clothes.
+Trust these girls to take care of their gowns. Mary! What wet feet!
+Quick! quick! This way, or you will have red noses to-morrow," and she
+led them down the corridor, past the windows through which they could
+see the dancers in the sala, and opened the door of her bedroom.
+
+"There, my children, help yourselves," and she pulled out the capacious
+drawers of her chest. "All is at your service." She lifted out an armful
+of dry underclothing, then went to the door of an adjoining room and
+listened, her hand uplifted.
+
+"Didst thou have to lock him up?" asked Dona Pomposa, as she drew on a
+pair of Dona Luisa's silk stockings.
+
+"Yes! yes! And such a time, my friend! Thou knowest that after I fooled
+him the last time he swore I never should have another ball. But, Dios
+de mi alma! I never was meant to be bothered with a husband, and have I
+not given him three children twenty times handsomer than himself? Is not
+that enough? By the soul of Saint Luis the Bishop, I will continue to
+promise, and then get absolution at the mission, but I will not perform!
+Well, he was furious, my friend; he had spent a sack of gold on that
+ball, and he swore I never should have another. So this time I invited
+my guests, and told him nothing. At seven to-night I persuaded him into
+his room, and locked the door. But, madre de Dios! Diego had forgotten
+to screw down the window, and he got out. I could not get him back,
+Pomposa, and his big nose was purple with rage. He swore that he would
+turn every guest away from the door; he swore that he would be taking
+a bath on the corridor when they came up, and throw insults in their
+faces. Ay, Pomposa! I went down on my knees. I thought I should not have
+my ball--such cakes as I had made, and such salads! But Diego saved me.
+He went into Don Polycarpo's room and cried 'Fire!' Of course the old
+man ran there, and then we locked him in. Diego had screwed down the
+window first. Dios de mi vida! but he is terrible, that man! What have I
+done to be punished with him?"
+
+"Thou art too handsome and too cruel, my Luisa. But, in truth, he is an
+old wild-cat. The saints be praised that he is safe for the night. Did
+he swear?"
+
+"Swear! He has cursed the skin off his throat and is quiet now. Come, my
+little ones, are you ready? The caballeros are dry in Diego's clothes by
+this time, and waiting for their waltzes;" and she drove them through
+the door into the sala with a triumphant smile on her dark sparkling
+face.
+
+The rest of the party had been dancing for an hour, and all gathered
+about the girls to hear the story of the accident, which was told
+with many variations. Eulogia as usual was craved for dances, but she
+capriciously divided her favours between Abel Hudson and Don Tomas
+Garfias. During the intervals, when the musicians were silent and the
+girls played the guitar or threw cascarones at their admirers, she sat
+in the deep window-seat watching the ponderous waves of the Pacific hurl
+themselves against the cliffs, whilst Hudson pressed close to her side,
+disregarding the insistence of Garfias. Finally, the little Don from the
+City of the Angels went into the dining room to get a glass of angelica,
+and Hudson caught at his chance.
+
+"Senorita," he exclaimed, interrupting one of her desultory remarks,
+"for a year I have loved you, and, for many reasons, I have not dared to
+tell you. I must tell you now. I have no reason to think you care more
+for me than for a dozen other men, but if you will marry me, senorita,
+I will build you a beautiful American house in San Luis Obispo, and you
+can then be with your friends when business calls me away."
+
+"And where will you live when you are away from me?" asked Eulogia,
+carelessly. "In a cave in the mountains? Be careful of the bandits."
+
+"Senorita," he replied calmly, "I do not know what you mean by the
+things you say sometimes. Perhaps you have the idea that I am another
+person--John Power, or Pio Lenares, for instance. Do you wish me to
+bring you a certificate to the effect that I am Abel Hudson? I can do
+so, although I thought that Californians disdained the written form
+and trusted to each other's honour, even to the selling of cattle and
+lands."
+
+"You are not a Californian."
+
+"Ah, senorita--God! what is that?"
+
+A tremendous knocking at the outer door sounded above the clear soprano
+of Graciosa La Cruz.
+
+"A late guest, no doubt. You are white like the wall. I think the low
+ceilings are not so good for your health, senor, as the sharp air of the
+mountains. Ay, Dios!" The last words came beneath her breath, and
+she forgot Abel Hudson. The front doors had been thrown open, and a
+caballero in riding-boots and a dark scrape wound about his tall figure
+had entered the room and flung his sombrero and saddle-bags into a
+corner. It was Pablo Ignestria.
+
+"At your feet, senora," he said to Dona Luisa, who held out both hands,
+welcome on her charming face. "I am an uninvited guest, but when I
+arrived at San Luis and found that all the town had come to one of Dona
+Luisa's famous balls, I rode on, hoping that for friendship's sake she
+would open her hospitable doors to a wanderer, and let him dance off the
+stiffness of a long ride."
+
+"You are welcome, welcome, Pablo," said Dona Luisa. "Go to the dining
+room and get a glass of aguardiente; then come back and dance until
+dawn."
+
+Ignestria left the room with Diego Quijas, but returned in a few moments
+and walked directly over to Eulogia, ignoring the men who stood about
+her.
+
+"Give me this dance," he whispered eagerly. "I have something to say to
+thee. I have purposely come from Monterey to say it."
+
+Eulogia was looking at him with angry eyes, her brain on fire. But
+curiosity triumphed, and she put her hand on his shoulder as the
+musicians swept their guitars with lithe fingers, scraped their violins,
+and began the waltz.
+
+"Eulogia!" exclaimed Ignestria; "dost thou suspect why I have returned?"
+
+"Why should I suspect what I have not thought about?"
+
+"Ay, Eulogia! Art thou as saucy as ever? But I will tell thee, beloved
+one. The poor girl who bore my name is dead, and I have come to beg an
+answer to my letter. Ay, little one, I _feel_ thy love. Why couldst thou
+not have sent me one word? I was so angry when passed week after week
+and no answer came, that in a fit of spleen I married the poor sick
+girl. And what I suffered, Eulogia, after that mad act! Long ago I told
+myself that I should have come back for my answer, that you had sworn
+you would write no letter; I should have let you have your little
+caprices, but I did not reason until--"
+
+"I answered your letter!" exclaimed Eulogia, furiously. "You know that
+I answered it! You only wished to humble me because I had sworn I would
+write to no man. Traitor! I hate you! You were engaged to the girl all
+the time you were here."
+
+"Eulogia! Believe! Believe!"
+
+"I would not believe you if you kissed the cross! You said to yourself,
+'That little coquette, I will teach her a lesson. To think the little
+chit should fancy an elegant Montereno could fall in love with her!' Ah!
+ha! Oh, Dios! I hate thee, thou false man-of-the-world! Thou art the
+very picture of the men I have read about in the books of the Senor
+Dumas; and yet I was fooled by thy first love-word! But I never loved
+you. Never, never! It was only a fancy--because you were from Monterey.
+I am glad you did not get my letter, for I hate you! Mother of Christ! I
+hate you!"
+
+He whirled her into the dining room. No one else was there. He kissed
+her full on the mouth.
+
+"Dost thou believe me now?" he asked.
+
+She raised her little hand and struck him on the face, but the sting was
+not hotter than her lips had been.
+
+"May the saints roll you in perdition!" she cried hoarsely. "May they
+thrust burning coals into the eyes that lied to me! May the devils bite
+off the fingers that made me shame myself! God! God! I hate you! I--I,
+who have fooled so many men, to have been rolled in the dust by you!"
+
+He drew back and regarded her sadly.
+
+"I see that it is no use to try to convince you," he said; "and I have
+no proof to show that I never received your letter. But while the stars
+jewel the heavens, Eulogia, I shall love thee and believe that thou
+lovest me."
+
+He opened the door, and she swept past him into the sala. Abel Hudson
+stepped forward to offer his arm, and for the moment Pablo forgot
+Eulogia.
+
+"John Power!" he cried.
+
+Hudson, with an oath, leaped backward, sprang upon the window-seat, and
+smashing the pane with his powerful hand disappeared before the startled
+men thought of stopping him.
+
+"Catch him! Catch him!" cried Ignestria, excitedly. "It is John Power.
+He stood me up a year ago."
+
+He whipped his pistol from the saddle-bags in the corner, and opening
+the door ran down the road, followed by the other men, shouting and
+firing their pistols into the air. But they were too late. Power had
+sprung upon Ignestria's horse, and was far on his way.
+
+
+VIII
+
+The next day Eulogia went with her mother and Aunt Anastacia to pay a
+visit of sympathy to Dona Jacoba at Los Quervos. Eulogia's eyes were not
+so bright nor her lips so red as they had been the night before, and
+she had little to say as the wagon jolted over the rough road, past the
+cypress fences, then down between the beautiful tinted hills of Los
+Quervos. Dona Pomposa sat forward on the high seat, her feet dangling
+just above the floor, her hands crossed as usual over her stomach, a
+sudden twirl of thumbs punctuating her remarks. She wore a loose black
+gown trimmed with ruffles, and a black reboso about her head. Aunt
+Anastacia was attired in a like manner, but clutched the side of the
+wagon with one hand and an American sunshade with the other.
+
+"Poor Jacoba!" exclaimed Dona Pomposa; "her stern heart is heavy this
+day. But she has such a sense of her duty, Anastacia. Only that makes
+her so stern."
+
+"O-h-h-h, y-e-e-s." When Aunt Anastacia was preoccupied or excited,
+these words came from her with a prolonged outgoing and indrawing.
+
+"I must ask her for the recipe for those cakes--the lard ones,
+Anastacia. I have lost it."
+
+"O-h-h, y-e-e-s. I love those cakes. Madre de Dios! It is hot!"
+
+"I wonder will she give Eulogia a mantilla when the chit marries. She
+has a chest full."
+
+"Surely. Jacoba is generous."
+
+"Poor my friend! Ay, her heart--Holy Mary! What is that?"
+
+She and Aunt Anastacia stumbled to their feet. The sound of pistol shots
+was echoing between the hills. Smoke was rising from the willow forest
+that covered the centre of the valley.
+
+The Indian whipped up his horses with an excited grunt, the two old
+women reeling and clutching wildly at each other. At the same time they
+noticed a crowd of horsemen galloping along the hill which a sudden turn
+in the road had opened to view.
+
+"It is the Vigilantes," said Eulogia, calmly, from the front seat. "They
+are after John Power and Pio Lenares and their lieutenants. After that
+awful murder in the mountains the other day, the men of San Luis and the
+ranchos swore they would hunt them out, and this morning they traced
+them to Los Quervos. I suppose they have made a barricade in the
+willows, and the Vigilantes are trying to fire them out."
+
+"Heart of Saint Peter! Thou little brat! Why didst thou not tell us of
+this before, and not let us come here to be shot by flying bullets?"
+
+"I forgot," said Eulogia, indifferently.
+
+They could see nothing; but curiosity, in spite of fear, held them to
+the spot. Smoke and cries, shouts and curses, came from the willows;
+flocks of agitated crows circled screaming through the smoke. The men
+on the hill, their polished horses and brilliant attire flashing in the
+sun, kept up a ceaseless galloping, hallooing, and waving of sombreros.
+The beautiful earth-green and golden hills looked upon a far different
+scene from the gay cavalcades to which they were accustomed. Even Don
+Roberto Duncan, a black silk handkerchief knotted about his head, was
+dashing, on his gray horse, up and down the valley between the hills and
+the willows, regardless of chance bullets. And over all shone the same
+old sun, indifferent alike to slaughter and pleasure.
+
+"Surely, Anastacia, all those bullets must shoot some one."
+
+"O--h--h, y--e--e--s." Her sister was grasping the sunshade with both
+hands, her eyes starting from her head, although she never removed their
+gaze from the central volume of smoke.
+
+"Ay, we can sleep in peace if those murdering bandits are killed!"
+exclaimed Dona Pomposa. "I have said a rosary every night for five years
+that they might be taken. And, holy heaven! To think that we have been
+petting the worst of them as if he were General Castro or Juan Alvarado.
+To think, my Eulogia!--that thirsty wild-cat has had his arm about thy
+waist more times than I can count."
+
+"He danced very well--aha!"
+
+Aunt Anastacia gurgled like an idiot. Dona Pomposa gave a terrific
+shriek, which Eulogia cut in two with her hand. A man had crawled out of
+the brush near them. His face was black with powder, one arm hung limp
+at his side. Dona Pomposa half raised her arm to signal the men on the
+hill, but her daughter gave it such a pinch that she fell back on the
+seat, faint for a moment.
+
+"Let him go," said Eulogia. "Do you want to see a man cut in pieces
+before your eyes? You would have to say rosaries for the rest of your
+life." She leaned over the side of the wagon and spoke to the dazed man,
+whose courage seemed to have deserted him.
+
+"Don Abel Hudson, you do not look so gallant as at the ball last night,
+but you helped us to get there, and I will save you now. Get into the
+wagon, and take care you crawl in like a snake that you may not be
+seen."
+
+"No--no!" cried the two older women, but in truth they were too
+terrified not to submit. Power swung himself mechanically over the
+wheel, and lay on the floor of the wagon. Eulogia, in spite of a
+protesting whimper from Aunt Anastacia, loosened that good dame's ample
+outer skirt and threw it over the fallen bandit. Then the faithful
+Benito turned his horse and drove as rapidly toward the town as the
+rough roads would permit. They barely had started when they heard a
+great shouting behind them, and turned in apprehension, whilst the man
+on the floor groaned aloud in his fear. But the Vigilantes rode by
+them unsuspecting. Across their saddles they carried the blackened and
+dripping bodies of Lenares and his lieutenants; through the willows
+galloped the caballeros in search of John Power. But they did not
+find him, then nor after. Dona Pomposa hid him in her woodhouse until
+midnight, when he stole away and was never seen near San Luis again. A
+few years later came the word that he had been assassinated by one of
+his lieutenants in Lower California, and his body eaten by wild hogs.
+
+
+IX
+
+  "Al contado plasentero
+  Del primer beso de amor,
+  Un fuego devorador
+  Que en mi pecho siento ardor.
+
+  "Y no me vuelvas a besar
+  Por que me quema tu aliento,
+  Ya desfayeserme siento,
+  Mas enbriagada de amor.
+
+  "Si a cuantas estimas, das
+  Beso en pruebas de amor;
+  Si me amas hasme el favor
+  De no besarme jamas."
+
+A caballero on a prancing horse sang beneath Eulogia's window, his
+jingling spurs keeping time to the tinkling of his guitar. Eulogia
+turned over in bed, pulling the sheet above her ears, and went to sleep.
+
+The next day, when Don Tomas Garfias asked her hand of her mother, Dona
+Coquetta accepted him with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+"And thou lovest me, Eulogia?" murmured the enraptured little dandy as
+Dona Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia good-naturedly discussed the composition
+of American pies.
+
+"No."
+
+"Ay! senorita! Why, then, dost thou marry me? No one compels thee."
+
+"It pleases me. What affair of thine are my reasons if I consent to
+marry you?"
+
+"Oh, Eulogia, I believe thou lovest me! Why not? Many pretty girls have
+done so before thee. Thou wishest only to tease me a little."
+
+"Well, do not let me see too much of you before the wedding-day, or I
+may send you back to those who admire you more than I do."
+
+"Perhaps it is well that I go to San Francisco to remain three months,"
+said the young man, sulkily; he had too much vanity to be enraged. "Wilt
+thou marry me as soon as I return?"
+
+"As well then as any other time."
+
+Garfias left San Luis a few days later to attend to important business
+in San Francisco, and although Dona Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia began at
+once to make the wedding outfit, Eulogia appeared to forget that she
+ever had given a promise of marriage. She was as great a belle as ever,
+for no one believed that she would keep faith with any man, much less
+with such a ridiculous scrap as Garfias. Her flirtations were more
+calmly audacious than ever, her dancing more spirited; in every frolic
+she was the leader.
+
+Suddenly Dona Pomposa was smitten with rheumatism. She groaned by night
+and shouted by day. Eulogia, whose patience was not great, organized
+a camping party to the sulphur springs of the great rancho, Paso des
+Robles. The young people went on horseback; Dona Pomposa and Aunt
+Anastacia in the wagon with the tents and other camping necessities.
+Groans and shrieks mingled with the careless laughter of girls and
+caballeros, who looked upon rheumatism as the inevitable sister of old
+age; but when they entered the park-like valley after the ride over the
+beautiful chrome mountains, Dona Pomposa declared that the keen dry air
+had already benefited her.
+
+That evening, when the girls left their tents, hearts fluttered, and
+gay muslin frocks waved like agitated banners. Several Americans were
+pitching their tents by the spring. They proved to be a party of mining
+engineers from San Francisco, and although there was only one young
+man among them, the greater was the excitement. Many of the girls were
+beautiful, with their long braids and soft eyes, but Eulogia, in
+her yellow gown, flashed about like a succession of meteors, as the
+Americans drew near and proffered their services to Dona Pomposa.
+
+The young man introduced himself as Charles Rogers. He was a
+good-looking little fellow, in the lighter American style. His
+well-attired figure was slim and active, his mouse-coloured hair short
+and very straight, his shrewd eyes were blue. After a few moments'
+critical survey of the charming faces behind Dona Pomposa, he went off
+among the trees, and returning with a bunch of wild flowers walked
+straight over to Eulogia and handed them to her.
+
+She gave him a roguish little courtesy. "Much thanks, senor. You must
+scuse my English; I no spik often. The Americanos no care for the
+flores?"
+
+"I like them well enough, but I hope you will accept these."
+
+"Si, senor." She put them in her belt. "You like California?"
+
+"Very much. It is full of gold, and, I should say, excellent for
+agriculture."
+
+"But it no is beautiful country?"
+
+"Oh, yes, it does very well, and the climate is pretty fair in some
+parts."
+
+"You living in San Francisco?"
+
+"I am a mining engineer, and we have got hold of a good thing near
+here."
+
+"The mine--it is yours?"
+
+"Only a part of it."
+
+"The Americanos make all the money now."
+
+"The gold was put here for some one to take out. You Californians had
+things all your own way for a hundred years, but you let it stay there."
+
+"Tell me how you take it out."
+
+He entered into a detailed and somewhat technical description, but her
+quick mind grasped the meaning of unfamiliar words.
+
+"You like make the money?" she asked, after he had finished.
+
+"Of course. What else is a man made for? Life is a pretty small affair
+without money."
+
+"We no have much now, but we live very happy. The Americanos love the
+money, though. Alway I see that."
+
+"Americans have sense."
+
+He devoted himself to her during the ten days of their stay, and his
+business shrewdness and matter-of-fact conversation attracted the
+keen-witted girl, satiated with sighs and serenades. Always eager for
+knowledge, she learned much from him of the Eastern world. She did not
+waste a glance on her reproachful caballeros, but held long practical
+conversations with Rogers under the mending wing of Dona Pomposa, who
+approved of the stranger, having ascertained his abilities and prospects
+from the older men of his party.
+
+On the morning of their return to San Luis Obispo, Rogers and Eulogia
+were standing somewhat apart, whilst the vaqueros rounded up the horses
+that had strayed at will through the valley. Rogers plucked one of the
+purple autumn lilies and handed it to her.
+
+"Senorita," he said, "suppose you marry me. It is a good thing for a man
+to be married in a wild country like this; he is not so apt to gamble
+and drink. And although I've seen a good many pretty girls, I've seen no
+one so likely to keep me at home in the evening as yourself. What do you
+say?"
+
+Eulogia laughed. His wooing interested her.
+
+"I promise marry another man; not I think much I ever go to do it."
+
+"Well, let him go, and marry me."
+
+"I no think I like you much better. But I spose I must get marry some
+day. Here my mother come. Ask her. I do what she want."
+
+Dona Pomposa was trotting toward them, and while she struggled for her
+lost breath Eulogia repeated the proposal of the American, twanging her
+guitar the while.
+
+The old lady took but one moment to make up her mind. "The American,"
+she said rapidly in Spanish. "Garfias is rich now, but in a few years
+the Americans will have everything. Garfias will be poor; this man will
+be rich. Marry the American," and she beamed upon Rogers.
+
+Eulogia shrugged her shoulders and turned to her practical wooer.
+
+"My mother she say she like you the best."
+
+"Then I may look upon that little transaction as settled?"
+
+"Si you like it."
+
+"_Which_ art thou going to marry, Eulogia?" asked one of the girls that
+night, as they rode down the mountain.
+
+"Neither," said Eulogia, serenely.
+
+
+X
+
+Eulogia had just passed through an animated interview with her mother.
+Dona Pomposa had stormed and Eulogia had made an occasional reply in her
+cool monotonous voice, her gaze absently fixed on the gardens of the
+mission.
+
+"Thou wicked little coquette!" cried Dona Pomposa, her voice almost
+worn out. "Thou darest repeat to me that thou wilt not marry the Senor
+Rogers!"
+
+"I will not. It was amusing to be engaged to him for a time, but now I
+am tired. You can give him what excuse you like, but tell him to go."
+
+"And the clothes I have made--the chests of linen with the beautiful
+deshalados that nearly put out Aunt Anastacia's eyes! The new silk
+gowns! Dias de mi vida! The magnificent bed-spread with the lace as deep
+as my hand!"
+
+"They will keep until I do marry. Besides, I need some new clothes."
+
+"Dost thou indeed, thou little brat! Thou shalt not put on a smock or
+a gown in that chest if thou goest naked! But thou shalt marry him, I
+say!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh, thou ice-hearted little devil!" Even Dona Pomposa's stomach was
+trembling with rage, and her fingers were jumping. "Whom then wilt thou
+marry? Garfias?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Thou wilt be an old maid like Aunt Anastacia."
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"O--h--h--Who is this?"
+
+A stranger in travelling scrape and riding-boots had dashed up to the
+house, and flung himself from his horse. He knocked loudly on the open
+door, then entered without waiting for an invitation, and made a deep
+reverence to Dona Pomposa.
+
+"At your service, senora. At your service, senorita. I come from the
+Senor Don Tomas Garfias. Word has reached him that the Senorita Eulogia
+is about to marry an American. I humbly ask you to tell me if this be
+true or not. I have been told in town that the wedding is set for the
+day after to-morrow."
+
+"Ask her!" cried Dona Pomposa, tragically, and she swung herself to the
+other end of the room.
+
+"Senorita, at your feet."
+
+"You can tell your friend that I have no more intention of marrying the
+American than I have of marrying him."
+
+"Senorita! But he expected to return next week and marry you."
+
+"We expect many things in this world that we do not get."
+
+"But--a thousand apologies for my presumption, senorita--why did you not
+write and tell him?"
+
+"I never write letters."
+
+"But you could have sent word by some friend travelling to San
+Francisco, senorita."
+
+"He would find it out in good time. Why hurry?"
+
+"Ay, senorita, well are you named Dona Coquetta. You are famous even to
+San Francisco. I will return to my poor friend. At your service, senora.
+At your service, senorita," and he bowed himself out, and galloped away.
+
+Dona Pomposa threw herself into her chair, and wept aloud.
+
+"Mother of God! I had thought to see her married to a thrifty American!
+What have I done to be punished with so heartless a child? And the
+Americans will have all the money! The little I have will go, too! We
+shall be left sitting in the street. And we might have a wooden house in
+San Francisco, and go to the theatre! Oh, Mother of God, why dost thou
+not soften the heart of the wicked--"
+
+Eulogia slipped out of the window, and went into the mission gardens.
+She walked slowly through the olive groves, lifting her arms to part
+the branches where the little purple spheres lay in their silver nests.
+Suddenly she came face to face with Pablo Ignestria.
+
+Her cynical brain informed her stormy heart that any woman must succumb
+finally to the one man who had never bored her.
+
+
+
+
+THE ISLE OF SKULLS
+
+
+I
+
+The good priests of Santa Barbara sat in grave conference on the long
+corridor of their mission. It was a winter's day, and they basked in
+the sun. The hoods of their brown habits peaked above faces lean and
+ascetic, fat and good-tempered, stern, intelligent, weak, commanding.
+One face alone was young.
+
+But for the subject under discussion they would have been at peace with
+themselves and with Nature. In the great square of the mission the
+Indians they had Christianized worked at many trades. The great aqueduct
+along the brow of one of the lower hills, the wheat and corn fields on
+the slopes, the trim orchards and vegetable gardens in the canons of the
+great bare mountains curving about the valley, were eloquent evidence of
+their cleverness and industry. From the open door of the church came the
+sound of lively and solemn tunes: the choir was practising for mass. The
+day was as peaceful as only those long drowsy shimmering days before the
+Americans came could be. And yet there was dissent among the padres.
+
+Several had been speaking together, when one of the older men raised his
+hand with cold impatience.
+
+"There is only one argument," he said. "We came here, came to the
+wilderness out of civilization, for one object only--to lead the heathen
+to God. We have met with a fair success. Shall we leave these miserable
+islanders to perish, when we have it in our power to save?"
+
+"But no one knows exactly where this island is, Father Jimeno," replied
+the young priest. "And we know little of navigation, and may perish
+before we find it. Our lives are more precious than those of savages."
+
+"In the sight of God one soul is of precisely the same value as another,
+Father Carillo."
+
+The young priest scowled. "We can save. They cannot."
+
+"If we refuse to save when the power is ours, then the savage in his
+extremest beastiality has more hope of heaven than we have."
+
+Father Carillo looked up at the golden sun riding high in the dark blue
+sky, down over the stately oaks and massive boulders of the valley where
+quail flocked like tame geese. He had no wish to leave his paradise, and
+as the youngest and hardiest of the priests, he knew that he would be
+ordered to take charge of the expedition.
+
+"It is said also," continued the older man, "that once a ship from the
+Continent of Europe was wrecked among those islands--"
+
+"No? No?" interrupted several of the priests.
+
+"It is more than probable that there were survivors, and that their
+descendants live on this very island to-day. Think of it, my brother!
+Men and women of our own blood, perhaps, living like beasts of the
+field! Worshipping idols! Destitute of morality! Can we sit here in hope
+of everlasting life while our brethren perish?"
+
+"No!" The possibility of rescuing men of European blood had quenched
+dissent. Even Carillo spoke as spontaneously as the others.
+
+As he had anticipated, the expedition was put in his charge. Don
+Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the magnate of the South, owned a small
+schooner, and placed it at the disposal of the priests.
+
+Through the wide portals of the mission church, two weeks later, rolled
+the solemn music of high mass. The church was decorated as for a
+festival. The aristocrats of the town knelt near the altar, the people
+and Indians behind.
+
+Father Carillo knelt and took communion, the music hushing suddenly to
+rise in more sonorous volume. Then Father Jimeno, bearing a cross and
+chanting the rosary, descended the altar steps and walked toward the
+doors. On either side of him a page swung a censer. Four women neophytes
+rose from among the worshippers, and shouldering a litter on which
+rested a square box containing an upright figure of the Holy Virgin
+followed with bent heads. The Virgin's gown was of yellow satin, covered
+with costly Spanish lace; strands of Baja Californian pearls bedecked
+the front of her gown. Behind this resplendent image came the other
+priests, two and two, wearing their white satin embroidered robes,
+chanting the sacred mysteries. Father Carillo walked last and alone. His
+thin clever face wore an expression of nervous exaltation.
+
+As the procession descended the steps of the church, the bells rang
+out a wild inspiring peal. The worshippers rose, and forming in line
+followed the priests down the valley.
+
+When they reached the water's edge, Father Jimeno raised the cross above
+his head, stepped with the other priests into a boat, and was rowed to
+the schooner. He sprinkled holy water upon the little craft; then Father
+Carillo knelt and received the blessing of each of his brethren. When
+he rose all kissed him solemnly, then returned to the shore, where the
+whole town knelt. The boat brought back the six Indians who were to give
+greeting and confidence to their kinsmen on the island, and the schooner
+was ready to sail. As she weighed anchor, the priests knelt in a row
+before the people, Father Jimeno alone standing and holding the cross
+aloft with rigid arms.
+
+Father Carillo stood on deck and watched the white mission under the
+mountain narrow to a thread, the kneeling priests become dots of
+reflected light. His exaltation vanished. He was no longer the chief
+figure in a picturesque panorama. He set his lips and his teeth behind
+them. He was a very ambitious man. His dreams leapt beyond California
+to the capital of Spain. If he returned with his savages, he might make
+success serve as half the ladder. But would he return?
+
+Wind and weather favoured him. Three days after leaving Santa Barbara
+he sighted a long narrow mountainous island. He had passed another of
+different proportions in the morning, and before night sighted still
+another, small and oval. But the lofty irregular mass, some ten miles
+long and four miles wide, which he approached at sundown, was the one he
+sought. The night world was alight under the white blaze of the moon;
+the captain rode into a small harbour at the extreme end of the island
+and cast anchor, avoiding reefs and shoals as facilely as by midday.
+Father Carillo gave his Indians orders to be ready to march at dawn.
+
+The next morning the priest arrayed himself in his white satin garments,
+embroidered about the skirt with gold and on the chest with a purple
+cross pointed with gold. The brown woollen habit of his voyage was left
+behind. None knew better than he the value of theatric effect upon the
+benighted mind. His Indians wore gayly striped blankets of their own
+manufacture, and carried baskets containing presents and civilized food.
+
+Bearing a large gilt cross, Father Carillo stepped on shore, waved
+farewell to the captain, and directed his Indians to keep faithfully in
+the line of march: they might come upon the savages at any moment. They
+toiled painfully through a long stretch of white sand, then passed into
+a grove of banana trees, dark, cold, noiseless, but for the rumble of
+the ocean. When they reached the edge of the grove, Father Carillo
+raised his cross and commanded the men to kneel. Rumour had told him
+what to expect, and he feared the effect on his simple and superstitious
+companions. He recited a chaplet, then, before giving them permission to
+rise, made a short address.
+
+"My children, be not afraid at what meets your eyes. The ways of all
+men are not our ways. These people have seen fit to leave their dead
+unburied on the surface of the earth. But these poor bones can do you
+no more harm than do those you have placed beneath the ground in Santa
+Barbara. Now rise and follow me, nor turn back as you fear the wrath of
+God."
+
+He turned and strode forward, with the air of one to whom fear had no
+meaning; but even he closed his eyes for a moment in horror. The poor
+creatures behind mumbled and crossed themselves and clung to each other.
+The plain was a vast charnel-house. The sun, looking over the brow of an
+eastern hill, threw its pale rays upon thousands of crumbling skeletons,
+bleached by unnumbered suns, picked bare by dead and gone generations of
+carrion, white, rigid, sinister. Detached skulls lay in heaps, grinning
+derisively. Stark digits pointed threateningly, as if the old warriors
+still guarded their domain. Other frames lay face downward, as though
+the broken teeth had bitten the dust in battle. Slender forms lay prone,
+their arms encircling cooking utensils, beautiful in form and colour.
+Great bowls and urns, toy canoes, mortars and pestles, of serpentine,
+sandstone, and steatite, wrought with a lost art,--if, indeed, the art
+had ever been known beyond this island,--and baked to richest dyes, were
+placed at the head and feet of skeletons more lofty in stature than
+their fellows.
+
+Father Carillo sprinkled holy water right and left, bidding his Indians
+chant a rosary for the souls which once had inhabited these appalling
+tenements. The Indians obeyed with clattering teeth, keeping their eyes
+fixed stonily upon the ground lest they stumble and fall amid yawning
+ribs.
+
+The ghastly tramp lasted two hours. The sun spurned the hill-top and
+cast a flood of light upon the ugly scene. The white bones grew whiter,
+dazzling the eyes of the living. They reached the foot of a mountain and
+began a toilsome ascent through a dark forest. Here new terrors awaited
+them. Skeletons sat propped against trees, grinning out of the dusk,
+gleaming in horrid relief against the mass of shadow. Father Carillo,
+with one eye over his shoulder, managed by dint of command, threats, and
+soothing words to get his little band to the top of the hill. Once,
+when revolt seemed imminent, he asked them scathingly if they wished to
+retrace their steps over the plain unprotected by the cross, and they
+clung to his skirts thereafter. When they reached the summit, they lay
+down to rest and eat their luncheon, Father Carillo reclining carefully
+on a large mat: his fine raiment was a source of no little anxiety. No
+skeletons kept them company here. They had left the last many yards
+below.
+
+"Anacleto," commanded the priest, at the end of an hour, "crawl forward
+on thy hands and knees and peer over the brow of the mountain. Then come
+back and tell me if men like thyself are below."
+
+Anacleto obeyed, and returned in a few moments with bulging eyes and a
+broad smile of satisfaction. People were in the valley--a small band.
+They wore feathers like birds, and came and went from the base of the
+hill. There were no wigwams, no huts.
+
+Father Carillo rose at once. Bidding his Indians keep in the background,
+he walked to the jutting brow of the hill, and throwing a rapid glance
+downward came to a sudden halt. With one hand he held the cross well
+away from him and high above his head. The sun blazed down on the
+burnished cross; on the white shining robes of the priest; on his calm
+benignant face thrown into fine relief by the white of the falling
+sleeve.
+
+In a moment a low murmur arose from the valley, then a sudden silence.
+Father Carillo, glancing downward, saw that the people had prostrated
+themselves.
+
+He began the descent, holding the cross aloft, chanting solemnly; his
+Indians, to whom he had given a swift signal, following and lifting up
+their voices likewise. The mountain on this side was bare, as if from
+fire, the incline shorter and steeper. The priest noted all things,
+although he never forgot his lines.
+
+Below was a little band of men and women. A broad plain swept from the
+mountain's foot, a forest broke its sweep, and the ocean thundered near.
+The people were clad in garments made from the feathered skins of birds,
+and were all past middle age. The foot of the mountain was perforated
+with caves.
+
+When he stood before the trembling awe-struck savages, he spoke to them
+kindly and bade them rise. They did not understand, but lifted their
+heads and stared appealingly. He raised each in turn. As they once
+more looked upon his full magnificence, they were about to prostrate
+themselves again when they caught sight of the Indians. Those dark
+stolid faces, even that gay attire, they could understand. Glancing
+askance at the priest, they drew near to their fellow-beings, touched
+their hands to the strangers' breasts, and finally kissed them.
+
+Father Carillo was a man of tact.
+
+"My children," he said to his flock, "do you explain as best you-can to
+these our new friends what it is we have come to do. I will go into the
+forest and rest."
+
+He walked swiftly across the plain, and parting the clinging branches
+of two gigantic ferns, entered the dim wood. He laid the heavy cross
+beneath a tree, and strolled idly. It was a forest of fronds. Lofty fern
+trees waved above wide-leaved palms. Here and there a little marsh with
+crowding plant life held the riotous groves apart. Down the mountain up
+which the forest spread tumbled a creek over coloured rocks, then wound
+its way through avenues, dark in the shadows, sparkling where the
+sunlight glinted through the tall tree-tops. Red lilies were everywhere.
+The aisles were vocal with whispering sound.
+
+The priest threw himself down on a bed of dry leaves by the creek. After
+a time his eyes closed. He was weary, and slept.
+
+He awoke suddenly, the power of a steadfast gaze dragging his brain from
+its rest. A girl sat on a log in the middle of the creek. Father Carillo
+stared incredulously, believing himself to be dreaming. The girl's
+appearance was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like the other members
+of her tribe, she wore a garment of feathers, and her dark face was cast
+in the same careless and gentle mould; but her black eyes had a certain
+intelligence, unusual to the Indians of California, and the hair that
+fell to her knees was the colour of flame. Apparently she was not more
+than eighteen years old.
+
+Father Carillo, belonging to a period when bleached brunettes were
+unknown, hastily crossed himself.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked.
+
+His voice was deep and musical. It had charmed many a woman's heart,
+despite the fact that he had led a life of austerity and sought no
+woman's smiles. But this girl at the sound of it gave a loud cry and
+bounded up the mountain, leaping through the brush like a deer.
+
+[Illustration: "HE AWOKE SUDDENLY, THE POWER OF A STEADFAST GAZE
+DRAGGING HIS BRAIN FROM ITS REST."]
+
+The priest rose, drank of the bubbles in the stream, and retraced his
+steps. He took up the burden of the cross again and returned to the
+village. There he found the savage and the Christianized sitting
+together in brotherly love. The islanders were decked with the rosaries
+presented to them, and the women in their blankets were swollen with
+pride. All had eaten of bread and roast fowl, and made the strangers
+offerings of strange concoctions in magnificent earthen dishes. As the
+priest appeared the heathen bowed low, then gathered about him. Their
+awe had been dispelled, and they responded to the magnetism of his voice
+and smile. He knew many varieties of the Indian language, and succeeded
+in making them understand that he wished them to return with him, and
+that he would make them comfortable and happy. They nodded their heads
+vigorously as he spoke, but pointed to their venerable chief, who sat at
+the entrance of his cave eating of a turkey's drumstick. Father Carillo
+went over to the old man and saluted him respectfully. The chief nodded,
+waved his hand at a large flat stone, and continued his repast, his
+strong white teeth crunching bone as well as flesh. The priest spread
+his handkerchief on the stone, seated himself, and stated the purpose
+of his visit. He dwelt at length upon the glories of civilization. The
+chief dropped his bone after a time and listened attentively. When the
+priest finished, he uttered a volley of short sentences.
+
+"Good. We go. Great sickness come. All die but us. Many, many, many. We
+are strong no more. No children come. We are old--all. One young girl
+not die. The young men die. The young women die. The children die. No
+more will come. Yes, we go."
+
+"And this young girl with the hair--" The priest looked upward. The sun
+had gone. He touched the gold of the cross, then his own hair.
+
+"Dorthe," grunted the old man, regarding his bare drumstick regretfully.
+
+"Who is she? Where did she get such a name? Why has she that hair?"
+
+Out of another set of expletives Father Carillo gathered that Dorthe was
+the granddaughter of a man who had been washed ashore after a storm, and
+who had dwelt on the island until he died. He had married a woman of
+the tribe, and to his daughter had given the name of Dorthe--or so the
+Indians had interpreted it--and his hair, which was like the yellow
+fire. This girl had inherited both. He had been very brave and much
+beloved, but had died while still young. Their ways were not his ways,
+Father Carillo inferred, and barbarism had killed him.
+
+The priest did not see Dorthe again that day. When night came, he was
+given a cave to himself. He hung up his robes on a jutting point of
+rock, and slept the sleep of the weary. At the first shaft of dawn he
+rose, intending to stroll down to the beach in search of a bay where he
+could bathe; but as he stepped across the prostrate Californians, asleep
+at the entrance of his cave, he paused abruptly, and changed his plans.
+
+On the far edge of the ocean the rising diadem of the sun sent great
+bubbles of colour up through a low bank of pale green cloud to the gray
+night sky and the sulky stars. And, under the shadow of the cacti and
+palms, in rapt mute worship, knelt the men and women the priest had come
+to save, their faces and clasped hands uplifted to the waking sun.
+
+Father Carillo awoke his Indians summarily.
+
+"Gather a dozen large stones and build an altar--quick!" he commanded.
+
+The sleepy Indians stumbled to their feet, obeyed orders, and in a few
+moments a rude altar was erected. The priest propped the cross on the
+apex, and, kneeling with his Indians, slowly chanted a mass. The savages
+gathered about curiously; then, impressed by the solemnity of the
+priest's voice and manner, sank to their knees once more, although
+directing to the sun an occasional glance of anxiety. When the priest
+rose, he gave them to understand that he was deeply gratified by their
+response to the religion of civilization, and pointed to the sun, now
+full-orbed, amiably swimming in a jewelled mist. Again they prostrated
+themselves, first to him, then to their deity, and he knew that the
+conquest was begun.
+
+After breakfast they were ready to follow him. They had cast their
+feathered robes into a heap, and wore the blankets, one and all. Still
+Dorthe had not appeared. The chief sent a man in search of her, and
+when, after some delay, she entered his presence, commanded her to make
+herself ready to go with the tribe. For a time she protested angrily.
+But when she found that she must go or remain alone, she reluctantly
+joined the forming procession, although refusing to doff her bird
+garment, and keeping well in the rear that she might not again look upon
+that terrible presence in white and gold, that face with its strange
+pallor and piercing eyes. Father Carillo, who was very much bored, would
+have been glad to talk to her, but recognized that he must keep his
+distance if he wished to include her among his trophies.
+
+The natives knew of a shorter trail to the harbour, and one of them led
+the way, Father Carillo urging his footsteps, for the green cloud of
+dawn was now high and black and full. A swift wind was rustling the
+tree-tops and tossing the ocean white. As they skirted the plain of the
+dead, the priest saw a strange sight. The wind had become a gale. It
+caught up great armfuls of sand from the low dunes, and hurled them upon
+the skeletons, covering them from sight. Sometimes a gust would snatch
+the blanket from one to bury another more deeply; and for a moment the
+old bones would gleam again, to be enveloped in the on-rushing pillar of
+whirling sand. Through the storm leaped the wild dogs, yelping dismally.
+
+When the party reached the stretch beyond the banana grove, they saw the
+schooner tossing and pulling at her anchor. The captain shouted to them
+to hurry. The boat awaiting them at the beach was obliged to make three
+trips. Father Carillo went in the first boat; Dorthe remained for the
+last. She was the last, also, to ascend the ladder at the ship's side.
+As she put her foot on deck, and confronted again the pale face and
+shining robes of the young priest, she screamed, and leapt from the
+vessel into the waves. The chief and his tribe shouted their entreaties
+to return. But she had disappeared, and the sky was black. The captain
+refused to lower the boat again. He had already weighed anchor, and he
+hurriedly represented that to remain longer in the little bay, with its
+reefs and rocks, its chopping waves, would mean death to all. The priest
+was obliged to sacrifice the girl to the many lives in his keep.
+
+
+II
+
+Dorthe darted through the hissing waves, undismayed by the darkness or
+the screaming wind; she and the ocean had been friends since her baby
+days. When a breaker finally tossed her on the shore, she scrambled to
+the bank, then stood long endeavouring to pierce the rain for sight of
+the vessel. But it was far out in the dark. Dorthe was alone on the
+island. For a time she howled in dismal fashion. She was wholly without
+fear, but she had human needs and was lonesome. Then reason told her
+that when the storm was over the ship would return to seek her; and she
+fled and hid in the banana grove. The next morning the storm had passed;
+but the ship was nowhere to be seen, and she started for home.
+
+The wind still blew, but it had veered. This time it caught the sand
+from the skeletons, and bore it rapidly back to the dunes. Dorthe
+watched the old bones start into view. Sometimes a skull would thrust
+itself suddenly forth, sometimes a pair of polished knees; and once a
+long finger seemed to beckon. But it was an old story to Dorthe, and she
+pursued her journey undisturbed.
+
+She climbed the mountain, and went down into the valley and lived alone.
+Her people had left their cooking utensils. She caught fish in the
+creek, and shot birds with her bow and arrow. Wild fruits and nuts were
+abundant. Of creature comforts she lacked nothing. But the days were
+long and the island was very still. For a while she talked aloud in
+the limited vocabulary of her tribe. After a time she entered into
+companionship with the frogs and birds, imitating their speech.
+Restlessness vanished, and she existed contentedly enough.
+
+Two years passed. The moon flooded the valley one midnight. Dorthe lay
+on the bank of the creek in the fern forest. She and the frogs had held
+long converse, and she was staring up through the feathery branches,
+waving in the night wind, at the calm silver face which had ignored her
+overtures. Upon this scene entered a man. He was attenuated and ragged.
+Hair and beard fell nearly to his waist. He leaned on a staff, and
+tottered like an old man.
+
+He stared about him sullenly. "Curse them!" he said aloud. "Why could
+they not have died and rotted before we heard of them?"
+
+Dorthe, at the sound of a human voice, sprang to her feet with a cry.
+The man, too, gave a cry--the ecstatic cry of the unwilling hermit who
+looks again upon the human face.
+
+"Dorthe! Thou? I thought thou wast dead--drowned in the sea."
+
+Dorthe had forgotten the meaning of words, but her name came to her
+familiarly. Then something stirred within her, filling her eyes with
+tears. She went forward and touched the stranger, drawing her hand over
+his trembling arms.
+
+"Do you not remember me, Dorthe?" asked the man, softly. "I am the
+priest--was, for I am not fit for the priesthood now. I have forgotten
+how to pray."
+
+She shook her head, but smiling, the instinct of gregariousness
+awakening.
+
+He remembered his needs, and made a gesture which she understood. She
+took his hand, and led him from the forest to her cave. She struck fire
+from flint into a heap of fagots beneath a swinging pot. In a little
+time she set before him a savoury mess of birds. He ate of it
+ravenously. Dorthe watched him with deep curiosity. She had never seen
+hunger before. She offered him a gourd of water, and he drank thirstily.
+When he raised his face his cheeks were flushed, his eyes brighter.
+
+He took her hand and drew her down beside him.
+
+"I must talk," he said. "Even if you cannot understand, I must talk to
+a human being. I must tell some one the story of these awful years. The
+very thought intoxicates me. We were shipwrecked, Dorthe. The wind drove
+us out of our course, and we went to pieces on the rocks at the foot of
+this island. Until to-night I did not know that it was this island. I
+alone was washed on shore. In the days that came I grew to wish that I,
+too, had perished. You know nothing of what solitude and savagery mean
+to the man of civilization--and to the man of ambition. Oh, my God! I
+dared not leave the shore lest I miss the chance to signal a passing
+vessel. There was scarcely anything to maintain life on that rocky
+coast. Now and again I caught a seagull or a fish. Sometimes I ventured
+inland and found fruit, running back lest a ship should pass. There I
+stayed through God knows how many months and years. I fell ill many
+times. My limbs are cramped and twisted with rheumatism. Finally, I grew
+to hate the place beyond endurance. I determined to walk to the other
+end of the island. It was only when I passed, now and again, the
+unburied dead and the pottery that I suspected I might be on your
+island. Oh, that ghastly company! When night came, they seemed to rise
+and walk before me. I cried aloud and cursed them. My manhood has gone,
+I fear. I cannot tell how long that terrible journey lasted,--months and
+months, for my feet are bare and my legs twisted. What kind fate guided
+me to you?"
+
+He gazed upon her, not as man looks at woman, but as mortal looks
+adoringly upon the face of mortal long withheld.
+
+Dorthe smiled sympathetically. His speech and general appearance struck
+a long-dormant chord; but in her mind was no recognition of him.
+
+He fell asleep suddenly and profoundly. As Dorthe watched, she gradually
+recalled the appearance of the old who had lain screaming on the ground
+drawing up their cramped limbs. She also recalled the remedy. Not far
+from the edge of the forest was a line of temascals, excavations covered
+with mud huts, into which her people had gone for every ill. She ran to
+one, and made a large fire within; the smoke escaped through an aperture
+in the roof. Then she returned, and, taking the emaciated figure in her
+arms, bore him to the hut and placed him in the corner farthest from the
+fire. She went out and closed the door, but thrust her head in from time
+to time. He did not awaken for an hour. When he did, he thought he had
+entered upon the fiery sequel of unfaith. The sweat was pouring from
+his body. The atmosphere could only be that of the nether world. As his
+brain cleared he understood, and made no effort to escape: he knew
+the virtues of the temascal. As the intense heat sapped his remaining
+vitality he sank into lethargy. He was aroused by the shock of cold
+water, and opened his eyes to find himself struggling in the creek,
+Dorthe holding him down with firm arms. After a moment she carried him
+back to the plain and laid him in the sun to dry. His rags still clung
+to him. She regarded them with disfavour, and fetched the Chief's
+discarded plumage. As soon as he could summon strength he tottered into
+the forest and made his toilet. As he was a foot and a half taller than
+the Chief had been, he determined to add a flounce as soon as his health
+would permit. Dorthe, however, looked approval when he emerged, and set
+a bowl of steaming soup before him.
+
+He took the temascal twice again, and at the end of a week the drastic
+cure had routed his rheumatism. Although far from strong, he felt twenty
+years younger. His manhood returned, and with it his man's vanity. He
+did not like the appearance of his reflected image in the still pools of
+the wood. The long beard and head locks smote him sorely. He disliked
+the idea of being a fright, even though Dorthe had no standards of
+comparison; but his razors were at the bottom of the sea.
+
+After much excogitation he arrived at a solution. One day, when Dorthe
+was on the other side of the mountain shooting birds,--she would kill
+none of her friends in the fern forest,--he tore dried palm leaves into
+strips, and setting fire to them singed his hair and beard to the roots.
+It was a long and tedious task. When it was finished the pool told him
+that his chin and head were like unto a stubbled field. But he was young
+and well-looking once more.
+
+He went out and confronted Dorthe. She dropped her birds, her bow and
+arrow, and stared at him. Then he saw recognition leap to her eyes; but
+this time no fear. He was far from being the gorgeous apparition of many
+moons ago. And, so quickly does solitude forge its links, she smiled
+brightly, approvingly, and he experienced a glow of content.
+
+The next day he taught her the verbal synonym of many things, and she
+spoke the words after him with rapt attention. When he finished the
+lesson, she pounded, in a wondrous mortar, the dried flour of the banana
+with the eggs of wild fowl, then fried the paste over the fire he had
+built. She brought a dish of nuts and showed him gravely how to crack
+them with a stone, smiling patronizingly at his ready skill. When the
+dinner was cooked, she offered him one end of the dish as usual, but he
+thought it was time for another lesson. He laid a flat stone with palm
+leaves, and set two smaller dishes at opposite ends. Then with a flat
+stick he lifted the cakes from the fry-pan, and placed an equal number
+on each plate. Dorthe watched these proceedings with expanded eyes, but
+many gestures of impatience. She was hungry. He took her hand and led
+her ceremoniously to the head of the table, motioning to her to be
+seated. She promptly went down on her knees, and dived at the cakes with
+both hands. But again he restrained her. He had employed a part of his
+large leisure fashioning rude wood forks with his ragged pocket-knife.
+There were plenty of bone knives on the island. He sat himself opposite,
+and gave her a practical illustration of the use of the knife and fork.
+She watched attentively, surreptitiously whisking morsels of cake into
+her mouth. Finally, she seized the implements of civilization beside her
+plate, and made an awkward attempt to use them. The priest tactfully
+devoted himself to his own dinner. Suddenly he heard a cry of rage, and
+simultaneously the knife and fork flew in different directions. Dorthe
+seized a cake in each hand, and stuffed them into her mouth, her eyes
+flashing defiance. The priest looked at her reproachfully, then lowered
+his eyes. Presently she got up, found the knife and fork, and made a
+patient effort to guide the food to its proper place by the new and
+trying method This time the attempt resulted in tears--a wild thunder
+shower. The priest went over, knelt beside her, and guided the knife
+through the cake, the fork to her mouth. Dorthe finished the meal, then
+put her head on his shoulder and wept bitterly. The priest soothed her,
+and made her understand that she had acquitted herself with credit; and
+the sun shone once more.
+
+An hour later she took his hand, and led him to the creek in the forest.
+
+"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" she cried.
+
+"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" came promptly from the rushes. She looked at
+him triumphantly.
+
+"Curruck," he said, acknowledging the introduction.
+
+She laughed outright at his poor attempt, startling even him with the
+discordant sound. She sprang to his side, her eyes rolling with terror.
+But he laughed himself, and in a few moments she was attempting to
+imitate him. Awhile later she introduced him to the birds; but he
+forbore to trill, having a saving sense of humour.
+
+The comrades of her solitude were deserted. She made rapid progress in
+human speech. Gradually her voice lost its cross between a croak and a
+trill and acquired a feminine resemblance to her instructor's. At the
+end of a month they could speak together after a fashion. When she made
+her first sentence, haltingly but surely, she leaped to her feet and
+executed a wild war dance. They were on the plain of the dead. She flung
+her supple legs among the skeletons, sending the bones flying, her
+bright hair tossing about her like waves of fire. The priest watched her
+with bated breath, half expecting to see the outraged warriors arise in
+wrath. The gaunt dogs that were always prowling about the plain fled in
+dismay.
+
+The month had passed very agreeably to the priest. After the horrors of
+his earlier experience it seemed for a time that he had little more to
+ask of life. Dorthe knew nothing of love; but he knew that if no ship
+came, she would learn, and he would teach her. He had loved no woman,
+but he felt that in this vast solitude he could love Dorthe and be happy
+with her. In the languor of convalescence he dreamed of the hour when he
+should take her in his arms and see the frank regard in her eyes for the
+last time. The tranquil air was heavy with the perfumes of spring. The
+palms were rigid. The blue butterflies sat with folded wings. The birds
+hung their drowsy heads.
+
+But with returning strength came the desire for civilization, the
+awakening of his ambitions, the desire for intellectual activity. He
+stood on the beach for hours at a time, straining his eyes for passing
+ships. He kept a fire on the cliffs constantly burning. Dorthe's
+instincts were awakening, and she was vaguely troubled. The common
+inheritance was close upon her.
+
+The priest now put all thoughts of love sternly from him. Love meant a
+lifetime on the island, for he would not desert her, and to take her to
+Santa Barbara would mean the death of all his hopes. And yet in his way
+he loved her, and there were nights when he sat by the watch-fire and
+shed bitter tears. He had read the story of Juan and Haidee, by no means
+without sympathy, and he wished more than once that he had the mind and
+nature of the poet; but to violate his own would be productive of misery
+to both. He was no amorous youth, but a man with a purpose, and that,
+for him, was the end of it. But he spent many hours with her, talking to
+her of life beyond the island, a story to which she listened with eager
+interest.
+
+One night as he was about to leave her, she dropped her face into her
+hands and cried heavily. Instinctively he put his arms about her, and
+she as instinctively clung to him, terrified and appealing. He kissed
+her, not once, but many times, intoxicated and happy. She broke from him
+suddenly and ran to her cave; and he, chilled and angry, went to his
+camp-fire.
+
+It was a very brilliant night. An hour later he saw something skim the
+horizon. Later still he saw that the object was closer, and that it was
+steering for the harbour. He ran to meet it.
+
+Twice he stopped. The magnetism of the only woman that had ever awakened
+his love drew him back. He thought of her despair, her utter and, this
+time, unsupportable loneliness; the careless girl with the risen sun
+would be a broken-hearted woman.
+
+But he ran on.
+
+Spain beckoned. The highest dignities of the Church were his. He saw his
+political influence a byword in Europe. He felt Dorthe's arms about him,
+her soft breath on his cheek, and uttered a short savage scream; but he
+went on.
+
+When he reached the harbour three men had already landed. They
+recognized him, and fell at his feet. And when he told them that he was
+alone on the island, they reembarked without question. And he lived, and
+forgot, and realized his great ambitions.
+
+Thirty years later a sloop put into the harbour of the island for
+repairs. Several of the men went on shore. They discovered footprints in
+the sand. Wondering, for they had sailed the length of the island and
+seen no sign of habitation, they followed the steps. They came upon a
+curious creature which was scraping with a bone knife the blubber from
+a seal. At first they thought it was a bird of some unknown species, so
+sharp was its beak, so brilliant its plumage. But when they spoke to it
+and it sprang aside and confronted them, they saw that the creature was
+an aged woman. Her face was like an old black apple, within whose skin
+the pulp had shrunk and withered as it lay forgotten on the ground. Her
+tawny hair hung along her back like a ragged mat. There was no light in
+the dim vacuous eyes. She wore a garment made of the unplucked skins of
+birds. They spoke to her. She uttered a gibberish unknown to them with a
+voice that croaked like a frog's, then went down on her creaking knees
+and lifted her hands to the sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
+
+
+I
+
+"Dona Concepcion had the greatest romance of us all; so she should not
+chide too bitterly."
+
+"But she has such a sense of her duty! Such a sense of her duty! Ay,
+Dios de mi alma! Shall we ever grow like that?"
+
+"If we have a Russian lover who is killed in the far North, and we have
+a convent built for us, and teach troublesome girls. Surely, if one goes
+through fire, one can become anything--"
+
+"Ay, yi! Look! Look!"
+
+Six dark heads were set in a row along the edge of a secluded corner of
+the high adobe wall surrounding the Convent of Monterey. They looked
+for all the world like a row of charming gargoyles--every mouth was
+open--although there was no blankness in those active mischief-hunting
+eyes. Their bodies, propped on boxes, were concealed by the wall from
+the passer-by, and from the sharp eyes of duenas by a group of trees
+just behind them. Their section of the wall faced the Presidio, which in
+the early days of the eighteenth century had not lost an adobe, and was
+full of active life. At one end was the house of the Governor of all the
+Californias, at another the church, which is all that stands to-day.
+Under other walls of the square were barracks, quarters for officers and
+their families, store-rooms for ammunition and general supplies in case
+of a raid by hostile tribes (when all the town must be accommodated
+within the security of those four great walls), and a large hall in
+which many a ball was given. The aristocratic pioneers of California
+loved play as well as work. Beyond were great green plains alive with
+cattle, and above all curved the hills dark with pines. Three soldiers
+had left the Presidio and were sauntering toward the convent.
+
+"It is Enrico Ortega!" whispered Eustaquia Carillo, excitedly.
+
+"And Ramon de Castro!" scarcely breathed Elena Estudillo.
+
+"And Jose Yorba!"
+
+"Not Pepe Gomez? Ay, yi!"
+
+"Nor Manuel Ameste!"
+
+The only girl who did not speak stood at the end of the row. Her eyes
+were fixed on the church, whose windows were dazzling with the reflected
+sunlight of the late afternoon.
+
+The officers, who apparently had been absorbed in conversation and their
+fragrant cigaritos, suddenly looked up and saw the row of handsome and
+mischievous faces. They ran forward, and dashed their sombreros into the
+dust before the wall.
+
+"At your feet, senoritas! At your feet!" they cried.
+
+"Have they any?" whispered one. "How unreal they look! How symbolical!"
+
+"The rose in your hair, Senorita Eustaquia, for the love of Heaven!"
+cried Ortega, in a loud whisper.
+
+She detached the rose, touched it with her lips, and cast it to the
+officer. He almost swallowed it in the ardour of his caresses.
+
+None of the girls spoke. That would have seemed to them the height of
+impropriety. But Elena extended her arm over the wall so that her little
+hand hung just above young Castro's head. He leaped three times in
+the air, and finally succeeded in brushing his mustache against those
+coveted finger-tips: rewarded with an approving but tantalizing laugh.
+Meanwhile, Jose Yorba had torn a silver eagle from his sombrero, and
+flung it to Lola de Castro, who caught and thrust it in her hair.
+
+"Ay, Dios! Dios! that the cruel wall divides us," cried Yorba.
+
+"We will mount each upon the other's shoulder--"
+
+"We will make a ladder from the limbs of the pines on the mountain--"
+
+"_Senoritas_!"
+
+The six heads dropped from the wall like so many Humpty-Dumpties. As
+they flashed about the officers caught a glimpse of horror in twelve
+expanded eyes. A tall woman, serenely beautiful, clad in a long gray
+gown fastened at her throat with a cross, stood just within the trees.
+The six culprits thought of the tragic romance which had given them the
+honour of being educated by Concepcion de Arguello, and hoped for some
+small measure of mercy. The girl who had looked over the heads of the
+officers, letting her gaze rest on the holy walls of the church, alone
+looked coldly unconcerned, and encountered steadily the sombre eyes of
+the convent's mistress.
+
+"Was thy lover in the road below, Pilar?" asked Dona Concepcion,
+with what meaning five of the girls could not divine. For Pilar, the
+prettiest and most studious girl in the convent, cared for no man.
+
+Pilar's bosom rose once, but she made no reply.
+
+"Come," said Dona Concepcion, and the six followed meekly in her wake.
+She led them to her private sala, a bare cold room, even in summer. It
+was uncarpeted; a few religious prints were on the whitewashed walls;
+there were eight chairs, and a table covered with books and papers. The
+six shivered. To be invited to this room meant the greatest of honours
+or a lecture precursory to the severest punishment in the system of the
+convent. Dona Concepcion seated herself in a large chair, but her guests
+were not invited to relieve their weakened knees.
+
+"Did you speak--any of you?" she asked in a moment.
+
+Five heads shook emphatically.
+
+"But?"
+
+Eustaquia, Elena, and Lola drew a long breath, then confessed their
+misdoings glibly enough.
+
+"And the others?"
+
+"They had no chance," said Eustaquia, with some sarcasm.
+
+"Thou wouldst have found a chance," replied the Lady Superior, coldly.
+"Thou art the first in all naughtiness, and thy path in life will be
+stormy if thou dost not curb thy love of adventure and insubordination."
+
+She covered her face with her hand and regarded the floor for some
+moments in silence. It was the first performance of the kind that had
+come to her knowledge, and she was at a loss what to do. Finally she
+said severely: "Go each to your bed and remain there on bread and water
+for twenty-four hours. Your punishment shall be known at the Presidio.
+And if it ever happens again, I shall send you home in disgrace. Now
+go."
+
+The luckless six slunk out of the room. Only Pilar stole a hasty glance
+at the Lady Superior. Dona Concepcion half rose from her chair, and
+opened her lips as if to speak again; then sank back with a heavy sigh.
+
+The girls were serenaded that night; but the second song broke abruptly,
+and a heavy gate clanged just afterward. Concepcion de Arguello was
+still young, but suffering had matured her character, and she knew how
+to deal sternly with those who infringed her few but inflexible rules.
+It was by no means the first serenade she had interrupted, for she
+educated the flower of California, and it was no simple matter to
+prevent communication between the girls in her charge and the ardent
+caballeros. She herself had been serenaded more than once since the
+sudden death of her Russian lover; for she who had been the belle of
+California for three years before the coming of Rezanof was not lightly
+relinquished by the impassioned men of her own race; but both at Casa
+Grande, in Santa Barbara, where she found seclusion until her convent
+was built, and after her immolation in Monterey, she turned so cold an
+ear to all men's ardours that she soon came to be regarded as a part of
+four gray walls. How long it took her to find actual serenity none but
+herself and the dead priests know, but the old women who are dying off
+to-day remember her as consistently placid as she was firm. She was
+deeply troubled by the escapade of the little wretches on the wall,
+although she had dealt with it summarily and feared no further outbreak
+of the sort. But she was haunted by a suspicion that there was more
+behind, and to come. Pilar de la Torre and Eustaquia Carillo were the
+two most notable girls in the convent, for they easily took precedence
+of their more indolent mates and were constantly racing for honours.
+There the resemblance ended. Eustaquia, with her small brilliant eyes,
+irregular features, and brilliant colour, was handsome rather than
+beautiful, but full of fire, fascination, and spirit. Half the Presidio
+was in love with her, and that she was a shameless coquette she would
+have been the last to deny. Pilar was beautiful, and although the close
+long lashes of her eyes hid dreams, rather than fire, and her profile
+and poise of head expressed all the pride of the purest aristocracy
+California has had, nothing could divert attention from the beauty of
+her contours of cheek and figure, and of her rich soft colouring.
+The officers in church stood up to look at her; and at the balls and
+meriendas she attended in vacations the homage she received stifled and
+annoyed her. She was as cold and unresponsive as Concepcion de Arguello.
+People shrugged their shoulders and said it was as well. Her mother,
+Dona Brigida de la Torre of the great Rancho Diablo, twenty miles from
+Monterey, was the sternest old lady in California. It was whispered that
+she had literally ruled her husband with a greenhide reata, and certain
+it was that two years after the birth of Pilar (the thirteenth, and only
+living child) he had taken a trip to Mexico and never returned. It was
+known that he had sent his wife a deed of the rancho; and that was the
+last she ever heard of him. Her daughter, according to her imperious
+decree, was to marry Ygnacio Pina, the heir of the neighbouring rancho.
+Dona Brigida anticipated no resistance, not only because her will had
+never been crossed, but because Pilar was the most docile of daughters.
+Pilar was Dona Concepcion's favourite pupil, and when at home spent
+her time reading, embroidering, or riding about the rancho, closely
+attended. She rarely talked, even to her mother. She paid not the
+slightest attention to Ygnacio's serenades, and greeted him with scant
+courtesy when he dashed up to the ranch-house in all the bravery of silk
+and fine lawn, silver and lace. But he knew the value of Dona Brigida as
+an ally, and was content to amuse himself elsewhere.
+
+The girls passed their twenty-four hours of repressed energy as
+patiently as necessity compelled. Pilar, alone, lay impassive in her
+bed, rarely opening her eyes. The others groaned and sighed and rolled
+and bounced about; but they dared not speak, for stern Sister Augusta
+was in close attendance. When the last lagging minute had gone and they
+were bidden to rise, they sprang from the beds, flung on their clothes,
+and ran noisily down the long corridors to the refectory. Dona
+Concepcion stood at the door and greeted them with a forgiving smile.
+Pilar followed some moments later. There was something more than
+coldness in her eyes as she bent her head to the Lady Superior, who drew
+a quick breath.
+
+"She feels that she has been humiliated, and she will not forgive,"
+thought Dona Concepcion. "Ay de mi! And she may need my advice and
+protection. I should have known better than to have treated her like the
+rest."
+
+After supper the girls went at once to the great sala of the convent,
+and sat in silence, with bent heads and folded hands and every
+appearance of prayerful revery.
+
+It was Saturday evening, and the good priest of the Presidio church
+would come to confess them, that they might commune on the early morrow.
+They heard the loud bell of the convent gate, then the opening and
+shutting of several doors; and many a glance flashed up to the ceiling
+as the brain behind scurried the sins of the week together. It had been
+arranged that the six leading misdemeanants were to go first and receive
+much sound advice, before the old priest had begun to feel the fatigue
+of the confessional. The door opened, and Dona Concepcion stood on
+the threshold. Her face was whiter than usual, and her manner almost
+ruffled.
+
+"It is Padre Dominguez," she said. "Padre Estudillo is ill. If---if--any
+of you are tired, or do not wish to confess to the strange priest, you
+may go to bed."
+
+Not a girl moved. Padre Dominguez was twenty-five and as handsome as
+the marble head of the young Augustus which stood on a shelf in the
+Governor's sala. During the year of his work in Monterey more than
+one of the older girls had met and talked with him; for he went into
+society, as became a priest, and holidays were not unfrequent. But,
+although he talked agreeably, it was a matter for comment that he loved
+books and illuminated manuscripts more than the world, and that he was
+as ambitious as his superior abilities justified.
+
+"Very well," said Dona Concepcion, impatiently. "Eustaquia, go in."
+
+Eustaquia made short work of her confession. She was followed by Elena,
+Lola, Mariana, and Amanda. When the last appeared for a moment at the
+door, then courtesied a good night and vanished, Dona Concepcion did not
+call the expected name, and several of the girls glanced up in surprise.
+Pilar raised her eyes at last and looked steadily at the Lady
+Superior. The blood rose slowly up the nun's white face, but she said
+carelessly:--
+
+"Thou art tired, mijita, no? Wilt thou not go to bed?"
+
+"Not without making my confession, if you will permit me."
+
+"Very well; go."
+
+Pilar left the room and closed the door behind her. Alone in the hall,
+she shook suddenly and twisted her hands together. But, although she
+could not conquer her agitation, she opened the door of the chapel
+resolutely and entered. The little arched whitewashed room was almost
+dark. A few candles burned on the altar, shadowing the gorgeous images
+of Virgin and saints. Pilar walked slowly down the narrow body of the
+chapel until she stood behind a priest who knelt beside a table with his
+back to the door. He wore the brown robes of the Franciscan, but his
+lean finely proportioned figure manifested itself through the shapeless
+garment. He looked less like a priest than a masquerading athlete. His
+face was hidden in his hands.
+
+Pilar did not kneel. She stood immovable and silent, and in a moment
+it was evident that she had made her presence felt. The priest stirred
+uneasily. "Kneel, my daughter," he said. But he did not look up. Pilar
+caught his hands in hers and forced them down upon the table. The
+priest, throwing back his head in surprise, met the flaming glance of
+eyes that dreamed no longer. He sprang to his feet, snatching back his
+hands. "Dona Pilar!" he exclaimed.
+
+"I choose to make my confession standing," she said. "I love you!"
+
+The priest stared at her in consternation.
+
+"You knew it--unless you never think at all. You are the only man I have
+ever thought it worth while to talk to. You have seen how I have treated
+others with contempt, and that I have been happy with you--and we have
+had more than one long talk together. You, too, have been happy--"
+
+"I am a priest!"
+
+"You are a Man and I am a Woman."
+
+"What is it you would have me do?"
+
+"Fling off that hideous garment which becomes you not at all, and fly
+with me to my father in the City of Mexico. I hear from him constantly,
+and he is wealthy and will protect us. The barque, _Joven Guipuzcoanoa,_
+leaves Monterey within a week after the convent closes for vacation."
+
+The priest raised his clasped hands to heaven. "She is mad! She is mad!"
+he said. Then he turned on her fiercely. "Go! Go!" he cried. "I hate
+you!"
+
+"Ay, you love me! you love me!"
+
+The priest slowly set his face. There was no gleam of expression to
+indicate whether the words that issued through his lips came from his
+soul or from that section of his brain instinct with self-protection. He
+spoke slowly:--
+
+"I am a priest, and a priest I shall die. What is more, I shall denounce
+you to Dona Concepcion, the clergy, and--to your mother. The words that
+have just violated this chapel were not said under the seal of the
+confessional, and I shall deal with them as I have said. You shall be
+punished, that no other man's soul may be imperilled."
+
+Pilar threw out her hands wildly. It was her turn to stare; and her eyes
+were full of horror and disgust.
+
+"What?" she cried. "You are a coward? A traitor? You not only dare not
+acknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me--and to my mother?
+Ah, Madre de Dios!"
+
+"I do not love you. How dare you use such a word to me,--to me, an
+anointed priest! I shall denounce--and to-night."
+
+"_And I loved you_!"
+
+He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes. Her whole
+body quivered with passion. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward and
+struck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutched
+the table. But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on top
+of him. She laughed into his red unmasked face. "You look what you are
+down there," she said,--"less than a man, and only fit to be a priest. I
+hate you! Do your worst."
+
+She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the door
+of the sala. As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shaking
+from head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and Dona
+Concepcion, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door too
+late.
+
+"Go to the priest," cried Pilar. "You will find him on his back
+squirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek. He has a
+tale to tell you." And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran through
+the halls, striking herself against the walls.
+
+Dona Concepcion did not leave her sala that night. The indignant young
+aspirant for honours in Mexico had vowed that he would tell Dona Brigida
+and the clergy before dawn, and all her arguments had entered smarting
+ears. She had finally ordered him to leave the convent and never darken
+its doors again. "And the self-righteous shall not enter the Kingdom of
+Heaven," she had exclaimed in conclusion. "Who are you that you should
+judge and punish this helpless girl and ruin a brilliant future? And
+why? Because she was so inexperienced in men as to trust you."
+
+"She has committed a deadly sin, and shall suffer," cried the young man,
+violently. It was evident that his outraged virtue as well as his face
+was in flames. "Women were born to be good and meek and virtuous, to
+teach and to rear children. Such creatures as Pilar de la Torre should
+be kept under lock and key until they are old and hideous."
+
+"And men were made strong, that they might protect women. But I have
+said enough. Go."
+
+Pilar appeared at the refectory table in the morning, but she exchanged
+a glance with no one, and ate little. She looked haggard, and it was
+plain that she had not slept; but her manner was as composed as ever.
+When Dona Concepcion sent for her to come to the little sala, she went
+at once.
+
+"Sit down, my child," said the nun. "I said all I could to dissuade him,
+but he would not listen. I will protect thee if I can. Thou hast made a
+terrible mistake; but it is too late for reproaches. We must think of
+the future."
+
+"I have no desire to escape the consequences. I staked all and lost.
+And nothing can affect me now. He has proved a dog, a cur, a coward, a
+brute. I can suffer no more than when I made that discovery; and if my
+mother chooses to kill me, I shall make no resistance."
+
+"Thou art young and clever and will forget him. He is not worth
+remembering. He shall not go unpunished. I shall use my influence to
+have him sent to the poorest hamlet in California. He is worthy to do
+only the meanest work of the Church, and my influence with the clergy is
+stronger than his. But thou? I shall receive your mother when she comes,
+and beg her to leave you with me during the vacation. Then, later, when
+her wrath is appeased, I will suggest that she send you to live for two
+years with your relatives at Santa Barbara."
+
+Pilar lifted her shoulders and stared out of the window. Suddenly
+she gave a start and trembled. The bell of the gate was pealing
+vociferously. Dona Concepcion sprang to her feet.
+
+"Stay here," she said; "I will receive her in the grand sala."
+
+But her interview with Dona Brigida lasted two minutes.
+
+"Give her to me!" cried the terrible old woman, her furious tones
+ringing through the convent. "Give her to me! I came not here to talk
+with nuns. Stand aside!"
+
+Dona Concepcion was forced to lead her to the little sala. She strode
+into the room, big and brown and bony, looking like an avenging Amazon,
+this mother of thirteen children. Her small eyes were blazing, and the
+thick wrinkles about them quivered. Her lips twitched, her cheeks burned
+with a dull dark red. In one hand she carried a greenhide reata. With
+the other she caught her daughter's long unbound hair, twisted it about
+her arm like a rope, then brought the reata down on the unprotected
+shoulders with all her great strength Dona Concepcion fled from the
+room. Pilar made no sound. She had expected this, and had vowed that it
+should not unseal her lips. The beating stopped abruptly. Dona Brigida,
+still with the rope of hair about her arm, pushed Pilar through the
+door, out of the convent and its gates, then straight down the hill. For
+the first time the girl faltered.
+
+"Not to the Presidio!" she gasped.
+
+Her mother struck her shoulder with a fist as hard as iron, and Pilar
+stumbled on. She knew that if she refused to walk, her mother would
+carry her. They entered the Presidio. Pilar, raising her eyes for one
+brief terrible moment, saw that Tomaso, her mother's head vaquero, stood
+in the middle of the square holding two horses, and that every man,
+woman, and child of the Presidio was outside the buildings. The
+Commandante and the Alcalde were with the Governor and his staff, and
+Padre Estudillo. They had the air of being present at an important
+ceremony.
+
+Amidst a silence so profound that Pilar heard the mingled music of the
+pines on the hills above the Presidio and of the distant ocean, Dona
+Brigida marched her to the very middle of the square, then by a
+dexterous turn of her wrist forced her to her knees. With both hands she
+shook her daughter's splendid silken hair from the tight rope into
+which she had coiled it, then stepped back for a moment that all might
+appreciate the penalty a woman must pay who disgraced her sex. The
+breeze from the hills lifted the hair of Pilar, and it floated and
+wreathed upward for a moment--a warm dusky cloud.
+
+Suddenly the intense silence was broken by a loud universal hiss. Pilar,
+thinking that it was part of her punishment, cowered lower, then,
+obeying some impulse, looked up, and saw the back of the young priest.
+He was running. As her dull gaze was about to fall again, it encountered
+for a moment the indignant blue eyes of a red-haired, hard-featured, but
+distinguished-looking young man, clad in sober gray. She knew him to be
+the American, Malcolm Sturges, the guest of the Governor. But her mind
+rapidly shed all impressions but the wretched horror of her own plight.
+In another moment she felt the shears at her neck, and knew that her
+disgrace was passing into the annals of Monterey, and that half her
+beauty was falling from her. Then she found herself seated on the horse
+in front of her mother, who encircled her waist with an arm that
+pressed her vitals like iron. After that there was an interval of
+unconsciousness.
+
+When she awoke, her first impulse was to raise her head from her
+mother's bony shoulder, where it bumped uncomfortably. Her listless
+brain slowly appreciated the fact that she was not on her way to the
+Rancho Diablo. The mustang was slowly ascending a steep mountain trail.
+But her head ached, and she dropped her face into her hands. What
+mattered where she was going? She was shorn, and disgraced, and
+disillusioned, and unspeakably weary of body and soul.
+
+They travelled through dense forests of redwoods and pine, only the
+soft footfalls of the unshod mustang or the sudden cry of the wild-cat
+breaking the primeval silence. It was night when Dona Brigida abruptly
+dismounted, dragging Pilar with her. They were halfway up a rocky
+height, surrounded by towering peaks black with rigid trees. Just in
+front of them was an opening in the ascending wall. Beside it, with his
+hand on a huge stone, stood the vaquero. Pilar knew that she had nothing
+to hope from him: her mother had beaten him into submission long since.
+Dona Brigida, without a word, drove Pilar into the cave, and she and the
+vaquero, exerting their great strength to the full, pushed the stone
+into the entrance. There was a narrow rift at the top. The cave was as
+black as a starless midnight.
+
+Then Dona Brigida spoke for the first time:--
+
+"Once a week I shall come with food and drink. There thou wilt stay
+until thy teeth fall, the skin bags from thy bones, and thou art so
+hideous that all men will run from thee. Then thou canst come forth and
+go and live on the charity of the father to whom thou wouldst have taken
+a polluted priest."
+
+Pilar heard the retreating footfalls of the mustangs. She was too
+stunned to think, to realize the horrible fate that had befallen her.
+She crouched down against the wall of the cave nearest the light, her
+ear alert for the growl of a panther or the whir of a rattler's tail.
+
+
+II
+
+The night after the close of school the Governor gave a grand ball,
+which was attended by the older of the convent girls who lived in
+Monterey or were guests in the capital. The dowagers sat against the
+wall, a coffee-coloured dado; the girls in white, the caballeros in
+black silk small-clothes, the officers in their uniforms, danced to the
+music of the flute and the guitar. When Elena Estudillo was alone in the
+middle of the room dancing El Son and the young men were clapping and
+shouting and flinging gold and silver at her feet, Sturges and Eustaquia
+slipped out into the corridor. It was a dark night, the duenas were
+thinking of naught but the dance and the days of their youth, and the
+violators of a stringent social law were safe for the moment. A
+chance word, dropped by Sturges in the dance, and Eustaquia's eager
+interrogations, had revealed the American's indignation at the barbarous
+treatment of Pilar, and his deep interest in the beautiful victim.
+
+"Senor," whispered Eustaquia, excitedly, as soon as they reached the
+end of the corridor, "if you feel pity and perhaps love for my unhappy
+friend, go to her rescue for the love of Mary. I have heard to-day that
+her punishment is far worse than what you saw. It is so terrible that I
+hardly have dared--"
+
+"Surely, that old fiend could think of nothing else," said Sturges.
+"What is she made of, anyhow?"
+
+"Ay, yi! Her heart is black like the redwood tree that has been burnt
+out by fire. Before Don Enrique ran away, she beat him many times; but,
+after, she was a thousand times worse, for it is said that she loved
+him in her terrible way, and that her heart burnt up when she was left
+alone--"
+
+"But Dona Pilar, senorita?"
+
+"Ay, yi! Benito, one of the vaqueros of Dona Erigida, was in town
+to-day, and he told me (I bribed him with whiskey and cigaritos--the
+Commandante's, whose guest I am, ay, yi!)--he told me that Dona Erigida
+did not take my unhappy friend home, but--"
+
+"Well?" exclaimed Sturges, who was a man of few words.
+
+Eustaquia jerked down his ear and whispered, "She took her to a cave in
+the mountains and pushed her in, and rolled a huge stone as big as a
+house before the entrance, and there she will leave her till she is
+thirty--or dead!"
+
+"Good God! Does your civilization, such as you've got, permit such
+things?"
+
+"The mother may discipline the child as she will. It is not the business
+of the Alcalde. And no one would dare interfere for poor Pilar, for she
+has committed a mortal sin against the Church--"
+
+"I'll interfere. Where is the cave?"
+
+"Ay, senor, I knew you would. For that I told you all. I know not where
+the cave is; but the vaquero--he is in town till to-morrow. But he fears
+Dona Erigida, senor, as he fears the devil. You must tell him that not
+only will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you will
+send him to Mexico. Dona Brigida would kill him."
+
+"I'll look out for him."
+
+"Do not falter, senor, for the love of God; for no Californian will go
+to her rescue. She has been disgraced and none will marry her. But you
+can take her far away where no one knows--"
+
+"Where is this vaquero to be found?"
+
+"In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheart
+lives."
+
+"Good night!" And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearest
+gate.
+
+He found the vaquero, and after an hour's argument got his way. The man,
+who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of the
+situation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity with
+the mountains. He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised to
+send not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico. Dona Brigida was
+violently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho.
+Sturges promised to ship them both off on the _Joven Guipuzcoanoa_, and
+to keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico. It was not an offer to be
+refused.
+
+They started at dawn. Sturges, following Benito's advice, bought a long
+gray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food.
+The vaquero sent word to Dona Brigida that the horses he had brought in
+to sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down the
+coast in pursuit. In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it was
+only after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, and
+more than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave.
+They would have passed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, who
+detected the glint of stone behind the branches which Dona Brigida had
+piled against it.
+
+He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers between
+the side of the stone and the wall of the cave. But he could not move it
+alone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs at
+a spring, when he happened to glance upward. A small white hand was
+hanging over the top of the stone. Sturges was not a Californian, but he
+sprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand. It was cold and
+nerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift above
+the stone. In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam of
+white brow above. Then a faint voice said:--
+
+"Take me out! Take me out, senor, for the love of God!"
+
+"I have come for that. Cheer up," said Sturges, in his best Spanish.
+"You'll be out in five minutes."
+
+"And then you'll bring me his head," whispered Pilar. "Ay, Dios, what I
+have suffered! I have been years here, senor, and I am nearly mad."
+
+"Well, I won't promise you his head, but I've thrashed the life out of
+him, if that will give you any satisfaction. I caught him in the woods,
+and I laid on my riding-whip until he bit the grass and yelled for
+mercy."
+
+The eyes in the cave blazed with a light which reminded him
+uncomfortably of Dona Erigida.
+
+"That was well! That was well!" said Pilar. "But it is not enough. I
+must have his head. I never shall sleep again till then, senor. Ay,
+Dios, what I have suffered!"
+
+"Well, we'll see about the head later. To get you out of this is the
+first thing on the program. Benito!"
+
+Benito ran forward, and together they managed to drag the stone aside.
+But Pilar retreated into the darkness and covered her face with her
+hands.
+
+"Ay, Dios! Dios! I cannot go out into the sunlight. I am old and
+hideous."
+
+"Make some coffee," said Sturges to Benito. He went within and took her
+hands. "Come," he said. "You have been here a week only. Your brain is
+a little turned, and no wonder. You've put a lifetime of suffering
+into that week. But I'm going to take care of you hereafter, and that
+she-devil will have no more to say about it. I'll either take you to
+your father, or to my mother in Boston--whichever you like."
+
+Benito brought in the coffee and some fresh bread and dried meat. Pilar
+ate and drank ravenously. She had found only stale bread and water in
+the cave. When she had finished, she looked at Sturges with a more
+intelligent light in her eyes, then thrust her straggling locks behind
+her ears. She also resumed something of her old dignified composure.
+
+"You are very kind, senor," she said graciously. "It is true that I
+should have been mad in a few more days. At first I did nothing but run,
+run, run--the cave is miles in the mountain; but since when I cannot
+remember I have huddled against that stone, listening--listening; and at
+last you came."
+
+Sturges thought her more beautiful than ever. The light was streaming
+upon her now, and although she was white and haggard she looked far less
+cold and unapproachable than when he had endeavoured in vain to win a
+glance from her in the church. He put his hand on her tangled hair. "You
+shall suffer no more," he repeated; "and this will grow again. And that
+beautiful mane--it is mine. I begged it from the Alcalde, and it is safe
+in my trunk."
+
+"Ah, you love me!" she said softly.
+
+"Yes, I love you!" And then, as her eyes grew softer and she caught his
+hand in hers with an exclamation of passionate gratitude for his gallant
+rescue, he took her in his arms without more ado and kissed her.
+
+"Yes, I could love you," she said in a moment. "For, though you are not
+handsome, like the men of my race, you are true and good and brave: all
+I dreamed that a man should be until that creature made all men seem
+loathsome. But I will not marry you till you bring me his head--"
+
+"Oh! come. So lovely a woman should not be so blood-thirsty. He has been
+punished enough. Besides what I gave him, he's been sent off to spend
+the rest of his life in some hole where he'll have neither books nor
+society--"
+
+"It is not enough! When a man betrays a woman, and causes her to be
+beaten and publicly disgraced--it will be written in the books of the
+Alcalde, senor!--and shut up in a cave to suffer the tortures of the
+damned in hell, he should die."
+
+"Well, I think he should myself, but I'm not the public executioner, and
+one can't fight a duel with a priest--"
+
+"Senor! Senor! Quick! Pull, for the love of God!"
+
+It was Benito who spoke, and he was pushing with all his might against
+the stone. "She comes--Dona Brigida!" he cried. "I saw her far off just
+now. Stay both in there. I will take the mustangs and hide them on the
+other side of the mountain and return when she is gone. That is the best
+way."
+
+"We can all go--"
+
+"No, no! She would follow; and then--ay, Dios de mi alma! No, it is best
+the senorita be there when she comes; then she will go away quietly."
+
+They replaced the stone. Benito piled the brush against it, then made
+off with the mustangs.
+
+"Go far," whispered Pilar. "Dios, if she sees you!"
+
+"I shall not leave you again. And even if she enter, she need not see
+me. I can stand in that crevice, and I will keep quiet so long as she
+does not touch you."
+
+Dona Brigida was a half-hour reaching the cave, and meanwhile Sturges
+restored the lost illusions of Pilar. Not only did he make love to her
+without any of the rhetorical nonsense of the caballero, but he was big
+and strong, and it was evident that he was afraid of nothing, not even
+of Dona Brigida. The dreams of her silent girlhood swirled in her
+imagination, but looked vague and shapeless before this vigorous
+reality. For some moments she forgot everything and was happy. But there
+was a black spot in her heart, and when Sturges left her for a moment to
+listen, it ached for the head of the priest. She had much bad as well as
+much good in her, this innocent Californian maiden; and the last week
+had forced an already well-developed brain and temperament close to
+maturity. She vowed that she would make herself so dear to this fiery
+American that he would deny her nothing. Then, her lust for vengeance
+satisfied, she would make him the most delightful of wives.
+
+"She is coming!" whispered Sturges, "and she has the big vaquero with
+her."
+
+"Ay, Dios! If she knows all, what can we do?"
+
+"I've told you that I have no love of killing, but I don't hesitate when
+there is no alternative. If she sees me and declares war, and I cannot
+get you away, I shall shoot them both. I don't know that it would keep
+me awake a night. Now, you do the talking for the present."
+
+Dona Brigida rode up to the cave and dismounted. "Pilar!" she shouted,
+as if she believed that her daughter was wandering through the heart of
+the mountain.
+
+Pilar presented her eyes at the rift.
+
+"Ay, take me out! take me out!" she wailed, with sudden diplomacy.
+
+Her mother gave a short laugh, then broke off and sniffed.
+
+"What is this?" she cried. "Coffee? I smell coffee!"
+
+"Yes, I have had coffee," replied Pilar, calmly. "Benito has brought me
+that, and many dulces."
+
+"Dios!" shouted Dona Brigida. "I will tie him to a tree and beat him
+till he is as green as my reata--"
+
+"Give me the bread!--quick, quick, for the love of Heaven! It is two
+days since he has been, and I have nothing left, not even a drop of
+coffee."
+
+"Then live on the memory of thy dulces and coffee! The bread and water
+go back with me. Three days from now I bring them again. Meanwhile, thou
+canst enjoy the fangs at thy vitals."
+
+Pilar breathed freely again, but she cried sharply, "Ay, no! no!"
+
+"Ay, yes! yes!"
+
+Dona Brigida stalked up and down, while Pilar twisted her hands
+together, and Sturges mused upon his future wife's talent for dramatic
+invention. Suddenly Dona Brigida shouted: "Tomaso, come here! The
+spring! A horse has watered here to-day--two horses! I see the little
+hoof-mark and the big." She ran back to the cave, dragging Tomaso with
+her. "Quick! It is well I brought my reata. Ten minutes, and I shall
+have the truth. Pull there; I pull here."
+
+"The game is up," whispered Sturges to Pilar. "And I have another plan."
+He took a pistol from his hip-pocket and handed it to her. "You have a
+cool head," he said; "now is the time to use it. As soon as this stone
+gives way do you point that pistol at the vaquero's head, and don't let
+your hand tremble or your eye falter as you value your liberty. I'll
+take care of her."
+
+Pilar nodded. Sturges threw himself against the rock and pushed with all
+his strength. In a moment it gave, and the long brown talons of Pilar's
+mother darted in to clasp the curve of the stone. Sturges was tempted
+to cut them off; but he was a sportsman, and liked fair play. The stone
+gave again, and this time he encountered two small malignant eyes. Dona
+Brigida dropped her hands and screamed; but, before she could alter her
+plans, Sturges gave a final push and rushed out, closely followed by
+Pilar.
+
+It was his intention to throw the woman and bind her, hand and foot; but
+he had no mean opponent. Dona Brigida's surprise had not paralyzed her.
+She could not prevent his exit, for she went back with the stone,
+but she had sprung to the open before he reached it himself, and was
+striking at him furiously with her reata. One glance satisfied Sturges
+that Pilar had covered the vaquero, and he devoted the next few moments
+to dodging the reata. Finally, a well-directed blow knocked it from her
+hand, and then he flung himself upon her, intending to bear her to the
+ground. But she stood like a rock, and closed with him, and they reeled
+about the little plateau in the hard embrace of two fighting grizzlies.
+There could be no doubt about the issue, for Sturges was young and wiry
+and muscular; but Dona Brigida had the strength of three women, and,
+moreover, was not above employing methods which he could not with
+dignity resort to and could with difficulty parry. She bit at him. She
+clawed at his back and shoulders. She got hold of his hair. And she was
+so nimble that he could not trip her. She even roared in his ears, and
+once it seemed to him that her bony shoulder was cutting through his
+garments and skin. But after a struggle of some twenty minutes, little
+by little her embrace relaxed; she ceased to roar, even to hiss, her
+breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Finally, her knees trembled
+violently, she gave a hard sob, and her arms fell to her sides. Sturges
+dragged her promptly into the cave and laid her down.
+
+"You are a plucky old lady, and I respect you," he said. "But here you
+must stay until your daughter is safely out of the country. I shall take
+her far beyond your reach, and I shall marry her. When we are well out
+at sea, Tomaso will come back and release you. If he attempts to do so
+sooner, I shall blow his head off. Meanwhile you can be as comfortable
+here as you made your daughter; and as you brought a week's supply of
+bread, you will not starve."
+
+The old woman lay and glared at him, but she made no reply. She might be
+violent and cruel, but she was indomitable of spirit, and she would sue
+to no man.
+
+Sturges placed the bread and water beside her, then, aided by Tomaso,
+pushed the stone into place. As he turned about and wiped his brow, he
+met the eyes of the vaquero. They were averted hastily, but not before
+Sturges had surprised a twinkle of satisfaction in those usually
+impassive orbs. He shouted for Benito, then took the pistol from Pilar,
+who suddenly looked tired and frightened.
+
+"You are a wonderful woman," he said; "and upon my word, I believe you
+get a good deal of it from your mother."
+
+Benito came running, leading the mustangs. Sturges wrapped Pilar in the
+long cloak, lifted her upon one of the mustangs, and sprang to his own.
+He ordered Tomaso and Benito to precede them by a few paces and to take
+the shortest cut for Monterey. It was now close upon noon, and it was
+impossible to reach Monterey before dawn next day, for the mustangs were
+weary; but the _Joven_ did not sail until ten o'clock.
+
+"These are my plans," said Sturges to Pilar, as they walked their
+mustangs for a few moments after a hard gallop. "When we reach the foot
+of the mountain, Benito will leave us, go to your rancho, gather as much
+of your clothing as he can strap on a horse, and join us at the barque.
+He will have a good hour to spare, and can get fresh horses at the
+ranch. We will be married at Mazatlan. Thence we will cross Mexico to
+the Gulf, and take passage for New Orleans. When we are in the United
+States, your new life will have really begun."
+
+"And Tomaso will surely bring my mother from that cave, senor? I am
+afraid--I feel sure he was glad to shut her in there."
+
+"I will leave a note for the Governor. Your mother will be free within
+three days, and meanwhile a little solitary meditation will do her
+good."
+
+When night came Sturges lifted Pilar from her horse to his, and pressed
+her head against his shoulder. "Sleep," he said. "You are worn out."
+
+She flung her hand over his shoulder, made herself comfortable, and was
+asleep in a moment, oblivious of the dark forest and the echoing cries
+of wild beasts. The strong arm of Sturges would have inspired confidence
+even had it done less in her rescue. Once only she shook and cried out,
+but with rage, not fear, in her tones. Her words were coherent enough:--
+
+"His head! His head! Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"
+
+An hour before dawn Benito left them, mounted on the rested mustang and
+leading his own. The others pushed on, over and around the foothills,
+with what speed they could; for even here the trail was narrow, the pine
+woods dense. It was just after dawn that Sturges saw Tomaso rein in his
+mustang and peer into the shrubbery beside the trail. When he reached
+the spot himself, he saw signs of a struggle. The brush was trampled
+for some distance into the thicket, and several of the young trees were
+wrenched almost from their roots.
+
+"It has been a struggle between a man and a wild beast, senor,"
+whispered Tomaso, for Filar still slept. "Shall I go in? The man may
+breathe yet."
+
+"Go, by all means."
+
+Tomaso dismounted and entered the thicket. He came running back with
+blinking eyes.
+
+"Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It is the young
+priest--Padre Dominguez. It must have been a panther, for they spring at
+the breast, and his very heart is torn out, senor. Ay, yi!"
+
+"Ah! You must inform the Church as soon as we have gone. Go on."
+
+They had proceeded a few moments in silence, when Sturges suddenly
+reined in his mustang.
+
+"Tomaso," he whispered, "come here."
+
+The vaquero joined him at once.
+
+"Tomaso," said Sturges, "have you any objection to cutting off a dead
+man's head?"
+
+"No, senor."
+
+"Then go back and cut off that priest's and wrap it in a piece of his
+cassock, and carry it the best way you can."
+
+Tomaso disappeared, and Sturges pushed back the gray hood and looked
+upon the pure noble face of the girl he had chosen for wife.
+
+"I believe in gratifying a woman's whims whenever it is practicable," he
+thought.
+
+But she made him a very good wife.
+
+
+
+
+LA PERDIDA
+
+
+On her fourteenth birthday they had married her to an old man, and at
+sixteen she had met and loved a fire-hearted young vaquero. The old
+husband had twisted his skinny fingers around her arm and dragged her
+before the Alcalde, who had ordered her beautiful black braids cut close
+to her neck, and sentenced her to sweep the streets. Carlos, the tempter
+of that childish unhappy heart, was flung into prison. Such were law and
+justice in California before the Americans came.
+
+The haughty elegant women of Monterey drew their mantillas more closely
+about their shocked faces as they passed La Perdida sweeping the dirt
+into little heaps. The soft-eyed girls, lovely in their white or
+flowered gowns, peered curiously through the gratings of their homes at
+the "lost one," whose sin they did not understand, but whose sad face
+and sorry plight appealed to their youthful sympathies. The caballeros,
+dashing up and down the street, and dazzling in bright silken jackets,
+gold embroidered, lace-trimmed, the sun reflected in the silver of their
+saddles, shot bold admiring glances from beneath their sombreros. No one
+spoke to her, and she asked no one for sympathy.
+
+She slept alone in a little hut on the outskirts of the town. With the
+dawn she rose, put on her coarse smock and black skirt, made herself a
+tortilla, then went forth and swept the streets. The children mocked her
+sometimes, and she looked at them in wonder. Why should she be mocked or
+punished? She felt no repentance; neither the Alcalde nor her husband
+had convinced her of her sin's enormity; she felt only bitter resentment
+that it should have been so brief. Her husband, a blear-eyed crippled
+old man, loathsome to all the youth and imagination in her, had beaten
+her and made her work. A man, young, strong, and good to look upon, had
+come and kissed her with passionate tenderness. Love had meant to her
+the glorification of a wretched sordid life; a green spot and a patch of
+blue sky in the desert. If punishment followed upon such happiness,
+must not the Catholic religion be all wrong in its teachings? Must not
+purgatory follow heaven, instead of heaven purgatory?
+
+She watched the graceful girls of the wealthy class flit to and fro on
+the long corridors of the houses, or sweep the strings of the guitar
+behind their gratings as the caballeros passed. Watchful old women were
+always near them, their ears alert for every word. La Perdida thanked
+God that she had had no duena.
+
+One night, on her way home, she passed the long low prison where her
+lover was confined. The large crystal moon flooded the red-tiled roof
+projecting over the deep windows and the shallow cells. The light sweet
+music of a guitar floated through iron bars, and a warm voice sang:--
+
+  "Adios, adios, de ti al ausentarme,
+  Para ir en poz de mi fatal estrella,
+  Yo llevo grabada tu imagen bella,
+  Aqui en mi palpitante corazon.
+
+  "Pero aunque lejos de tu lado me halle
+  No olvides, no, que por tu amor deliro
+  Enviame siquiera un suspiro,
+  Que de consuelo, a mi alma en su dolor.
+
+  "Y de tu pecho la emocion sentida
+  Llegue hasta herir mi lacerado oido,
+  Y arranque de mi pecho dolorido
+  Un eco que repita, adios! adios!"
+
+La Perdida's blood leaped through her body. Her aimless hands struck the
+spiked surface of a cactus-bush, but she never knew it. When the song
+finished, she crept to the grating and looked in.
+
+"Carlos!" she whispered.
+
+A man who lay on the straw at the back of the cell sprang to his feet
+and came forward.
+
+"My little one!" he said. "I knew that song would bring thee. I begged
+them for a guitar, then to be put into a front cell." He forced his
+hands through the bars and gave her life again with his strong warm
+clasp.
+
+"Come out," she said.
+
+"Ay! they have me fast. But when they do let me out, nina, I will take
+thee in my arms; and whosoever tries to tear thee away again will have
+a dagger in his heart. Dios de mi vida! I could tear their flesh from
+their bones for the shame and the pain they have given thee, thou poor
+little innocent girl!"
+
+"But thou lovest me, Carlos?"
+
+"There is not an hour I am not mad for thee, not a corner of my heart
+that does not ache for thee! Ay, little one, never mind; life is long,
+and we are young."
+
+She pressed nearer and laid his hand on her heart.
+
+"Ay!" she said, "life is long."
+
+"Holy Mary!" he cried. "The hills are on fire!"
+
+A shout went up in the town. A flame, midway on the curving hills,
+leaped to the sky, narrow as a ribbon, then swept out like a fan. The
+moon grew dark behind a rolling pillar of smoke. The upcurved arms of
+the pines were burnt into a wall of liquid shifting red. The caballeros
+sprang to their horses, and driving the Indians before them, fled to the
+hills to save the town. The indolent women of Monterey mingled their
+screams with the shrill cries of the populace and the hoarse shouts of
+their men. The prison sentries stood to their posts for a few moments;
+then the panic claimed them, and they threw down their guns and ran with
+the rest to the hills.
+
+Carlos gave a cry of derision and triumph. "My little one, our hour has
+come! Run and find the keys."
+
+The big bunch of keys had been flung hastily into a corner. A moment
+later Carlos held the shaking form of the girl in his powerful arms.
+Slender and delicate as she was, she made no protest against the
+fierceness of that embrace.
+
+"But come," he said. "We have only this hour for escape. When we are
+safe in the mountains--Come!"
+
+He lifted her in his arms and ran down the crooked street to a corral
+where an hidalgo kept his finest horses. Carlos had been the vaquero of
+the band. The iron bars of the great doors were down--only one horse was
+in the corral; the others had carried the hidalgo and his friends to the
+fire. The brute neighed with delight as Carlos flung saddle and aquera
+into place, then, with La Perdida in his arms, sprang upon its back. The
+vaquero dug his spurs into the shining flanks, the mustang reared, shook
+his small head and silver mane, and bounded through the doors.
+
+A lean, bent, and wiry thing darted from the shadows and hung upon the
+horse's neck. It was the husband of La Perdida, and his little brown
+face looked like an old walnut.
+
+"Take me with thee!" he cried. "I will give thee the old man's
+blessing," and, clinging like a crab to the neck of the galloping
+mustang, he drove a knife toward the heart of La Perdida. The blade
+turned upon itself as lightning sometimes does, and went through stringy
+tissues instead of fresh young blood.
+
+Carlos plucked the limp body from the neck of the horse and flung it
+upon a cactus-bush, where it sprawled and stiffened among the spikes and
+the blood-red flowers. But the mustang never paused; and as the fires
+died on the hills, the mountains opened their great arms and sheltered
+the happiness of two wayward hearts.
+
+
+
+
+LUKARI'S STORY
+
+
+"Ay, senor! So terreeblay thing! It is many years before--1837, I
+theenk, is the year; the Americanos no have come to take California; but
+I remember like it is yesterday.
+
+"You see, I living with her--Dona Juana Ybarra her name is--ever since
+I am little girl, and she too. It is like this: the padres make me
+Christian in the mission, and her family take me to work in the house;
+I no living on the rancheria like the Indians who work outside. Bime by
+Dona Juana marrying and I go live with her. Bime by I marrying too, and
+she is comadre--godmother, you call, no?--to my little one, and steel I
+living with her, and in few years my husband and little one die and
+I love her children like they are my own, and her too; we grow old
+together.
+
+"You never see the San Ysidro rancho? It is near to San Diego and have
+many, many leagues. Don Carlos Ybarra, the husband de my senora, is very
+reech and very brave and proud--too brave and proud, ay, yi! We have a
+beeg adobe house with more than twenty rooms, and a corridor for the
+front more than one hundred feets. Ou'side are plenty other houses where
+make all the things was need for eat and wear: all but the fine closes.
+They come from far,--from Boston and Mejico. All stand away from the
+hills and trees, right in the middle the valley, so can see the bad
+Indians when coming. Far off, a mile I theenk, is the rancheria; no can
+see from the house. No so far is the corral, where keeping the fine
+horses.
+
+"Ay, we have plenty to eat and no much to do in those days. Don Carlos
+and Dona Juana are very devot the one to the other, so the family living
+very happy, and I am in the house like before and take care the little
+ones. Every night I braid my senora's long black hair and tuck her in
+bed like she is a baby. She no grow stout when she grow more old, like
+others, but always is muy elegante.
+
+"Bime by the childrens grow up; and the two firs boys, Roldan and
+Enrique, marrying and living in San Diego. Then are left only the senor
+and the senora, one little boy, Carlos, and my two beautiful senoritas,
+Beatriz and Ester. Ay! How pretty they are. Dios de mi alma! Where they
+are now?
+
+"Dona Beatriz is tall like the mother, and sway when she walk, like you
+see the tules in the little wind. She have the eyes very black and long,
+and look like she feel sleep till she get mad; then, Madre de Dios! they
+opa wide and look like she is on fire inside and go to burn you too. She
+have the skin very white, but I see it hot like the blood go to burst
+out. Once she get furioso cause one the vaqueros hurch her horse, and
+she wheep him till he yell like he is in purgatory and no have no one
+say mass and get him out. But she have the disposition very sweet, and
+after, she is sorry and make him a cake hersel; and we all loving her
+like she is a queen, and she can do it all whatte she want.
+
+"Dona Ester have the eyes more brown and soft, and the disposition more
+mild, but very feerm, and she having her own way more often than Dona
+Beatriz. She no is so tall, but very gracerful too, and walk like she
+think she is tall. All the Spanish so dignify, no? She maka very kind
+with the Indians when they are seek, and all loving her, but no so much
+like Dona Beatriz.
+
+"Both girls very industrioso, sewing and make the broidery; make
+beautiful closes to wear at the ball. Ay, the balls! No have balls like
+those in California now. Sometimes have one fifty miles away, but they
+no care; jump on the horse and go, dance till the sun wake up and no
+feel tire at all. Sometimes when is wedding, or rodeo, dance for one
+week, then ride home like nothing have happen. In the winter the family
+living in San Diego; have big house there and dance every night,
+horseback in day when no rain, and have so many races and games. Ay, yi!
+All the girls so pretty. No wear hats then; the reboso, no more, or
+the mantilla; fix it so gracerful; and the dresses so bright colours,
+sometimes with flowers all over; the skirt make very fule, and the waist
+have the point. And the closes de mens! Madre de Dios! The beautiful
+velvet and silk closes, broider by silver and gold! And the saddles so
+fine! But you think I never go to tell you the story.
+
+"One summer we are more gay than ever. So many caballeros love my
+senoritas, but I think they never love any one, and never go to marry
+at all. For a month we have the house fule; meriendas--peek-neeks, you
+call, no? And races every day, dance in the night. Then all go to stay
+at another rancho; it is costumbre to visit the one to the other. I feel
+very sorry for two so handsome caballeros, who are more devot than any.
+They looking very sad when they go, and I am sure they propose and no
+was accep.
+
+"In the evening it is very quiet, and I am sweep the corridor when I
+hear two horses gallop down the valley. I fix my hand--so--like the
+barrel de gun, and look, and I see, riding very hard, Don Carmelo Pelajo
+and Don Rafael Arguello. The firs, he loving Dona Beatriz, the other, he
+want Dona Ester. I go queeck and tell the girls, and Beatriz toss her
+head and look very scornfule, but Ester blushing and the eyes look very
+happy. The young mens come in in few minutes and are well treat by Don
+Carlos and Dona Juana, for like them very much and are glad si the girls
+marry with them.
+
+"After supper I am turn down the bed in my senora's room when I
+hear somebody spik very low ou'side on the corridor. I kneel on the
+window-seat and look out, and there I see Don Rafael have his arms roun
+Dona Ester and kissing her and she no mine at all. I wonder how they get
+out there by themselfs, for the Spanish very streect with the girls and
+no 'low that. But the young peoples always very--how you say it?--smart,
+no? After while all go to bed, and I braid Dona Juana's hair and she
+tell me Ester go to marry Don Rafael, and she feel very happy and I no
+say one word. Then I go to Dona Beatriz's bedroom; always I fix her for
+the bed, too. Ester have other woman take care her, but Beatriz love me.
+She keeck me when she is little, and pull my hair, when I no give her
+the dulces; but I no mine, for she have the good heart and so sweet
+spression when she no is mad and always maka very kind with me. I comb
+her hair and I see she look very cross and I ask her why, and she say
+she hate mens, they are fools, and womens too. I ask her why she think
+that, and she say she no can be spect have reason for all whatte she
+think; and she throw her head aroun so I no can comb at all and keeck
+out her little foot.
+
+"'You no go to marry with Don Carlos?' I asking.
+
+"'No!' she say, and youbetcherlife her eyes flash. 'You think I marrying
+a singing, sighing, gambling, sleepy caballero? Si no can marry man I no
+marry at all. Madre de Dios!' (She spik beautiful; but I no spik good
+Eenglish, and you no ondrestan the Spanish.)
+
+"'But all are very much like,' I say; 'and you no want die old maid,
+no?'
+
+"'I no care!' and then she fling hersel roun on the chair and throw her
+arms roun me and cry and sob on my estomac. 'Ay, my Lukari!' she cry
+when she can spik,' I hate everybody! I am tire out to exista! I want to
+live! I am tire stay all alone! Oh, I want--I no know what I want! Life
+is terreeblay thing, macheppa!'
+
+"I no know at all whatte she mean, for have plenty peoples all the time,
+and she never walk, so I no can think why she feel tire; but I kissing
+her and smoothe her hair, for I jus love her, and tell her no cry. Bime
+by she fine it some one she loving, and she is very young yet,--twenty,
+no more.
+
+"'I no stay here any longer,' she say. 'I go to ask my father take me to
+Mejico, where can see something cept hills and trees and missions and
+forts, and where perhaps--ay, Dios de mi alma!' Then she jump up and
+take me by the shoulders and just throw me out the room and lock the
+door; but I no mine, for I am use to her.
+
+"Bueno, I think I go for walk, and bime by I come to the rancheria, and
+while I am there I hear terreeblay thing from old Pepe. He say he hear
+for sure that the bad Indians--who was no make Christian by the padres
+and living very wild in the mountains--come killing all the white
+peoples on the ranchos. He say he know sure it is true, and tell me beg
+Don Carlos send to San Diego for the soldiers come take care us. I feel
+so fright I hardly can walk back to the house, and I no sleep that
+night. In the morning firs thing I telling Don Carlos, but he say is
+nonsense and no will lissen. He is very brave and no care for nothing;
+fight the Indians and killing them plenty times. The two caballeros go
+away after breakfas, and when they are gone I can see my senora alone,
+and I telling her. She feel very fright and beg Don Carlos send for the
+soldiers, but he no will. Ay, yi! Ester is fright too; but Beatriz laugh
+and say she like have some excite and killing the Indians hersel. After
+while old Pepe come up to the house and tell he hear 'gain, but Don
+Carlos no will ask him even where he hear, and tell him to go back to
+the rancheria where belong, and make the reatas; he is so old he no can
+make anything else.
+
+"Bueno! The nex morning--bout nine o'clock--Don Carlos is at the corral
+with two vaqueros and I am in the keetchen with the cook and one Indian
+boy, call Franco. Never I like that boy. Something so sneak, and
+he steal the dulces plenty times and walk so soffit. I am help the
+cook--very good woman, but no have much sense--fry lard, when I hear
+terreeblay noise--horses gallop like they jump out the earth near the
+house, and many mens yell and scream and shout.
+
+"I run to the window and whatte I see?--Indians, Indians, Indians,
+thick like black ants on hill, jus race for the house, yelling like the
+horses' backs been fule de pins; and Don Carlos and the two vaqueros run
+like they have wings for the kitchen door, so can get in and get the
+guns and fight from the windows. I know whatte they want, so I run to
+the door to throw wide, and whatte I see but that devil Franco lock it
+and stan in front. I jump on him so can scratch his eyes out, but he
+keeck me in the estomac and for few minutes I no know it nothing.
+
+"When I opa my eyes, the room is fule de Indians, and in the iron the
+house I hear my senora and Dona Ester scream, scream, scream. I crawl up
+by the window-seat and look out, and there--ay, Madre de Dios!--see on
+the groun my senor dead, stuck fule de arrows; and the vaqueros, too,
+of course. That maka me crazy and I run among the Indians, hitting them
+with my fists, to my senora and my senoritas. Jus as I run into the sala
+they go to killing my senora, but I snatch the knife and fall down on
+my knees and beg and cry they no hurcha her, and bime by they say all
+right. But--santa Dios!--whatte you think they do it? They tear all the
+closes offa her till she is naked like my ban, and drive her out the
+house with the reatas. They no letting me follow and I look out the
+window and see her reel like she is drunk down the valley and scream,
+scream!--Ay, Dios!
+
+"Ester, she faint and no know it nothing. Beatriz, she have kill one
+Indian with her pistol, but they take way from her, and she stan look
+like the dead woman with eyes that have been in hell, in front the
+chief, who looka her very hard. He is very fine look, that chief, so
+tall and strong, like he can kill by sweep his arm roun, and he have
+fierce black eyes and no bad nose for Indian, with nostrils that jump.
+His mouth no is cruel like mos the bad Indians, nor the forehead so low.
+He wear the crown de feathers, and botas, and scrape de goaskin; the
+others no wear much at all. In a minute he pick up Beatriz and fling her
+over his shoulder like she is the dead deer, and he tell other do the
+same by Ester, and he stalk out and ride away hard. The others set fire
+everything, then ride after him. They no care for me and I stand there
+shriek after my senoritas and the beautiful housses burn up.
+
+"Then I think de my senora and I run after the way she going. Bime by I
+find her in a wheat field, kissing and hugging little Carlos, who go out
+early and no meet the Indians; and he no ondrestan what is the matter
+and dance up and down he is so fright. I tell him run fas to San Diego
+and tell Don Roldan and Don Enrique whatte have happen, and he run like
+he is glad to get away. Then I take off my closes and put them on my
+senora and drag her along, and, bime by, we coming to a little house,
+and a good woman give me some closes and in the night we coming to San
+Diego. Ay! but was excite, everybody. Carlos been there two or three
+hours before, and Don Roldan and Don Enrique go with the soldiers to the
+hills. Everybody do it all whatte they can for my poor senora, but she
+no want to speak by anybody, and go shut hersel up in a room in Don
+Enrique's house and jus moan and I sit ou'side the door and moan too.
+
+"Of course, I no am with the soldiers, but many times I hear all and I
+tell you.
+
+"The Indians have good start, and the white peoples no even see them,
+but they fine the trail and follow hard. Bime by they coming to the
+mountains. You ever been in the mountains back de San Diego? No the
+hills, but the mountains. Ay! So bare and rofe and sharp, and the canons
+so narrow and the trails so steep! No is safe to go in at all, for the
+Indians can hide on the rocks, and jus shoot the white peoples down one
+at the time, si they like it, when climb the gorges. The soldiers
+say they no go in, for it is the duty de them to living and protec
+California from the Americanos; but Don Enrique and Don Roldan say they
+go, and they ride right in and no one ever spect see them any more. It
+is night, so they have good chancacum to look and no be seen si Indians
+no watch.
+
+"Bime by they meet one Indian, who belong to the tribe they want, and
+'fore he can shoot they point the pistol and tell him he mus show them
+where are the girls. He say he taking them, and on the way he telling
+them the chief and nother chief make the girls their wives. This make
+them wild, and they tie up the horses so can climb more fast. But it is
+no till late the nex morning when they come sudden out of a gorge and
+look right into a place, very flat like a plaza, where is the pueblo
+de the Indians they want. For moment no one see them, and they see the
+girls--Dios de mi alma! Have been big feast, I theenk, and right where
+are all the things no been clear away, Ester, she lie on the groun on
+the face, and cry and sob and shake. But Beatriz, she stan very straight
+in the middle, 'fore the door the big wigwam, and never look more
+hansome. She never take her eyes off the chief who taking her away, and
+no look discontent at all. Then the Indians see the brothers and yell
+and run to get the bows and arrows. Don Enrique and Don Roldan fire the
+pistols, but after all they have to run, for no can do it nothing. They
+get out live but have arrows in them. And that is the las we ever hear
+de my senoritas. Many time plenty white peoples watch the mountains and
+sometimes go in, but no can find nothing and always are wound.
+
+"And my poor senora! For whole year she jus sit in one room and cry so
+loud all the peoples in San Diego hear her. No can do it nothing with
+her. Ay, she love the husband so, and the two beautiful girls! Then
+she die, and I am glad. Much better die than suffer like that. And Don
+Rafael and Don Carmelo? Oh, they marrying other girls, course."
+
+
+
+
+NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS
+
+
+At Fort Ross, on the northern coast of California, it is told that an
+astonishing sight may be witnessed in the midnight of the twenty-third
+of August. The present settlement vanishes. In its place the Fort
+appears as it was when the Russians abandoned it in 1841. The
+quadrilateral stockade of redwood beams, pierced with embrasures for
+carronades, is compact and formidable once more. The ramparts are paced
+by watchful sentries; mounted cannon are behind the iron-barred gates
+and in the graceful bastions. Within the enclosure are the low log
+buildings occupied by the Governor and his officers, the barracks of the
+soldiers, the arsenal, and storehouses. In one corner stands the Greek
+chapel, with its cupola and cross-surmounted belfry. The silver chimes
+have rung this night. The Governor, his beautiful wife, and their guest,
+Natalie Ivanhoff, have knelt at the jewelled altar.
+
+At the right of the Fort is a small "town" of rude huts which
+accommodates some eight hundred Indians and Siberian convicts, the
+working-men of the company. Above the "town," on a high knoll, is a
+large grist-mill. Describing an arc of perfect proportions, its midmost
+depression a mile behind the Fort, a great mountain forms a natural
+rampart. At either extreme it tapers to the jagged cliffs. On its three
+lower tables the mountain is green and bare; then abruptly rises a
+forest of redwoods, tall, rigid, tenebrious.
+
+The mountain is visible but a moment. An immense white fog-bank which
+has been crouching on the horizon rears suddenly and rushes across the
+ocean, whose low mutter rises to a roar. It sweeps like a tidal wave
+across cliffs and Fort. It halts abruptly against the face of the
+mountain. In the same moment the ocean stills. It would almost seem that
+Nature held her breath, awaiting some awful event.
+
+Suddenly, in the very middle of the fog-bank, appears the shadowy figure
+of a woman. She is gliding--to the right--rapidly and stealthily. Youth
+is in her slender grace, her delicate profile, dimly outlined. Her long
+silver-blond hair is unbound and luminously distinct from the white
+fog. She walks swiftly across the lower table of the mountain, then
+disappears. One sees, vaguely, a dark figure crouching along the lower
+fringe of the fog. That, too, disappears.
+
+For a moment the silence seems intensified. Then, suddenly, it is
+crossed by a low whir--a strange sound in the midnight. Then a shriek
+whose like is never heard save when a soul is wrenched without warning
+in frightfullest torture from its body. Then another and another
+and another in rapid succession, each fainter and more horrible in
+suggestion than the last. With them has mingled the single frenzied cry
+of a man. A moment later a confused hubbub arises from the Fort and
+town, followed by the flashes of many lights and the report of musketry.
+Then the fog presses downward on the scene. All sound but that of the
+ocean, which seems to have drawn into its loud dull voice all the angers
+of all the dead, ceases as though muffled. The fog lingers a moment,
+then drifts back as it came, and Fort Ross is the Fort Ross of to-day.
+
+
+And this is the story:--
+
+When the Princess Helene de Gagarin married Alexander Rotscheff, she
+little anticipated that she would spend her honeymoon in the northern
+wilds of the Californias. Nevertheless, when her husband was appointed
+Governor of the Fort Ross and Bodega branch of the great Alaskan Fur
+Company, she volunteered at once to go with him--being in that stage of
+devotion which may be termed the emotionally heroic as distinguished
+from the later of non-resistance. As the exile would last but a few
+years, and as she was a lady of a somewhat adventurous spirit, to say
+nothing of the fact that she was deeply in love, her interpretation of
+wifely duty hardly wore the hue of martyrdom even to herself.
+
+Notwithstanding, and although she had caused to be prepared a large case
+of books and eight trunks of ravishing raiment, she decided that life in
+a fort hidden between the mountains and the sea, miles away from even
+the primitive Spanish civilization, might hang burdensomely at such
+whiles as her husband's duties claimed him and books ceased to amuse. So
+she determined to ask the friend of her twenty-three years, the Countess
+Natalie Ivanhoff, to accompany her. She had, also, an unselfish motive
+in so doing. Not only did she cherish for the Countess Natalie a real
+affection, but her friend was as deeply wretched as she was happy.
+
+Two years before, the Prince Alexis Mikhailof, betrothed of Natalie
+Ivanhoff, had been, without explanation or chance of parting word,
+banished to Siberia under sentence of perpetual exile. Later had come
+rumour of his escape, then of death, then of recapture. Nothing definite
+could be learned. When the Princess Helene made her invitation, it was
+accepted gratefully, hope suggesting that in the New World might be
+found relief from the torture that was relived in every vibration of the
+invisible wires that held memory fast to the surroundings in which the
+terrible impressions, etchers of memory, had their genesis.
+
+They arrived in summer, and found the long log house, with its low
+ceilings and rude finish, admirably comfortable within. By aid of the
+great case of things Rotscheff had brought, it quickly became an abode
+of luxury. Thick carpets covered every floor; arras hid the rough walls;
+books and pictures and handsome ornaments crowded each other; every
+chair had been designed for comfort as well as elegance; the dining
+table was hidden beneath finest damask, and glittered with silver and
+crystal. It was an unwritten law that every one should dress for dinner;
+and with the rich curtains hiding the gloomy mountain and the long
+sweep of cliffs intersected by gorge and gulch, it was easy for the
+gay congenial band of exiles to forget that they were not eating the
+delicacies of their French cook and drinking their costly wines in the
+Old World.
+
+In the daytime the women--several of the officers' wives had braved the
+wilderness--found much diversion in riding through the dark forests
+or along the barren cliffs, attended always by an armed guard. Diego
+Estenega, the Spanish magnate of the North, whose ranchos adjoined Fort
+Ross, and who was financially interested in the Russian fur trade, soon
+became an intimate of the Rotscheff household. A Californian by birth,
+he was, nevertheless, a man of modern civilization, travelled, a
+student, and a keen lover of masculine sports. Although the most
+powerful man in the politics of his conservative country, he was an
+American in appearance and dress. His cloth or tweed suggested the
+colorous magnificence of the caballeros as little as did his thin
+nervous figure and grim pallid intellectual face. Rotscheff liked him
+better than any man he had ever met; with the Princess he usually waged
+war, that lady being clever, quick, and wedded to her own opinions.
+For Natalie he felt a sincere friendship at once. Being a man of keen
+sympathies and strong impulses, he divined her trouble before he heard
+her story, and desired to help her.
+
+The Countess Natalie, despite the Governor's prohibition, was addicted
+to roving over the cliffs by herself, finding kinship in the sterile
+crags and futile restlessness of the ocean. She had learned that
+although change of scene lightened the burden, only death would release
+her from herself.
+
+"She will get over it," said the Princess Helene to Estenega. "I was in
+love twice before I met Alex, so I know. Natalie is so beautiful that
+some day some man, who will not look in the least like poor Alexis, will
+make her forget."
+
+Estenega, being a man of the world and having consequently outgrown the
+cynicism of youth, also knowing women better than this fair Minerva
+would know them in twenty lifetimes, thought differently, and a battle
+ensued.
+
+Natalie, meanwhile, wandered along the cliffs. She passed the town
+hurriedly. Several times when in its vicinity before, the magnetism of
+an intense gaze had given her a thrill of alarm, and once or twice she
+had met face to face the miller's son--a forbidding youth with the
+skull of the Tartar and the coarse black hair and furtive eyes of the
+Indian--whose admiration of her beauty had been annoyingly apparent. She
+was not conscious of observation to-day, however, and skirted the cliffs
+rapidly, drawing her gray mantle about her as the wind howled by, but
+did not lift the hood; the massive coils of silver-blond hair kept her
+head warm.
+
+As the Princess Helene, despite her own faultless blondinity, had
+pronounced, Natalie Ivanhoff was a beautiful woman. Her profile had the
+delicate effect produced by the chisel. Her white skin was transparent
+and untinted, but the mouth was scarlet. The large long eyes of a
+changeful blue-gray, although limpid of surface, were heavy with the
+sadness of a sad spirit. Their natural fire was quenched just as the
+slight compression of her lips had lessened the sensuous fulness of
+their curves.
+
+But she had suffered so bitterly and so variously that the points had
+been broken off her nerves, she told herself, and, excepting when her
+trouble mounted suddenly like a wave within her, her mind was tranquil.
+Grief with her had expressed itself in all its forms. She had known what
+it was to be crushed into semi-insensibility; she had thrilled as the
+tears rushed and the sobs shook her until every nerve ached and her very
+fingers cramped; and she had gone wild at other times, burying her head,
+that her screams might not be heard: the last, as imagination pictured
+her lover's certain physical suffering. But of all agonies, none could
+approximate to that induced by Death. When that rumour reached her,
+she realized that hope had given her some measure of support, and
+how insignificant all other trouble is beside that awful blank, that
+mystery, whose single revelation is the houseless soul's unreturning
+flight from the only world we are sure of. When the contradicting rumour
+came, she clutched at hope and clung to it.
+
+"It is the only reason I do not kill myself," she thought, as she stood
+on the jutting brow of the cliff and looked down on the masses of huge
+stones which, with the gaunt outlying rocks, had once hung on the face
+of the crags. The great breakers boiled over them with the ponderosity
+peculiar to the waters of the Pacific. The least of those breakers would
+carry her far into the hospitable ocean.
+
+"It is so easy to die and be at peace; the only thing which makes life
+supportable is the knowledge of Death's quick obedience. And the tragedy
+of life is not that we cannot forget, but that we can. Think of being an
+old woman with not so much as a connecting current between the memory
+and the heart, the long interval blocked with ten thousand petty events
+and trials! It must be worse than this. I shall have gone over the cliff
+long before that time comes. I would go to-day, but I cannot leave the
+world while he is in it."
+
+She drew a case from her pocket, and opened it. It showed the portrait
+of a young man with the sombre eyes and cynical mouth of the northern
+European, a face revealing intellect, will, passion, and much
+recklessness. Eyes and hair were dark, the face smooth but for a slight
+mustache.
+
+Natalie burst into wild tears, revelling in the solitude that gave her
+freedom. She pressed the picture against her face, and cried her agony
+aloud to the ocean. Thrilling memories rushed through her, and she lived
+again the first ecstasy of grief. She did not fling herself upon the
+ground, or otherwise indulge in the acrobatics of woe, but she shook
+from head to foot. Between the heavy sobs her breath came in hard gasps,
+and tears poured, hiding the gray desolation of the scene.
+
+Suddenly, through it all, she became conscious that some one was
+watching her. Instinctively she knew that it was the same gaze which so
+often had alarmed her. Fear routed every other passion. She realized
+that she was unprotected, a mile from the Fort, out of the line of its
+vision. The brutal head of the miller's son seemed to thrust itself
+before her face. Overwhelmed with terror, she turned swiftly and ran,
+striking blindly among the low bushes, her glance darting from right to
+left. No one was to be seen for a moment; then she turned the corner of
+a boulder and came upon a man. She shrieked and covered her face with
+her hands, now too frightened to move. The man neither stirred nor
+spoke; and, despite this alarming circumstance, her disordered brain,
+in the course of a moment, conceived the thought that no subject of
+Rotscheff would dare to harm her.
+
+Moreover, her brief glance had informed her that this was not the
+miller's son; which fact, illogically, somewhat tempered her fear. She
+removed her hands and compelled herself to look sternly at the creature
+who had dared to raise his eyes to the Countess Natalie Ivanhoff. She
+was puzzled to find something familiar about him. His grizzled hair
+was long, but not unkempt. The lower part of his face was covered by
+a beard. He was almost fleshless; but in his sunken eyes burned
+unquenchable fire, and there was a determined vigour in his gaunt
+figure. He might have been any age. Assuredly, the outward seeming of
+youth was not there, but its suggestion still lingered tenaciously in
+the spirit which glowed through the worn husk. And about him, in spite
+of the rough garb and blackened skin, was an unmistakable air of
+breeding.
+
+Natalie, as she looked, grew rigid. Then she uttered a cry of rapturous
+horror, staggered, and was caught in a fierce embrace. Her stunned
+senses awoke in a moment, and she clung to him, crying wildly, holding
+him with straining arms, filled with bitter happiness.
+
+In a few moments he pushed her from him and regarded her sadly.
+
+"You are as beautiful as ever," he said; "but I--look at me! Old,
+hideous, ragged! I am not fit to touch you; I never meant to. Go! I
+shall never blame you."
+
+For answer she sprang to him again.
+
+"What difference is it how you look?" she cried, still sobbing. "Is it
+not _you?_ Are not you in here just the same? What matter? What matter?
+No matter what you looked through, you would be the same. Listen," she
+continued rapidly, after a moment. "We are in a new country; there is
+hope for us. If we can reach the Spanish towns of the South, we are
+safe. I will ask Don Diego Estenega to help us, and he is not the man to
+refuse. He stays with us to-night, and I will speak alone with him. Meet
+me to-morrow night--where? At the grist-mill at midnight. We had better
+not meet by day again. Perhaps we can go then. You will be there?"
+
+"Will I be there? God! Of course I will be there."
+
+And, the brief details of their flight concluded, they forgot it and all
+else for the hour.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Natalie could not obtain speech alone with Estenega that evening; but
+the next morning the Princess Helene commanded her household and guest
+to accompany her up the hill to the orchard at the foot of the forest;
+and there, while the others wandered over the knolls of the shadowy
+enclosure, Natalie managed to tell her story. Estenega offered his help
+spontaneously.
+
+"At twelve to-night," he said, "I will wait for you in the forest with
+horses, and will guide you myself to Monterey. I have a house there, and
+you can leave on the first barque for Boston."
+
+As soon as the party returned to the Fort, Estenega excused himself and
+left for his home. The day passed with maddening slowness to Natalie.
+She spent the greater part of it walking up and down the immediate
+cliffs, idly watching the men capturing the seals and otters, the
+ship-builders across the gulch. As she returned at sunset to the
+enclosure, she saw the miller's son standing by the gates, gazing at her
+with hungry admiration. He inspired her with sudden fury.
+
+"Never presume to look at me again," she said harshly. "If you do, I
+shall report you to the Governor."
+
+And without waiting to note how he accepted the mandate, she swept by
+him and entered the Fort, the gates clashing behind her.
+
+The inmates of Fort Ross were always in bed by eleven o'clock. At that
+hour not a sound was to be heard but the roar of the ocean, the soft
+pacing of the sentry on the ramparts, the cry of the panther in the
+forest. On the evening in question, after the others had retired,
+Natalie, trembling with excitement, made a hasty toilet, changing her
+evening gown for a gray travelling frock. Her heavy hair came unbound,
+and her shaking hands refused to adjust the close coils. As it fell over
+her gray mantle it looked so lovely, enveloping her with the silver
+sheen of mist, that she smiled in sad vanity, remembering happier days,
+and decided to let her lover see her so. She could braid her hair at the
+mill.
+
+A moment or two before twelve she raised the window and swung herself to
+the ground. The sentry was on the rampart opposite: she could not make
+her exit by that gate. She walked softly around the buildings, keeping
+in their shadow, and reached the gates facing the forest. They were not
+difficult to unbar, and in a moment she stood without, free. She could
+not see the mountain; a heavy bank of white fog lay against it, resting,
+after its long flight over the ocean, before it returned, or swept
+onward to ingulf the redwoods.
+
+She went with noiseless step up the path, then turned and walked swiftly
+toward the mill. She was very nervous; mingling with the low voice of
+the ocean she imagined she heard the moans with which beheaded convicts
+were said to haunt the night. Once she thought she heard a footstep
+behind her, and paused, her heart beating audibly. But the sound ceased
+with her own soft footfalls, and the fog was so dense that she could see
+nothing. The ground was soft, and she was beyond the sentry's earshot;
+she ran at full speed across the field, down the gorge, and up the steep
+knoll. As she reached the top, she was taken in Mikhailof's arms. For
+a few moments she was too breathless to speak; then she told him her
+plans.
+
+"Let me braid my hair," she said finally, "and we will go."
+
+He drew her within the mill, then lit a lantern and held it above her
+head, his eyes dwelling passionately on her beauty, enhanced by the
+colour of excitement and rapid exercise.
+
+"You look like the moon queen," he said. "I missed your hair, apart from
+yourself."
+
+She lifted her chin with a movement of coquetry most graceful in spite
+of long disuse, and the answering fire sprang into her eyes. She looked
+very piquant and a trifle diabolical. He pressed his lips suddenly
+on hers. A moment later something tugged at the long locks his hand
+caressed, and at the same time he became conscious that the silence
+which had fallen between them was shaken by a loud whir. He glanced
+upward. Natalie was standing with her back to one of the band-wheels. It
+had begun to revolve; in the moment it increased its speed; and he saw a
+glittering web on its surface. With an exclamation of horror, he pulled
+her toward him; but he was too late. The wheel, spinning now with the
+velocity of midday, caught the whole silver cloud in its spokes, and
+Natalie was swept suddenly upward. Her feet hit the low rafters, and she
+was whirled round and round, screams of torture torn from her rather
+than uttered, her body describing a circular right angle to the shaft,
+the bones breaking as they struck the opposite one; then, in swift
+finality, she was sucked between belt and wheel. Mikhailof managed to
+get into the next room and reverse the lever. The machinery stopped as
+abruptly as it had started; but Natalie was out of her agony.
+
+Her lover flung himself over the cliffs, shattering bones and skull
+on the stones at their base. They made her a coffin out of the copper
+plates used for their ships, and laid her in the straggling unpopulous
+cemetery on the knoll across the gulch beyond the chapel.
+
+"When we go, we will take her," said Rotscheff to his distracted wife.
+
+But when they went, a year or two after, in the hurry of departure they
+forgot her until too late. They promised to return. But they never came,
+and she sleeps there still, on the lonely knoll between the sunless
+forest and the desolate ocean.
+
+
+
+
+THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
+
+
+I
+
+Pilar, from her little window just above the high wall surrounding the
+big adobe house set apart for the women neophytes of the Mission of
+Santa Ines, watched, morning and evening, for Andreo, as he came and
+went from the rancheria. The old women kept the girls busy, spinning,
+weaving, sewing; but age nods and youth is crafty. The tall young Indian
+who was renowned as the best huntsman of all the neophytes, and who
+supplied Padre Arroyo's table with deer and quail, never failed to keep
+his ardent eyes fixed upon the grating so long as it lay within the line
+of his vision. One day he went to Padre Arroyo and told him that Pilar
+was the prettiest girl behind the wall--the prettiest girl in all the
+Californias--and that she should be his wife. But the kind stern old
+padre shook his head.
+
+"You are both too young. Wait another year, my son, and if thou art
+still in the same mind, thou shalt have her."
+
+Andreo dared to make no protest, but he asked permission to prepare a
+home for his bride. The padre gave it willingly, and the young Indian
+began to make the big adobes, the bright red tiles. At the end of a
+month he had built him a cabin among the willows of the rancheria, a
+little apart from the others: he was in love, and association with his
+fellows was distasteful. When the cabin was builded his impatience
+slipped from its curb, and once more he besought the priest to allow him
+to marry.
+
+Padre Arroyo was sunning himself on the corridor of the mission,
+shivering in his heavy brown robes, for the day was cold.
+
+"Orion," he said sternly--he called all his neophytes after the
+celebrities of earlier days, regardless of the names given them at the
+font--"have I not told thee thou must wait a year? Do not be impatient,
+my son. She will keep. Women are like apples: when they are too young,
+they set the teeth on edge; when ripe and mellow, they please every
+sense; when they wither and turn brown, it is time to fall from the tree
+into a hole. Now go and shoot a deer for Sunday: the good padres from
+San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara are coming to dine with me."
+
+Andreo, dejected, left the padre. As he passed Pilar's window and saw a
+pair of wistful black eyes behind the grating, his heart took fire. No
+one was within sight. By a series of signs he made his lady understand
+that he would place a note beneath a certain adobe in the wall.
+
+Pilar, as she went to and fro under the fruit trees in the garden,
+or sat on the long corridor weaving baskets, watched that adobe with
+fascinated eyes. She knew that Andreo was tunnelling it, and one day a
+tiny hole proclaimed that his work was accomplished. But how to get the
+note? The old women's eyes were very sharp when the girls were in front
+of the gratings. Then the civilizing development of Christianity
+upon the heathen intellect triumphantly asserted itself. Pilar, too,
+conceived a brilliant scheme. That night the padre, who encouraged any
+evidence of industry, no matter how eccentric, gave her a little garden
+of her own--a patch where she could raise sweet peas and Castilian
+roses.
+
+"That is well, that is well, my Nausicaa," he said, stroking her smoky
+braids. "Go cut the slips and plant them where thou wilt. I will send
+thee a package of sweet pea seeds."
+
+Pilar spent every spare hour bending over her "patch"; and the hole, at
+first no bigger than a pin's point, was larger at each setting of the
+sun behind the mountain. The old women, scolding on the corridor, called
+to her not to forget vespers.
+
+On the third evening, kneeling on the damp ground, she drew from the
+little tunnel in the adobe a thin slip of wood covered with the labour
+of sleepless nights. She hid it in her smock--that first of California's
+love-letters--then ran with shaking knees and prostrated herself before
+the altar. That night the moon streamed through her grating, and she
+deciphered the fact that Andreo had loosened eight adobes above her
+garden, and would await her every midnight.
+
+Pilar sat up in bed and glanced about the room with terrified delight.
+It took her but a moment to decide the question; love had kept her awake
+too many nights. The neophytes were asleep; as they turned now and
+again, their narrow beds of hide, suspended from the ceiling, swung too
+gently to awaken them. The old women snored loudly. Pilar slipped from
+her bed and looked through the grating. Andreo was there, the dignity
+and repose of primeval man in his bearing. She waved her hand and
+pointed downward to the wall; then, throwing on the long coarse gray
+smock that was her only garment, crept from the room and down the stair.
+The door was protected against hostile tribes by a heavy iron bar, but
+Pilar's small hands were hard and strong, and in a moment she stood over
+the adobes which had crushed her roses and sweet peas.
+
+As she crawled through the opening, Andreo took her hand bashfully, for
+they never had spoken. "Come," he said; "we must be far away before
+dawn."
+
+They stole past the long mission, crossing themselves as they glanced
+askance at the ghostly row of pillars; past the guard-house, where the
+sentries slept at their post; past the rancheria; then, springing upon a
+waiting mustang, dashed down the valley. Pilar had never been on a horse
+before, and she clung in terror to Andreo, who bestrode the unsaddled
+beast as easily as a cloud rides the wind. His arm held her closely,
+fear vanished, and she enjoyed the novel sensation. Glancing over
+Andreo's shoulder she watched the mass of brown and white buildings,
+the winding river, fade into the mountain. Then they began to ascend
+an almost perpendicular steep. The horse followed a narrow trail; the
+crowding trees and shrubs clutched the blankets and smocks of the
+riders; after a time trail and scene grew white: the snow lay on the
+heights.
+
+"Where do we go?" she asked.
+
+"To Zaca Lake, on the very top of the mountain, miles above us. No one
+has ever been there but myself. Often I have shot deer and birds beside
+it. They never will find us there."
+
+The red sun rose over the mountains of the east. The crystal moon sank
+in the west. Andreo sprang from the weary mustang and carried Pilar to
+the lake.
+
+A sheet of water, round as a whirlpool but calm and silver, lay amidst
+the sweeping willows and pine-forested peaks. The snow glittered beneath
+the trees, but a canoe was on the lake, a hut on the marge.
+
+
+II
+
+Padre Arroyo tramped up and down the corridor, smiting his hands
+together. The Indians bowed lower than usual, as they passed, and
+hastened their steps. The soldiers scoured the country for the bold
+violators of mission law. No one asked Padre Arroyo what he would do
+with the sinners, but all knew that punishment would be sharp and
+summary: the men hoped that Andreo's mustang had carried him beyond its
+reach; the girls, horrified as they were, wept and prayed in secret for
+Pilar.
+
+A week later, in the early morning, Padre Arroyo sat on the corridor.
+The mission stood on a plateau overlooking a long valley forked and
+sparkled by the broad river. The valley was planted thick with olive
+trees, and their silver leaves glittered in the rising sun. The mountain
+peaks about and beyond were white with snow, but the great red poppies
+blossomed at their feet. The padre, exiled from the luxury and society
+of his dear Spain, never tired of the prospect: he loved his mission
+children, but he loved Nature more.
+
+Suddenly he leaned forward on his staff and lifted the heavy brown
+hood of his habit from his ear. Down the road winding from the eastern
+mountains came the echo of galloping footfalls. He rose expectantly and
+waddled out upon the plaza, shading his eyes with his hand. A half-dozen
+soldiers, riding closely about a horse bestridden by a stalwart young
+Indian supporting a woman, were rapidly approaching the mission. The
+padre returned to his seat and awaited their coming.
+
+The soldiers escorted the culprits to the corridor; two held the horse
+while they descended, then led it away, and Andreo and Pilar were alone
+with the priest. The bridegroom placed his arm about the bride and
+looked defiantly at Padre Arroyo, but Pilar drew her long hair about her
+face and locked her hands together.
+
+Padre Arroyo folded his arms and regarded them with lowered brows, a
+sneer on his mouth.
+
+"I have new names for you both," he said, in his thickest voice.
+"Antony, I hope thou hast enjoyed thy honeymoon. Cleopatra, I hope thy
+little toes did not get frost-bitten. You both look as if food had been
+scarce. And your garments have gone in good part to clothe the brambles,
+I infer. It is too bad you could not wait a year and love in your cabin
+at the rancheria, by a good fire, and with plenty of frijoles and
+tortillas in your stomachs." He dropped his sarcastic tone, and, rising
+to his feet, extended his right arm with a gesture of malediction. "Do
+you comprehend the enormity of your sin?" he shouted. "Have you not
+learned on your knees that the fires of hell are the rewards of unlawful
+love? Do you not know that even the year of sackcloth and ashes I shall
+impose here on earth will not save you from those flames a million times
+hotter than the mountain fire, than the roaring pits in which evil
+Indians torture one another? A hundred years of their scorching breath,
+of roasting flesh, for a week of love! Oh, God of my soul!"
+
+Andreo looked somewhat staggered, but unrepentant. Pilar burst into loud
+sobs of terror.
+
+The padre stared long and gloomily at the flags of the corridor. Then he
+raised his head and looked sadly at his lost sheep.
+
+"My children," he said solemnly, "my heart is wrung for you. You
+have broken the laws of God and of the Holy Catholic Church, and the
+punishments thereof are awful. Can I do anything for you, excepting to
+pray? You shall have my prayers, my children. But that is not enough;
+I cannot--ay! I cannot endure the thought that you shall be damned.
+Perhaps"--again he stared meditatively at the stones, then, after an
+impressive silence, raised his eyes. "Heaven vouchsafes me an idea, my
+children. I will make your punishment here so bitter that Almighty God
+in His mercy will give you but a few years of purgatory after death.
+Come with me."
+
+He turned and led the way slowly to the rear of the mission buildings.
+Andreo shuddered for the first time, and tightened his arm about Pilar's
+shaking body. He knew that they were to be locked in the dungeons.
+Pilar, almost fainting, shrank back as they reached the narrow spiral
+stair which led downward to the cells. "Ay! I shall die, my Andreo!" she
+cried. "Ay! my father, have mercy!"
+
+"I cannot, my children," said the padre, sadly. "It is for the salvation
+of your souls."
+
+"Mother of God! When shall I see thee again, my Pilar?" whispered
+Andreo. "But, ay! the memory of that week on the mountain will keep us
+both alive."
+
+Padre Arroyo descended the stair and awaited them at its foot.
+Separating them, and taking each by the hand, he pushed Andreo ahead and
+dragged Pilar down the narrow passage. At its end he took a great bunch
+of keys from his pocket, and raising both hands commanded them to kneel.
+He said a long prayer in a loud monotonous voice which echoed and
+reechoed down the dark hall and made Pilar shriek with terror. Then he
+fairly hurled the marriage ceremony at them, and made the couple repeat
+after him the responses. When it was over, "Arise," he said.
+
+The poor things stumbled to their feet, and Andreo caught Pilar in a
+last embrace.
+
+"Now bear your incarceration with fortitude, my children; and if you do
+not beat the air with your groans, I will let you out in a week. Do not
+hate your old father, for love alone makes him severe, but pray, pray,
+pray."
+
+And then he locked them both in the same cell.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
+
+
+I
+
+The Senor Capitan Don Luis de la Torre walked impatiently up and down
+before the grist-mill wherein were quartered the soldiers sent by Mexico
+to protect the building of the Mission of San Gabriel. The Indian
+workmen were slugs; California, a vast region inhabited only by savages
+and a few priests, offered slender attractions to a young officer
+craving the gay pleasures of his capital and the presence of the woman
+he was to marry. For months he had watched the mission church mount
+slowly from foundation to towers, then spread into pillared corridors
+and rooms for the clergy. He could have mapped in his mind every acre of
+the wide beautiful valley girt by mountains snowed on their crest. He
+had thought it all very lovely at first: the yellow atmosphere, the soft
+abiding warmth, the blue reflecting lake; but the green on mountain and
+flat had waxed to gold, then waned to tan and brown, and he was tired.
+Not even a hostile Indian had come to be killed.
+
+He was very good-looking, this tall young Spaniard, with his impatient
+eyes and haughty intelligent face, and it is possible that the lady in
+Mexico had added to his burden by doleful prayers to return. He took a
+letter from his pocket, read it half through, then walked rapidly over
+to the mission, seeking interest in the work of the Indians. Under the
+keen merciless supervision of the padres,--the cleverest body of men
+who ever set foot in America,--they were mixing and laying the adobes,
+making nails and tiles, hewing aqueducts, fashioning great stone fonts
+and fountains. De la Torre speculated, after his habit, upon the future
+of a country so beautiful and so fertile, which a dozen priests had made
+their own. Would these Indians, the poorest apologies for human beings
+he had ever seen, the laziest and the dirtiest, be Christianized and
+terrified into worthy citizens of this fair land? Could the clear white
+flame that burned in the brains of the padres strike fire in their
+neophytes' narrow skulls, create a soul in those grovelling bodies? He
+dismissed the question.
+
+Would men of race, tempted by the loveliness of this great gold-haired
+houri sleeping on the Pacific, come from old and new Spain and dream
+away a life of pleasure? What grapes would grow out of this rich soil
+to be crushed by Indian slaves into red wine! And did gold vein those
+velvet hills? How all fruits, all grains, would thrive! what superb
+beasts would fatten on the thick spring grass! Ay! it was a magnificent
+discovery for the Church, and great would be the power that could wrest
+it from her.
+
+There was a new people, somewhere north of Mexico, in the United States
+of America. Would they ever covet and strive to rob? The worse for them
+if they molested the fire-blooded Spaniard. How he should like to fight
+them!
+
+That night the sentinel gave a sudden piercing shout of warning, then
+dropped dead with a poisoned arrow in his brain. Another moment, and
+the soldiers had leaped from their swinging beds of hide, and headed by
+their captain had reached the church they were there to defend. Through
+plaza and corridors sped and shrieked the savage tribe, whose invasion
+had been made with the swiftness and cunning of their race. The doors
+had not been hung in the church, and the naked figures ran in upon the
+heels of the soldiers, waving torches and yelling like the soulless
+fiends they were. The few neophytes who retained spirit enough to fight
+after the bleaching process that had chilled their native fire and
+produced a result which was neither man nor beast, but a sort of
+barnyard fowl, hopped about under the weight of their blankets and were
+promptly despatched.
+
+The brunt of the battle fell upon the small detachment of troops, and
+at the outset they were overwhelmed by numbers, dazzled by the glare of
+torches that waved and leaped in the cavern-like darkness of the church.
+But they fought like Spaniards, hacking blindly with their swords,
+cleaving dusky skulls with furious maledictions, using their fists,
+their feet, their teeth--wrenching torches from malignant hands and
+hurling them upon distorted faces. Curses and wild yells intermingled.
+De la Torre fought at the head of his men until men and savages, dead
+and living, were an indivisible mass, then thrust back and front,
+himself unhurt. The only silent clear-brained man among them, he could
+reason as he assaulted and defended, and he knew that the Spaniards
+had little chance of victory--and he less of looking again upon the
+treasures of Mexico. The Indians swarmed like ants over the great nave
+and transept. Those who were not fighting smashed the altar and slashed
+the walls. The callous stars looked through the apertures left for
+windows, and shed a pallid light upon the writhing mass. The padres had
+defended their altar, behind the chancel rail; they lay trampled, with
+arrows vibrating in their hard old muscles.
+
+De la Torre forced his way to the door and stood for a moment, solitary,
+against the pale light of the open, then turned his face swiftly to
+the night air as he fell over the threshold of the mission he had so
+gallantly defended.
+
+
+II
+
+Delfina de Capalleja, after months of deferred hope, stood with the
+crowd at the dock, awaiting the return of the troop which had gone to
+defend the Mission of San Gabriel in its building. There was no flutter
+of colour beneath her white skin, and the heavy lids almost concealed
+the impatient depths of her eyes; the proud repose of her head indicated
+a profound reserve and self-control. Over her white gown and black dense
+hair she wore a black lace mantilla, fastened below the throat with a
+large yellow rose.
+
+The ship swung to anchor and answered the salute from the fort. Boats
+were lowered, but neither officers nor soldiers descended. The murmur
+of disappointment on shore rose to a shout of execration. Then, as the
+ship's captain and passengers landed, a whisper ran through the crowd,
+a wail, and wild sobbing. They flung themselves to the earth, beating
+their heads and breasts,--all but Delfina de Capalleja, who drew her
+mantilla about her face and walked away.
+
+The authorities of the city of Mexico yielded to public clamour and
+determined to cast a silver bell in honour of the slaughtered captain
+and his men. The casting was to take place in the great plaza before the
+cathedral, that all might attend: it was long since any episode of war
+had caused such excitement and sorrow. The wild character and remoteness
+of the scene of the tragedy, the meagreness of detail which stung every
+imagination into action, the brilliancy and popularity of De la Torre,
+above all, the passionate sympathy felt for Delfina de Capalleja,
+served to shake society from peak to base, and no event had ever been
+anticipated with more enthusiasm than the casting of that silver bell.
+
+No one had seen Delfina since the arrival of the news had broken so many
+hearts, and great was the curiosity regarding her possible presence at
+the ceremony. Universal belief was against her ever again appearing in
+public; some said that she was dead, others that she had gone into a
+convent, but a few maintained that she would be high priestess at the
+making of the bell which was to be the symbol and monument of her
+lover's gallantry and death.
+
+The hot sun beat upon the white adobe houses of the stately city. At the
+upper end of the plaza, bending and swaying, coquetting and languishing,
+were women clad in rich and vivid satins, their graceful heads and
+shoulders draped with the black or white mantilla; caballeros, gay in
+velvet trousers laced with gold, and serape embroidered with silver.
+Eyes green and black and blue sparkled above the edge of large black
+fans; fiery eyes responded from beneath silver-laden sombreros. The
+populace, in gala attire, crowded the rest of the plaza and adjacent
+streets, chattering and gesticulating. But all looked in vain for
+Delfina de Capalleja.
+
+Much ceremony attended the melting of the bell. Priests in white robes
+stiff with gold chanted prayers above the silver bubbling in the
+caldron. A full-robed choir sang the Te Deum; the regiment to which De
+la Torre had belonged fired salutes at intervals; the crowd sobbed and
+shouted.
+
+Thunder of cannon, passionate swell of voices: the molten silver was
+about to be poured into the mould. The crowd hushed and parted. Down the
+way made for her came Delfina de Capalleja. Her black hair hung over her
+long white gown. Her body bent under the weight of jewels--the jewels of
+generations and the jewels of troth. Her arms hung at her sides. In her
+eyes was the peace of the dead.
+
+She walked to the caldron, and taking a heavy gold chain from her neck
+flung it into the silver. It swirled like a snake, then disappeared. One
+by one, amidst quivering silence, the magnificent jewels followed
+the chain. Then, as she took the last bracelet from her arm, madness
+possessed the breathless crowd. The indifferent self-conscious men,
+the lanquid coquetting women, the fat drowsy old dowagers, all rushed,
+scrambling and screaming, to the caldron, tore from their heads and
+bodies the superb jewels and ropes of gold with which they were
+bedecked, and flung them into the molten mass, which rose like a tide.
+The electric current sprang to the people; their baubles sped like hail
+through the air. So great was the excitement that a sudden convulsing
+of the earth was unfelt. When not a jewel was left to sacrifice, the
+caldron held enough element for five bells--the five sweet-voiced bells
+which rang in the Mission of San Gabriel for more than a century.
+
+Exhausted with shouting, the multitude was silent. Delfina de Capalleja,
+who had stood with panting chest and dilating nostrils, turned from
+the sacrificial caldron, the crowd parting for her again, the Laudate
+Dominum swelling. As she reached the cathedral, a man who loved her,
+noting a change in her face, sprang to her side. She raised her
+bewildered eyes to his and thrust out her hands blankly, then fell dead
+across the threshold.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL
+
+
+The Devil locked the copper gates of Hell one night, and sauntered down
+a Spacian pathway. The later arrivals from the planet Earth had been of
+a distressingly commonplace character to his Majesty--a gentleman
+of originality and attainments, whatever his disagreements with the
+conventions. He was become seriously disturbed about the moral condition
+of the sensational little twinkler.
+
+"What are my own about?" he thought, as he drifted past planets which
+yielded up their tributes with monotonous regularity. "What a squeezed
+old orange would Earth become did I forsake it! I must not neglect it so
+long again; my debt of gratitude is too great. Let me see. Where shall
+I begin? It is some years since I have visited America in person,
+and unquestionably she has most need of my attention; Europe is in
+magnificent running order. This is a section of her, if my geography
+does not fail me; but what? I do not recall it."
+
+He poised above a country that looked as if it still hung upon the edge
+of chaos: wild, fertile, massive, barren, luxuriant, crouching on the
+ragged line of the Pacific. From his point of vantage he saw long ranges
+of stupendous mountains, some but masses of scowling crags, some green
+with forests of mammoth trees projecting their gaunt rigid arms above
+a carpet of violets; indolent valleys and swirling rivers; snow on the
+black peaks of the North; the riotous colour of eternal summer in the
+South. Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation and swept downward,
+halting but a mile above the ground. He frowned heavily, then smiled--a
+long, placid, sardonic smile. There appeared to be but few inhabitants
+in this country, and those few seemed to live either in great white
+irregular buildings, surmounted by crosses, in little brown huts near
+by, in the caves, or in hollowed trees on the mountains. The large
+buildings were situated about sixty miles apart, in chosen valleys; they
+were imposing and rambling, built about a plaza. They boasted pillared
+corridors and bright red tiles on their roofs. Within the belfries were
+massive silver bells, and the crosses could be seen to the furthermost
+end of the valley and from the tops of the loftiest mountain.
+
+"California!" exclaimed the Devil. "I know of her. Her scant history
+is outlined in the Scarlet Book. I remember the points: Climate, the
+finest, theoretically, in the world; satanically, simply magnificent.
+I have waited impatiently for the stream of humanity to deflect
+thitherward, but priests will answer my present purpose exactly--unless
+they are all too tough. To continue, gold under that grass in
+chunks--aha! I shall have to throw out an extra wing in Hell! Parched
+deserts where men will die cursing; fruitful valleys, more gratifying to
+my genius; about as much of one as of the other, but the latter will
+get all the advertising, and the former be carefully kept out of sight.
+Everything in the way of animal life, from grizzly bears to fleas. A
+very remarkable State! Well, I will begin on the priests."
+
+He shot downward, and alighted in a valley whose proportions pleased his
+eye. Its shape was oval; the bare hills enclosing it were as yellow and
+as bright as hammered gold; the grass was bronze-coloured, baking in the
+intense heat; but the placid cows and shining horses nibbled it with the
+contentment of those that know not of better things. A river, almost
+concealed by bending willows and slender erect cottonwoods, wound
+capriciously across the valley. The mission, simpler than some of the
+others, was as neatly kept as the farm of older civilizations. Peace,
+order, reigned everywhere; all things drowsed under the relentless
+outpouring of the midsummer sun.
+
+"It is well I do not mind the heat," thought his Majesty; "but I am
+sensible of this. I will go within."
+
+He drew a boot on his cloven foot, thus rendering himself invisible, and
+entered a room of the long wing that opened upon the corridor. Here the
+temperature was almost wintry, so thick were the adobe walls.
+
+Two priests sat before a table, one reading aloud from a bulky
+manuscript, the other staring absently out of the window. The reader
+was an old man; his face was pale and spiritual; no fires burned in his
+sunken eyes; his mouth was stern with the lines of self-repression. The
+Devil lost all interest in him at once, and turned to the younger man.
+His face was pale also, but his pallor was that of fasting and the hair
+shirt; the mouth expressed the determination of the spirit to conquer
+the restless longing of the eyes; his nostrils were spirited; his figure
+was lean and nervous; he moved his feet occasionally, and clutched at
+the brown Franciscan habit.
+
+"Paulo," said the older priest, reprovingly, as he lifted his eyes and
+noted the unbowed head, "thou art not listening to the holy counsel of
+our glorious Master, our saint who has so lately ascended into heaven."
+
+"I know Junipero Serra by heart," said Paulo, a little pettishly. "I
+wish it were not too hot to go out; I should like to take a walk.
+Surely, San Miguel is the hottest spot on earth. The very fleas are
+gasping between the bricks."
+
+"The Lord grant that they may die before the night! Not a wink have I
+slept for two! But thou shouldest not long for recreation until the hour
+comes, my son. Do thy duty and think not of when it will be over, for
+it is a blessed privilege to perform it--far more so than any idle
+pleasure--just as it is more blessed to give than to receive--"
+
+Here the Devil snorted audibly, and both priests turned with a jump.
+
+"Did you hear that, my father?"
+
+"It is the walls cracking with the intense heat. I will resume my
+reading, and do thou pay attention, my son."
+
+"I will, my father."
+
+And for three hours the Devil was obliged to listen to the droning voice
+of the old man. He avenged himself by planting wayward and alarming
+desires in Paulo's fertile soul.
+
+Suddenly the mission was filled with the sound of clamorous silver:
+the bells were ringing for vespers--a vast, rapid, unrhythmical, sweet
+volume of sound which made the Devil stamp his hoofs and gnash his
+teeth. The priests crossed themselves and hurried to their evening
+duties, Satan following, furious, but not daring to let them out of his
+sight.
+
+The church was crowded with dusky half-clothed forms, prostrate before
+the altar. The Devil, during the long service, wandered amongst them,
+giving a vicious kick with his cloven foot here, pricking with the sharp
+point of his tail there, breeding a fine discord and routing devotion.
+When vespers were over he was obliged to follow the priests to the
+refectory, but found compensation in noting that Paulo displayed a keen
+relish for his meat and wine. The older man put his supper away morsel
+by morsel, as if he were stuffing a tobacco-pouch.
+
+The meal finished, Paulo sallied forth for his evening walk. The Devil
+had his chance.
+
+He was a wise Devil--a Devil of an experience so vast that the world
+would go crashing through space under its weight in print. He wasted
+no time with the preliminary temptations--pride, ambition, avarice. He
+brought out the woman at once.
+
+The young priest, wandering through a grove of cottonwoods, his hands
+clasped listlessly behind him, his chin sunken dejectedly upon his
+breast, suddenly raised his eyes and beheld a beautiful woman standing
+not ten paces away. She was not a girl like her whom he had renounced
+for the Church, but a woman about whose delicate warm face and slender
+palpitating bosom hung the vague shadow of maturity. Her hair was the
+hot brown of copper, thick and rich; her eyes were like the meeting of
+flame and alcohol. The emotion she inspired was not the pure glow which
+once had encouraged rather than deprecated renunciation; but at the
+moment he thought it sweeter.
+
+He sprang forward with arms outstretched, instinct conquering vows in
+a manner highly satisfactory to the Devil; then, with a bitter
+imprecation, turned and fled. But he heard light footfalls behind him;
+he was conscious of a faint perfume, born of no earthly flower, felt a
+soft panting breath. A light hand touched his face. He flung his vows to
+anxious Satan, and turned to clasp the woman in his arms. But she coyly
+retreated, half-resentfully, half-invitingly, wholly lovely. Satan
+closed his iron hand about the vows, and the priest ran toward the
+woman, the lines of repression on his face gone, the eyes conquering the
+mouth. But again she retreated. He quickened his steps; she accelerated
+hers; his legs were long and agile; but she was fleet of foot. Finally
+she ran at full speed, her warm bright hair lifted and spreading, her
+tender passionate face turned and shining through it.
+
+They left the cottonwoods, and raced down the wide silent valley, the
+cows staring with stolid disapproval, the stars pulsing in sympathy. The
+priest felt no fatigue; he forgot the Church behind him, the future of
+reward or torment. He wanted the woman, and was determined to have her.
+He was wholly lost; and the Devil, satisfied, returned to the mission.
+
+"Now," thought he, "for revenge on that old fool for defying me for
+sixty years!"
+
+He raised his index finger and pointed it straight at the planet Hell.
+Instantly the sky darkened, the air vibrated with the rushing sound
+of many forms. A moment later he was surrounded by a regiment of
+abbreviated demons--a flock as thick as a grasshopper plague, twisted,
+grinning, leering, hideous. He raised his finger again and they leaped
+to the roofs of the mission, wrenched the tiles from their place and
+sent them clattering to the pavement. They danced and wrestled on the
+naked roof, yelling with their hoarse unhuman voices, singing awful
+chants.
+
+The Devil passed within, and found the good old priest on his knees, a
+crucifix clasped to his breast, his white face upturned, shouting ave
+marias and pater nosters at the top of his aged voice as if fearful they
+would not ascend above the saturnalia on the roof. The Devil added to
+his distraction by loud bursts of ribald laughter; but the father,
+revolving his head as if it were on a pivot, continued to pray. Satan
+began to curse like a pirate.
+
+Suddenly, above the crashing of tiles, the hideous voices of Devil and
+demon, the prayers of the padre, sounded the silver music of the
+bells. Not the irregular clash which was the daily result of Indian
+manipulation, but long rhythmic peals, as sweet and clear and true
+as the singing of angels. The Devil and his minions, with one long,
+baffled, infuriated howl, shot upward into space. Simultaneously a great
+wind came roaring down the valley, uprooting trees, shaking the sturdy
+mission. Thunder detonated, lightning cut its zigzag way through black
+clouds like moving mountains; hail rattled to the earth; water fell
+as from an overturned ocean. And through all the bells pealed and the
+priest prayed.
+
+Morning dawned so calm and clear that but for the swimming ground and
+the broken tiles bestrewing it, the priest would have thought he had
+dreamed a terrible nightmare. He opened the door and looked anxiously
+forth for Paulo. Paulo was not to be seen. He called, but his tired
+voice would not carry. Clasping his crucifix to his breast, he tottered
+forth in search of his beloved young colleague. He passed the rancheria
+of the Indians, and found them all asleep, worn out from a night of
+terror.
+
+He was too kind to awaken them, and pursued his way alone down the
+valley, peering fearfully to right and left. The ground was ploughed,
+dented, and strewn with fallen trees; the river roared like a tidal
+wave. Shuddering, and crossing himself repeatedly, he passed between
+the hills and entered a forest, following a path which the storm had
+blasted. After a time he came to an open glade where he and Paulo
+had loved to pray whilst the spring and the birds made music. To his
+surprise he saw a large stone lying along the open. He wondered if some
+meteor had fallen. Mortal hands--Indian hands, at least--were not strong
+enough to have brought so heavy a bulk, and he had not seen it in forest
+or valley before.
+
+He approached and regarded it; then began mumbling aves and paters,
+running them together as he had not done during the visitation and
+storm. The stone was outlined with the shape of a man, long, young,
+and slender. The face was sharply cut, refined, impassioned, and
+intellectual. A smile of cynical contentment dwelt on the strong mouth.
+The eyes were fixed on something before him. Involuntarily the priest's
+followed them, and lingered. A tree also broke the open--one which never
+had been there before--and it bore an intoxicating similitude to the
+features and form of a surpassingly beautiful woman.
+
+"Paulo! Paulo!" murmured the old man, with tears in his eyes, "would
+that I had been thou!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Splendid Idle Forties, by Gertrude Atherton
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES ***
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