The Bride of Mission San José: A Tale of Early California

CHAPTER V
ANOTHER STRANGER MAKES A VISIT

"I hear the neigh of horses and the shouts of men. Has Dario, the head vaquero, returned from the valley of the San Joaquin? Or, perchance, is it some messenger from him?"

"Reverend padre, you hear the work Indians returning with their farm animals from the irrigated ground near the great spring. It is the noon hour."

The first speaker was the friar, Lusciano Osuna, spiritual head of the Mission San José. He was temporal head also of the Mission grounds and buildings, together with a wide strip of country reaching over rolling land, hills and mountains, away east to the San Joaquin River.

The padre was ill. His parched lips and flushed forehead showed him to be in the grip of fever. Restlessly he tossed from side to side of his bed. It was an unusual-appearing bed. Hewn redwood logs of goodly dimension had been made in a frame held together by mortising at the corners. Strips of rawhide ran across the frame from side to side, another layer from end to end. A pallet of straw was the mattress; the covering was lambskin tanned without removing the wool.

"Open the window and the door, Juan Antonio. My blood boils away in this heat, and my strength ebbs out."

The hot north wind, which for days had been scorching the valley of Santa Clara, rolled into the room.

"It is little avail, dear father, to seek or avoid draughts when the San Joaquin fever possesses one. Its nature is to burn till the body seems a crisp, then to freeze till the flesh is like damp clay."

"Juan Antonio, you are right. Still, it is a satisfaction to feel the living air whether it touches one's ailment or not."

The light from the open window shone on the friar's face. He was nervously pulling his heavy black beard through his fingers. The features thus brought into relief were those of the hidalgo, bold and strong, and were illuminated by keen intelligence within. The skin showed another strain darker than Caucasian.

"Antonio, did all the Indians attend chapel this morning? Have you heard of any further evidences of lapse into paganism anywhere in the valley?"

"Our Indians, men, women and children, are faithful in their attendance, since the day you quenched the evil spirit in them. To-morrow we conclude the Novena—nine days' prayer—for you. All are praying most fervently that our Lady and Saint Francis, yes, and San José, will favor us and you with speedy and complete recovery."

"You are good, very good, my major-domo."

"To-day at morning meal were some Indians from the San Blas just in at Monterey. At once I dispatched thither the peon, Pedro Carrasca, the best rider in the valley. Six hours' journey it is to Monterey, six hours' rest, and six returning, makes eighteen. Pedro Carrasca rests not if among the ship's goods is numbered Jesuit bark, but he presses homeward with the medicine. For each hour less than twelve that he consumes in rounding Monterey from here I have promised him five and twenty pesos."

"You have done well. My illness possesses me, Juan Antonio. Not that I resist suffering. Did not my great master, Saint Francis of Assisi, bear the sacred stigmata on side and hands and feet?"

The Indian reverently made the sign of the cross.

The padre went on:

"Antonio, you speak of the Novena. How many days have we been back?"

"Eight days."

"It has seemed longer, much longer."

"That was a hard ride for you from the river country, Señor Padre."

"Yes, it was."

"Swinging over mountain and scaling precipice, as did we, is doubly difficult for one scarcely able to sit in the saddle."

"And what found I here? Men, and women too, whom our fathers redeemed from savagery, dancing in pagan worship around fires which, doubtless, shortly would have become fires of sacrifice."

"I know, holy padre; and I remember too that they followed us to the church, consumed by that strange fury; yet you drove the blood demon from their hearts, so that they killed not, nor destroyed, but obeyed your commands; yes, even till now."

The Indian again made the sign of the cross.

"It is well to forget—well to forget," mused the friar. "The children, after all, are good children."

The padre was endeavoring to hold himself against some tremendous inward tension. He clenched his hands and shut tight his teeth. Nature could not sustain him and his teeth began to chatter, while his hands wrapped the closer the lambskin coverlet about his form.

The Indian major-domo closed the door. Hastening to the window he drew the sash into place; then began chafing the padre's wrists and palms.

"Courage, good padre, courage! A little time and the blood is warm again, the strength revives. If only Pedro Carrasca were here with the Jesuit bark! but he comes not before nightfall, I fear."

The friar's eyes closed listlessly. His hands grew colder, despite the vigorous treatment given by the Indian. His breath was short and weak.

"Dios y Maria!" exclaimed Juan Antonio. He took the friar's robe hanging from a peg on the wall, and carefully spread it over the fainting man.

"Comes now the chill and the heart weakens," muttered the faithful major-domo. "That hurried ride from the San Joaquin, the worry over the Mission, the drought——"

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Antonio called, then gave incisive commands in the Indian tongue. The feet scurried away. He continued the energetic rubbing, praying the while.

Excited voices were heard approaching. The door was flung open, and instantly the room was filled with Indians. A woman brought a kettle of hot water; another, a stone vessel. A man brought a decanter of aguardiente. Whispering, praying Indians ran up and down the corridor.

As the women saw the padre's face, white and still, they thought life had gone out. Grief filled their hearts, welled into their eyes and found vent by their tongue. The loud wail of the death-bedside arose, quavered, fell, in the old adobe house.

Juan Antonio endeavored to silence them.

"Quick, with the hot cloths for the feet, Luisa! Make ready the heated brandy, you, Crispinilla! Quick, women, the padre's need is urgent!"

A sigh came from the priest. Then all was still. He seemed to sink lower into his couch.

Even Juan Antonio thought that now life was gone. Instincts of forgotten generations stirred the old man's heart. He began to intone the death praises of the friar, as, for untold years, had his forbears done for the great ones of their tribe.

"The mighty heart is still. The strong hand bends not the bow. The ready feet run not. The king elk walks boldly in the open. The timid deer fears not the arrow, because the chief man of his people hunts no more."

The refrain of the death-wail overflowed the houses of the Mission, ran along olive orchard and vineyard, reached the sentinels watching on the hills. The church bell, in sorrowing tone, sounded its toll of death. One and thirty did it strike, the total of the years the friar had lived.

At the last stroke the padre's eyelids flickered gently. The pallor of his cheeks decreased. Breathing, almost imperceptible, began. Finally, he opened his eyes, and saw the weeping, gesticulating men and women.

"Silence!" he said feebly. "What see I here?"

Again, in stronger accent, "What see I here?"

Yet again, "What see I here!"

In this third utterance the churchman spoke as might a king in presence of his subjects. The wailing ceased.

He raised himself on elbow and pointed to the door.

"This cell is within the precinct of sacred cloister. Go, women, one and all! Get ye gone from this holy place!"

The women fell away from the bed and seemed to melt through the door, the men following them. Soon Juan Antonio stood alone with the padre.

"What have you done?" demanded the friar, sternly. Perspiration again was on his forehead, while the returning fever gave color to the face and strength to the body.

"O, Padre Lusciano, I feared you were dying. All my thoughts were for nothing but to save you, and I called for help, come whence it might."

"Juan Antonio, around this cell, though poor and humble, has Holy Church drawn her solemn circle of isolation. Let no woman enter herein, even to save my life. If I die, then so I must. Did I pronounce the curse on the luckless daughter of Eve and her male abettors in this sacrilege, no one, save the vicar of Christ in Rome, could banish it. See, Juan Antonio, what vast evil thy thoughtless hand might wreak."

"O, padre," wept the Indian, "I thought thy life was struggling to free itself of body, and my heart became water within me, for I love thee."

"Very well. Very well. But, Juan Antonio, in the future think with thy head, not with love or fear."

Señor Mendoza appeared in the open door.

"Reverend Padre Osuna, will you pardon my coming unannounced? Each day since you returned have my servants made inquiry, but found you too ill to receive a visitor."

"Enter, Señor Mendoza. Please seat yourself."

"Thank you, sir Padre. I had a small quantity of Jesuit bark, invaluable in this fever-and-ague affliction. Unfortunately, I mislaid the bark, not finding it till to-day, and I came but now to bring it in person."

"Very kind of you, señor."

"I heard the death-wail of the Indians; heard, also, the toll of the bell marking the passing of an officer of the church. Your Indians first told me you were dead, then that you had risen from the dead. So, I congratulate you, most happy that no need exists for condolences to anyone. Padre Osuna, here is the bark."

Juan Antonio took the bark and laid it on a table by the bed of the friar.

"Many thanks, señor, for your goodness. As head of this Mission of San José I accept the gift from Señor Mendoza."

Mendoza laughed pleasantly. "Then, reverend señor, as administrator of this Mission of San José, I offer a little gift of Jesuit bark to the spiritual leader of the vicinity."

"Señor Mendoza, I can recognize no administrator of these mission lands, save one, and that is I, Padre Lusciano Osuna. My Franciscan brethren rescued this country from wilderness and its people from savagery. This Mexican government of yours then comes, takes away two thirds of the land and its appurtenances, and gives it to you and to others who accept it and hold it. By government sanction you administer, Señor Mendoza; but, I hold, unjustly. Never by word or act shall I acknowledge your authority in this valley of Santa Clara."

Señor Mendoza smiled. His equanimity was not easily upset.

"Good reverend padre, hear me. Your fathers did, indeed, redeem this country and its savage tribes. A mighty work surely has been done. But, because of freeing the natives from paganism, should you hold this vast province in fee simple? Is it right that a score of monks should own the land from San Diego to Yerba Buena? The friars still possess more land than they can either occupy or cultivate—but I ask your pardon for talking thus long when you are ill. I trust the Jesuit bark will not fail of its customary happy effect."

"Your wish is generous, Señor Mendoza."

"Just one short word more. I would like to thank you deeply, in the name of my neighbors and myself, for your work in quieting the Indians the day of your return from San Joaquin valley. I doubt not your coming meant more than many of us realize."

"I simply fulfilled the duties of my position. Nothing more."

"Good-day, Padre Lusciano. I hope your good health will soon return."

The Administrator departed.

"Shut the door, Juan. I feel I may sleep. Go forth to your duties. When I awake I will call you. Go, now, while sleep is heavy on my eyelids."

Juan Antonio went to the door. Hesitating a moment he turned, with: "Reverend father, shall I not prepare a draught of the bark which Señor Mendoza left for you?"

"Go forth to your duties, man. I can accept no gift from Señor Mendoza if the acceptance implies acknowledgment of his administratorship. I will return him his Jesuit bark. The call of principle is higher than the claim of bodily health."

The major-domo closed the door. Sleep came to the friar.

The Mission buildings were constructed in accordance with the architecture in vogue in California at that time. Buildings formed three sides of an inclosure, a courtyard gate and wall the fourth. On one side were housed the unmarried Indian women. Across the deep courtyard lived the single men. The third row of structures gave home to the major-domo, the chief vaquero, or herdsman, and the families of each. Under the same roof with these latter were the shops of the carpenters, the blacksmiths, and the various other artisans of the Mission. This side of the square opened into the freedom of the courtyard.

A man came to the carpenter shop and stepped within. "Is the padre here?" he inquired.

The master carpenter replied, "Our padre is ill."

"I have most important letters which should be delivered to him in person."

"Go then, to the major-domo."

The newcomer walked toward Juan Antonio. In his dress the man was the ordinary traveler of the day. Tanned-skin shirt and trousers, shaggy leggings and wide hat, distinguished him in no manner from a dozen other wayfarers who, between dawn and night, might come on some quest to the Mission.

The deep-set, gleaming eyes of the old Indian surveyed him from foot to crown. He saw a man in the prime of life, his face parched by tropical sun to the color of leather. A military mustache was on his lip.

"You wish to see me?" asked Juan Antonio.

"I wish to see Padre Lusciano. I have letters introducing me to him."

"The padre is firmly held by fever-and-ague. Little strength is left to him. If you will, I'll carry your letters to him. I'm going to see him now. You rest, while I'm gone, in the porter's lodge; or, if you like, go over to Señor Mendoza's property across the way."

"Thanks, many. I'll wait in the lodge. Here are the letters."

The major-domo disappeared into the padre's quarters. Soon he was again at the stranger's side.

"Padre Lusciano says come."

He followed the Indian through alcove and corridor to the friar's bedroom.

"Your name is Captain Farquharson, I learn. Juan Antonio, a chair for this brother. Seat yourself, good sir. Now," to the Indian, "close the door and stay not far away. I'll call you when I want you."

They were a short time in earnest conversation.

The stranger opened the door to leave.

"Antonio," called the padre. The Indian came quickly. "Conduct my visitor outside, then return."

Major-domo and caller passed through the courtyard.

"Amar Dios!" the Indian said at parting.

"Many thanks for your attention," from the other.

Juan Antonio returned to the friar's room.

"Take these letters and lock them in my desk there. Bring me the key. Good. Now, attend carefully to what I say."

"Yes, Señor Padre."

"Tell no one the name of the man whom you have just escorted out."

"It shall be as you say, Reverend Padre."

"It is well. The giant, ambition, stirs in his sleep. Soon he awakes and moves to action." Then, in half aside: "Mexico has wrought the undoing of our missions. If a chance of retrieval comes why should I not—but Misericordia!"

A great cheering was heard in the courtyard.

"Go, see the cause, and come and tell me, Antonio."

"Glorious news!" the Indian hastening back. "Pedro Carrasca returns from Monterey two hours before the time, and has an abundance of Jesuit bark in his saddlebags. More yet, good padre. A messenger from Dario. He is the third messenger sent—Yoscolo and Stanislaus must have captured the others. Dario has driven our herds far into the valley of the San Joaquin River; and, the man says, soon will they fat for the matanza" (the killing).

"'Tis well, Juan. Bring me a portion of the bark, then I'll rest a little. In the chapel to-night pray fervently for rain, and thank God for his mercies; and ask him to avert war and bloodshed from our province here, and from the whole world. Shut the door now. Carry my blessing to the children when they are assembled for evening prayer."

The door closed and the major-domo went about his many tasks.

CHAPTER VI
THE MERIENDA

"Daughter mine, awake! 'Tis the day of the merienda."

"I'm up, little papa."

A rasp of file on flint was heard as she struck a light.

"Ugh-oo-oo! the water's cold."

The old don laughed. "Cold water drives the sands of sleep from the eyelids, child."

He walked along the corridor to his sitting room. The large time-piece showed four o'clock and three minutes. Five minutes later his daughter joined him, clad in tanned-skin blouse and skirt, with a straw sombrero on her head.

"Here I am, papacito. Is breakfast ready?"

"Breakfast waits, but the coming of the morning waits not."

The peons served them by candlelight.

Soon they were ready for the start.

Before the courtyard gate were the doña's carreta, the señor's horse, and a squad of mounted fighting peons. Servants placed soft tule grass in the carreta, lambwool comforters, for greater ease in riding.

In double file marched the mounted peon soldiers, the carreta between, while the lord of the hacienda rode by his daughter's side. Thus they reached the plaza of the village near the Mission San José.

The place was alive with carretas bearing mothers, dueñas, and daughters, with caballeros, with bustling peons and early-risen Indian children.

Lanterns were strung around the square, in the middle of which blazed a big bonfire. The caballeros capered their horses before the carretas. The señoritas applauded by "Brava! Brava!" or shrieked at some unusually daring equestrian feat.

Captain Moranda was early at the plaza. Many a señorita turned her glance from adventurous youth and cavorting horse to the soldier in trig uniform, whose steed was frequently by the side of Doña Carmelita's carreta.

Preparations were now under way for the setting-out. Each carreta now had four horses, tandem, a postilion mounting the wheel animal of each team.

"Sunlight on the peak!" intoned a peon stationed on a rooftop.

Señor Mendoza, in charge of the affair, looked carefully over the carretas arranged longitudinally, the caballeros around them, and the fighting peons armed with carbine and saber. "Adelante!" he shouted and galloped away at the head of the cavalcade.

The carretas surged forward. At the end of an hour, half way up the mountain, Mendoza gave a command to halt.

The eastern sky was rosy. The morning star still shone undimmed though all others had retired. The cañon facing the procession was hidden in purple twilight, while the mountain peak blazed like some glory throne. The joyful men and women became silent before the majesty.

In the valley the light was chasing the shadows up the hills. These shadows were flying to the picnickers as if for protection, when, lo! the sun was on the eastern horizon.

Mendoza signaled Captain Morando, who chanted the opening line of Saint Francis of Assisi's "Canticle to the Sun."

Tongue after tongue caught up the words. The Indians, who had been taught singing and knew well the music of the church, united with the others, and the swell of five hundred voices rolled over valley and hill.

"O, most high, Almighty, good Lord, to thee belong the praise, honor, and all blessings:

"Praised be our Lord, for our brother the wind, and for air and cloud, calms and all weather, by the which thou upholdest in life all creatures.

"Praised be my Lord for our sister water, who is very serviceable unto us, and humble, and precious, and clean.

"Praised be my Lord for our brother fire, through whom thou givest us light in the darkness; and he is bright, and pleasant, and very mighty and strong.

"Praised be my Lord for our mother the earth, the which doth sustain us and keep us, and bringeth forth divers fruits and flowers of many colors, and grass."

"Adelante!" again called Mendoza, and once more they were off. The odor of pine reached them at one height; at another the resinous redwood, in mammoth groves, pointed skyward. The señoritas and caballeros talked, laughed, sang, and perhaps mildly flirted.

At ten o'clock they reached the entrance to the cañon which marked the beginning of Calaveras Valley. Vast tangles of blackberry bushes were everywhere, creeping up the cañon side, festooning projecting rocks, climbing trees, ivylike, and dropping their branches dark with ripening fruit. Tinkling rills ran along, unaffected by the drought. Colonies of birds floated in the air, sang in the trees, or, fluttering around the vines, ate their fill.

From time immemorial these grounds had been carefully guarded from everyone till the merienda day at close of spring, on which occasion the first fruits were gathered by the land barons and their select company, with feasting, dancing, and merrymaking.

After that day all embargo was removed, and the products of the valley were free to all.

According to custom the señorita whose carriage first reached the merienda ground was queen of the day, and an early-California chariot race occurred yearly here.

Down the inclined way the carretas went, toward the bottom of the valley where the choicest berries grew.

Mendoza wheeled his horse and gave the command to stop. "We rest a few minutes. Then, let the carretas which compete in the race range themselves as will be directed, and start at the word."

Pedro Zelaya and Fulgencio Higuera were appointed judges.

Carreta after carreta drew forward. Soon a score or more were side by side, to enter the contest.

The judges were busy moving one team forward, another back. When all were at equal advantage the stalwart Higuera called:

"Make ready! Run!"

Away they went, the caballeros fringing the sides, the other carretas trailing in the rear. Weeks of patient labor of the peons had made the course even and smooth.

"Now! Now!" cried Hernandez. "I'll show Mendoza my Mexican imported horseflesh is superior to his Californians. Boy," to the postilion, "taut with the reins, and ready with the whip!"

"Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" the drivers shouted to their straining teams, the long whiplashes curling from their hands and touching the splendid animals in stinging crack, while the caballeros admonished or encouraged.

"The spur on the wheeler, Miguel! The lash on that leader!" or, "Grande! Grande! Martino. Another such spurt and you win!"

Lolita Hernandez, Alfreda Castro and Carmelita Mendoza were ahead. For a minute the three carretas ran neck and neck.

Marcel Hernandez, father of Lolita, rode by her team. In the enthusiasm of the moment he urged the horses with his riding-whip and joined with the postilions in shouting, "Hoop-la! Hoop-la!"

Patricio Martinez, Alfreda's long-time cavalier, hovered near her, shouting: "Now's your chance, Diego! Stir up that pinto! Ease the bit on that sorrel! Go it, my beauties!"

The Doña Carmelita's peon had a cool head, driving so as to draw from the other racers their best speed. Little by little he lessened the swiftness of his own horses, allowing the others to forge ahead.

The Hernandez Mexicans and the Castro Andalusians held their own, side by side, as if in double harness. For more than a hundred paces it seemed neither one gained nor lost a hairbreadth. Suddenly the Castro animals winded. High-stepping and proud, they gradually lost. Magnificent in their defeat they fell back.

"Huzza! Huzza!" yelled Hernandez. "I knew I breed the best stock in the valley. My daughter shall be queen of the fiesta."

Then Carmelita's peon gave rein to his horses. They sprang from the ground and rushed onward. For an instant the two carretas ran together, each splendid horse, straight-backed, ears low, nostrils distended, striking his feet in unison with his fellows. Soon the Hernandez team began to slip backward foot by foot.

"Diablo! Diablo!" thundered Hernandez. "Peon, urge your horses! Use the whip!"

The Hernandez Indian dug his spurs into his mount, and cruelly flayed the leaders.

The other carreta yet more quickly moved ahead. Already the Mendoza wheeler was abreast the Hernandez leader.

Above the roar of the vehicles sounded the plaudits of the caballeros.

"Viva! Viva, Mendoza! Viva the California horses! Viva the Señorita Mendoza!"

A stone the size of a walnut caught in the hind shoe of Mendoza's wheeler. The steady pace of his horses broke.

The Hernandez animals pressed on.

"Swing out, boy, swing out! Sweep in from the side!" exulted Hernandez. "Victory for the Mexican horses!"

The driver turned his team. "Bueno, boy, bueno! Now straight ahead! Loose the rein! Let 'em go!"

The Mendoza postilion bent affectionately over his horse. "Fly, Mercurio! Fly! for the doña's sake!"

He unstrung his whiplash. It burned the leaders with living fire. They leaped forward, the tremendous stride flinging the pebbles from the wheeler's hoof.

Along the roadway the horses sped, lessening the Hernandez advantage at every bound. After them poured the yelling, gesticulating crowd.

A hundred paces only remained.

The shouting ceased, the tenseness of the moment closing every throat.

The Mendoza carreta overtook the other, passed it, and reached the goal two lengths ahead. Carmelita was the queen of the day!

With a flourish the Doña Carmelita's postilion drew up before the pavilion at the merienda ground, Mendoza and Captain Morando assisting the breathless, excited girl to alight.

Caballero and carreta whirled into the open space around her.

"Hail! Hail, to the queen of the merienda!" arose on all sides. She bowed right and left in acknowledgment.

On one side of the building stood a dais whence the queen ruled her loyal subjects.

"Come, little one," her father said. "Your ladies of honor will accompany you to your throne."

Lolita and Alfreda walked with her to the dais, then curtsied in deference.

"Your wishes, queen of the merienda?" they asked.

"For one hour let matron, maid, and man gather blackberries for the feast. Then all shall come to luncheon in the pavilion, not forgetting to bring the fruits of their labor. For the afternoon my command is that all enjoy themselves to the full."

Thus briefly spoke the ruler of the day; after which she took her willow basket and hastened to gather berries, as did her maids of honor and everyone else.

The appointed time saw all assembled near the feast tables which had been made ready by the peons. Heaping dishes of berries were conspicuous among a variety and abundance of viands.

Colonel Barcelo, commander of the presidio at Monterey, with his wife and her younger sister, the Señora Valentino, rode up on horseback.

The Colonel and his wife were well known to the picnickers. His sister-in-law had but lately arrived from Madrid.

The newcomers were accorded a gracious reception.

"Happened to be visiting near San José. Hearing of the merienda, we came along without an invitation," said Barcelo, laughing. "Besides, I wished Señora Valentino to witness one of our festal days. It is unique. Madrid itself holds nothing to equal it."

The brown eyes of the lady from Madrid flashed in accompaniment to her pearly teeth. "Rare things have I seen in California in the fortnight I am here."

"In a moment luncheon is served. My worthy Barcelo, I invite you and your party to our table. My daughter and a few others sit with us. Come, friends," spoke Señor Mendoza, true to the unbounded hospitality of the California grandee.

A peon sounded a gong. The hungry merienda folk lost little time in coming to the meal.

Señor Mendoza was at the head of his table, Doña Carmelita at the foot. At the host's right and left were seated Colonel Barcelo and his wife; Señora Valentino, by his sister. The ladies of honor, with Hernandez, who sat by his daughter, filled the other places, except one. This had been reserved for Morando, who now came up.

"An accident to one of the horsemen detained me for the past half hour," was his explanation to Señor Mendoza.

"A caballero's misfortune always calls for assistance from a brother," replied Mendoza. Continuing: "Captain Morando, I wish to introduce you to Señora Valentino, who favors us to-day by her presence with her relatives, the Barcelos. Señora Valentino, may I present Captain Moranda?"

The señora acknowledged pleasantly the Captain's low bow.

"Captain, to your chair," from Mendoza.

Conversation lulled for a little. Early hours and open air had given zest to the appetite.

"My dear Señora Valentino, I wish you could have seen our carreta race this morning," remarked Señor Mendoza. "But it will not be the last."

"While I say nothing against the race of this morning as such," interposed Hernandez, "for it was good enough as far as it went, I do claim that my horses were better than yours, Mendoza. Your peon rider happened to be more at home in his business than was mine, nothing more. I wish I had been in that postilion's place myself; then there would have been a different story to tell."

"A horse can display but the swiftness his limbs possess," rebutted Mendoza.

"Riding is not what I knew in my youth," commented Hernandez, who was giving ample appreciation to the pleasures of the table.

"Captain Morando, were you not at a ball given in Madrid last year by the officers of General Guerrero's division in their quarters?" said Señora Valentino.

"I was, indeed. And now, señora, I remember you well. Strange I did not recall you at first."

"The fact that I was in ball-dress then and in riding-habit now is, undoubtedly, what prevented you from recognizing me before."

"Why, we have old friends here!" interjected Colonel Barcelo.

"How is Colonel Valentino, your husband?"

"Shortly after that ball of which we speak my husband was ordered to service in Morocco, and there he laid down his life for his country."

"I regret that my question called up sad memories. Nearly a year have I been away from Madrid, and news travels slowly to us here. I offer to you my sympathy in your great loss."

"You are very kind, Lieutenant—I should say, 'Captain' Morando. But—what is past is gone. It is well, then, to forget. A wonderful life these Californians live!"

"I trust Colonel Barcelo and his lady will find opportunity while in this vicinity to bring you, señora, to visit us at our home in Mission San José. What says my daughter?"

The Doña Carmelita cordially seconded her father's invitation. The Barcelos accepted; the Señora Valentino likewise.

"Mission San José—Mission San José—" mused the latter. "Is there not living there a Franciscan friar, one Lusciano Osuna?"

"It is so," assented Mendoza.

"I heard he was in California, and as you mentioned the Mission San José it came to me that was given as his present home."

"A man of some importance, probably, in Spain," volunteered Señor Hernandez.

"I do not know him personally," replied Señora Valentino. "In the cathedral of Barcelona I heard him give the Lenten sermons several years ago. It was quite shortly after his ordination, but his discourses possessed rare charm and power. The city was literally at his feet."

"Strange such a man comes here as a mission padre?" observed Hernandez.

"It was his request. Some unknown powerful influence seconded him, else Spain would not have lost her great preacher."

At that moment the strains of the grand march floated through the pavilion, from the excellent orchestra provided for the dancing.

Captain Morando was quickly at Doña Carmelita's side. "Señorita the Doña Mendoza, may I claim your favor for the grand march and the waltz following?"

It was granted.

Carmelita and Morando were at once circling in the waltz.

"I still have the rose which fell to me from the sky one moonlit night a month ago."

"Does it keep so long?" mischievously.

"It is pressed in a book of poems. Each couplet of book-leaves holds a petal. The odor of the petals speaks to me the same thought which is the subject of these poems. Shall I tell you what it is, Señorita Doña?"

"Hush! the music ceases. Lead me to a resting place."

There was to be no resting for Señorita Mendoza. Importunate youths claimed dance after dance.

The elders, men and women, were scattered around in groups, some looking at the dancing, others conversing, a few playing cards.

Señor Valentino, owing to her recent bereavement, did not dance. She seated herself on a rustic bench beneath a widespread sycamore, where she was soon the center of an interested coterie. The lady so recently from Madrid retailed to Spanish-born gentry the news of the distant imperial city.

After a while Captain Morando came up. Soon the two were in animated conversation.

"Ah! Captain, not on the floor! Foot-weary so soon?" spoke a dueña who now joined them.

"No, señora, not foot-weary. I forego for a time the pleasures of the dance that I may listen to the words of our beautiful visitor here."

He made a low bow to Señora Valentino, who laughingly extended her hand to him. He bent sweepingly over it, barely touching the ends of her fingers with his.

"The Señor Captain Morando!" a man's voice called at his elbow. It was Abelardo Peralta. The music and dancing had stopped. The guests were assembling around the dais on which was seated Doña Carmelita.

"Our queen demands your presence, Señor Captain," Peralta went on.

The Captain was shortly before her majesty the queen of the fiesta.

"The games are about to begin, Captain Morando. Do you not remember that I appointed you and Don Abelardo to define the boundaries of the racing course, and to determine the various goals? Also please to remind the Señora Valentino that she is requested to crown the victors."

As the afternoon waned the interest in the athletic events increased. The footraces for young men showed that the sons of the province were nimble of limb, and won the approbation of Pedro Zelaya himself, whose swiftness was credited with being only less than a fast-galloping horse.

The señoritas ran a shorter course very creditably.

Then came a contest of knife-throwing in which the men of the period were wonderfully proficient. The knife was flung, blade extended, from the palm of the hand with such force that the point of the weapon would sink several inches into a wooden target placed twenty, thirty, or more, paces away.

"Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" came through a cloud of dust. A number of vaqueros had driven a wild steer from the mountains to the race course. The picnickers looked at the animal from their safe position on the platform. Again and again the creature charged at the vaqueros, who deftly swung their horses out of harm's way.

"Send him here!" some young fellow called to one of the herdsmen.

"No, no," another cried, "send him over this way to me."

The animal pawed the earth, bellowed, and rushed around the race course in fury.

Don Pedro Zelaya climbed out on a projecting tree-branch and dropped on the animal's back, in the midst of one of its mad careenings. It stood stock still for a moment in bewilderment. Zelaya's sharp spurs soon stirred it into action. It ran, leaped, even bucked like a broncho, in trying to rid its back of the burden, but in vain.

"Brava! Brava! Señor Zelaya. Soon will you have another gentle pony."

"Let him chase thee around the race course," yelled a youth. "One hundred pesos to fifty he catches thee!"

Zelaya found time to wave his acknowledgment of the persiflage.

The steer suddenly tried rolling over and over to free itself. The man sprang to the ground each time it dashed itself down; then, with the litheness of a cat, leaped to its back as it arose.

The animal finally gave up all efforts to throw the rider, and ran at full speed around the racing track, amidst the loud plaudits of the assembly.

Señor Zelaya drew himself back into the branches of the tree, after a little, and his mount escaped to the forest.

The men exhibited all manner of fancy riding. Some rode at the flank of a horse at gallop, or under the belly, or astride the neck. Others leaned from their saddles in flying sweep and picked up coins from the ground; or drew from the sand chickens buried to the head, yet so gentle the rider's hand that the fowl was not in the least injured.

The shadows come early in the deep cañons. The queen sent her messengers to call the people around her throne while the winners received their prizes. Abelardo Peralta announced, in her name, that after the distribution luncheon would again be served in the pavilion.

"Our queen makes Don Abelardo her chief courtier," remarked Lolita Hernandez in the hearing of a number.

"They have been friends since childhood, Señorita Lolita," returned this young lady's dueña.

Lolita laughed mirthlessly. "I fancy the captain from Madrid has offended. Perhaps her majesty saw him kissing Señora Valentino's hand this afternoon."

"Fie! Fie!" from another dueña. "He touched only the tip of that lady's fingers with his own. I saw it myself."

"Diffident soldier!" from a grave señor. "In my youth I would not have been content with so slight a token."

"Manuel! Manuel!" from his wife.

"Señora Moraga, thy husband thinks on his courtship of thee," spoke yet another dueña, laughing.

"I'm sure it looked as if the Captain kissed the stranger lady's hand," Lolita reiterated. "I'm sure too Carmelita saw it, for we were dancing in the same set when it happened."

"'Twas but a lady's favor and a man's privilege, little one," said Moraga.

"Manuel! Manuel!" again from his wife. "And before such a child as Lolita!"

"I know Carmelita favored Captain Morando above Don Abelardo the day of the dinner at her father's house. I saw it, and so did all the girls. I know she changed toward him to-day after what I—saw. I know she did."

Señora Valentino approached the group.

At almost the same moment Morando came up from the opposite direction, having been at the race course collecting from the judges their decisions as to the victors.

"Ah! Captain mine, bearest thou a word for beauty as well as for prowess in athletics?" questioned Moraga.

"The queen has appointed no judge of beauty. Even the wisest would find bewilderment here where all are so fair," replied the gallant Morando.

"Our Captain is a diplomat," smiled the señora. She bowed to the gentleman in question; he yet lower to her.

A messenger advanced, saying with much ceremony: "Señora Valentino, the queen requests you to crown the winners from the dais. Captain Morando, you are commanded before the throne there to read your reports."

The señora curtsied. "My sovereign's will is mine."

The soldier saluted, but before he could make speech Mendoza's hand was on his shoulder. "Pardon me, friends, I have a word with the Captain."

"Morando," said the old don when they were apart, "you may not know the keen instincts of our wild animals for change in weather. Bear and mountain lion are hurrying through the forest here back to the high mountains. During the drought they have been under foot, tame as dogs. My fighting peons brought me word of this sudden activity of the animals, and just now I observed it for myself. It means the quick coming of a storm."

"Maldito! is it sure? Leagues from home are we and scores of women folk with us."

"To make doubly sure I rode my horse to the summit of a high bluff. The clouds are rolling hitherward in masses black and angry."

"What, think you, we would better do?"

"I'll order the peons to bring out the carretas and saddle the horses. 'Twill be a few minutes only. Then I'll call for silence and ask all to take conveyance or mount, speaking of imminent storm in such way as not to give unnecessary alarm. For myself, I'll lead my fighting peons; let come next the carretas; then marshal you the caballeros."

As said so was it done.

Soon all was in readiness, and the procession was tearing over the road by which it had come early in the day. Doña Carmelita had given her carreta to Señora Valentino, while she rode with her dueña. Provision was also made for Señora Barcelo, Mendoza declaring it unsafe for a woman to ride horseback under the circumstances.

As they sped along darkness overtook them. Intermittent lightning darted forked tongues across the sky, while thunder pealed and reverberated. The pent-up rain of months poured on the returning picnickers. In the dry creek-beds streams arose even while they were crossing.

The dueña's carreta was somewhat slower than the others and thus was last in the line. Morando rode by Carmelita's side.

Suddenly the heavens seemed to split. Torrents of water roared on the hillside, inundated the roadway, and poured over carretas and horsemen.

There had been a cloud-burst.

A heavy boulder whirling in the flood was flung against Morando's horse. As it fell caballeros close by grasped bridle-rein and stirrup-strap and drew the animal to its feet. Panic-stricken it dashed wildly forward.

The lightning ceased. The dense blackness but increased the confusion.

The carretas floundered in the water. Finally, all save one fought their way to higher ground. A projecting tree-limb had struck the dueña's postilion. His horse slipped beneath him and turned with the turbulent current. Man, horses, carreta, and occupants were washed down the declivity.

The caballeros, unknowing, struggled on.

The dueña's horses soon found footing on the hillside, and taking the bits in their teeth ran headlong down grade into the deep cañon.

When Carmelita recovered consciousness she was lying in a cave, on some bear skins, near a glowing fire of logs. She could hear horses stamping and eating. Her dueña, still unconscious, was on another pile of skins.

A man came from the darkness and stood by her. He was dressed in tanned-skin shirt and trousers, and in his hand he held a sombrero. The mustached face was burned brown in the sun.

He noticed that Carmelita had opened her eyes. "Neither of you is seriously injured. I am physician enough to determine that. Rest here quietly till morning, and doubtless your friends will come. I'll have some one prepare you a hot drink now." This he spoke in Spanish. Then in English, as he turned away: "Queerest product of a spring freshet I ever saw!"

He chuckled at his own conceit.

CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT SPENT IN A CAVE

"The drink is ready. Will I bring it to the ladies now, Cap'?"

These words awakened Doña Carmelita from a sound sleep into which she had fallen despite the discomfiture of rain-soaked clothes. The fire was burning brightly, and she found herself nearer the blaze whither some one, without awakening her, had drawn the pile of skins on which she was lying. The warmth had nearly dried her clothing.

The dueña had recovered from her swooning, and was partially sitting up endeavoring to collect her senses.

"The drink is ready, Cap'. Will you ask the ladies if they want it? I don't know a word of their lingo."

The man touched his hat in military style. The one denominated "Cap'" came up, he who had spoken to Carmelita a little previously.

"My man here has prepared some strong black coffee for you. An allowance of the native spirit you call 'aguardiente' has been added. I advise you both to drink freely of the mixture. Blankets will be provided you, and you will sleep here safe and warm till morning. Will you have the beverage now? I trust you feel not greatly any effect of the unusual experience which must have been yours."

"O!" moaned the dueña, now coming somewhat more to herself. "What a terrible happening! I expected each instant to be killed. O! where am I?"

The man laughed. "I cannot discuss what occurred to you before we found you outside this cave. Neither can I tell you where you are, for I know only in a vague way the location of the place. Let it suffice that you are safe here. Now, warm yourself with this drink and seek to sleep. The morning brings, doubtless, searchers for you."

The man who seemed the leader had been speaking in Spanish. A trace of foreign accent was in each word, though he spoke the language fluently and correctly.

The other man broke in with:

"Coffee's cooling fast, Cap'. If they don't take it now, I'll have to heat it up again all over. Kiyi that to 'em in their own lingo. Wish I knew how to."

He had been standing holding in one hand a steaming saucepan, in the other an improvised wooden tray on which were two metal goblets.

The Señorita Carmelita struggled with some difficulty to a sitting position.

"We thank you for your thoughtfulness," she said.

"The young lady says she won't have the mess—is that it, Cap'?" asked the man holding the saucepan and goblets.

Carmelita was about to reply in English, but the leader said, quickly: "Give them your preparation there, Brown. Don't be slow. They should have had it drunk by this time."

Brown complied with the order.

The woman and the girl sipped the steaming liquid.

"Now I remember," said the dueña. "We left the road just after that awful thunder clap. The water washed us down and down. Then my horses ran and ran, downhill, over rocks and gullies—O it was awful!" covering her face with her hands. "Then came the crash; and I really knew no more until this moment. Thank you, sirs, for this," sipping the black coffee. "It shall be no loss, and I will see you have ample reward. Besides, this señorita here——"

"Is the old lady saying she wants another swig?" interrupted the man holding the saucepan. "Because if she's still thirsty, there's more of this coffee and aggydenty right here," shaking the contents of the vessel, "and if this ain't plenty I can manyfactur more."

"Hush, Brown!" spoke the other. "If you have anything more to do I'll tell you."

"Just as you say," agreed the other, unperturbed.

"The crash you tell of brought my man here and myself out to where the accident met you. Your vehicle had struck a huge rock which forms one side of this cave. Needless to say the carriage was in kindling wood. You," to the dueña, "and the young lady had been thrown entirely free from the melee into a thick bed of dried leaves—or leaves that had been dry before the rain," this with a smile. "Your horses were floundering in the mud."

"O, my brave, beautiful horses!" exclaimed the dueña. "Where are they? O, where are they?"

"Safe here with my own horses and quietly eating fodder as if nothing had occurred. Your Indian driver came off with a broken shoulder. He sleeps now farther along in the cave. I fancy the plentiful supply of aguardiente my man Brown gave him aided in producing his slumbers. However, I knew no other way to ease him."

"Ah, that Luis!" said the dueña. "I'll have him whipped when he recovers for thus endangering us both with his careless driving. My regular driver is away in the eastern grass ranges."

"Anything more I can do?" asked Brown. "I hear my name spoke of."

"Nothing more. I was telling the ladies you aided their injured servant to sleep by a free supply of spirits. You may go now."

"Just as you say, Cap'. Said nigger servant of the lady is a regler canal when it comes to aggydenty," commented Brown as he betook himself and saucepan away.

Carmelita and the dueña finished drinking the contents of the goblets. The man Brown soon came back with two pairs of woolen blankets.

"These blankets are finest English wool. Wrap up in 'em and you'll find yourselves warm and dry by morning. Tell 'em, Cap', in their own talk."

"Brown, you may retire now to the inner cave and sleep."

"Just as you say, Cap'."

"I trust you will be as comfortable as the situation permits. Allow me to wish you pleasant dreams and the hope that to-morrow will find you both none the worse for this mishap. Good-night." The Captain bowed.

Soon the Captain was gone and the dueña and the girl were closely wrapped in the warm blankets. The fire still burned high and diffused a grateful heat. A feeling of repose crept over both the women. The storm howled and raged outside, but in their wearied state it was scarce less than a lullaby to them. Numbness came to their senses. They slept in the wild cave, safe from deluge and accident.

How long the Doña Carmelita had been sleeping she knew not. She opened her eyes. The fire had burned low. The light of the embers was struggling with the darkness. Rain and wind still held high revel on the outside. The water swished and the tempest boomed at the entrance of the cave.

Again she was sinking to slumber.

Suddenly she roused. Footsteps were near—unusual footsteps, soft as air. The fire was lower; the embers cooling; darkness lay more completely over all. Nearer the sound came. Every nerve was tense. The fire gave a feeble flicker. By the wall of the cave two figures stood not half a dozen paces from her. They disappeared suddenly. She breathed more freely. Another flicker from the fire and she saw that they were crouched low by the ground and apparently in conversation. A draft hurtled through the cavern and gave life to the dying coals. The two figures cast themselves flat on the ground. The embers died down. Carmelita waited in trepidation.

Another rift of light in answer to a current of air. One of the prostrate figures was slowly moving toward her, as a fish floats through water without apparent movement or propulsion. Never it hastened, yet never it ceased to come, always nearer, without effort, without pausing.

She shut her teeth and clenched her hands. There was a wild desire to scream, to call for help, to fly out into the open. She did none of these things. The courage of her warrior forbears stood her in stead.

All at once the body ceased its forward motion. Then it moved backward, noiselessly, slowly. It seemed an age until it reached the other figure by the wall. The overflow of the hurricane which now came sweeping through the place invigorated the fire so that it showed the two figures standing flush against the wall and again in earnest consultation. She could tell that they were Indians, not by their dress, for that was indistinct, but by their postures and gestures. Suddenly they were prone on the ground and going, again noiselessly, toward the inner cave.

The wind ceased. The fire decreased to half a dozen separate sparks. Darkness hid the Indians from her eyes. She reached out her hand to waken the dueña, but desisted.

"Why frighten her? Doubtless they are ordinary peons seeking shelter from the storm."

After a while, through very exhaustion, she slept.

Her eyes opened wide almost with a snap and she sat bolt upright. A portion of the fire had been replenished and was flaming up. A low cry forced itself from her lips before she recognized the one by the fire to be Brown. "What is it?" asked the girl.

The dueña awakened from heavy sleep.

"The horses—my horses," she cried, her wits still half slumbering. "The señor said they are safe. What a terrible thing—is the man still standing there? I trust his master will have the impertinent fellow whipped."

Brown felt that some unusual explanation was due from him, though he did not understand a word. Bending over, he placed his hands on his hips and spoke in a mincing way, as if to children.

"Lady, people don't need be 'fraid of Injuns. My employer's all right—good man. Injuns say much, then I fight 'em. Cap'n fight 'em—fight 'em like the devil."

He balled his right hand and doubled the arm, then patted the corded muscles approvingly with the fingers of his left. Finally he shook his fist in the direction of the inner cave while his face assumed a mock-ferocious expression.