XXIII
THE medicine did the baby no good. In fact, it did her harm. She was toofeeble for violent remedies. In a week, Alessandro appeared again at theAgency doctor's door. This time he had come with a request which tohis mind seemed not unreasonable. He had brought Baba for the doctor toride. Could the doctor then refuse to go to Saboba? Baba would carryhim there in three hours, and it would be like a cradle all the way.Alessandro's name was in the Agency books. It was for this he hadwritten it,--for this and nothing else,--to save the baby's life. Havingthus enrolled himself as one of the Agency Indians, he had a claim onthis the Agency doctor. And that his application might be all in dueform, he took with him the Agency interpreter. He had had a misgiving,before, that Aunt Ri's kindly volubility had not been well timed. Notone unnecessary word, was Alessandro's motto.
To say that the Agency doctor was astonished at being requested to ridethirty miles to prescribe for an ailing Indian baby, would be a mildstatement of the doctor's emotion. He could hardly keep from laughing,when it was made clear to him that this was what the Indian fatherexpected.
"Good Lord!" he said, turning to a crony who chanced to be lounging inthe office. "Listen to that beggar, will you? I wonder what he thinksthe Government pays me a year for doctoring Indians!"
Alessandro listened so closely it attracted the doctor's attention. "Doyou understand English?" he asked sharply.
"A very little, Senor," replied Alessandro.
The doctor would be more careful in his speech, then. But he made itmost emphatically clear that the thing Alessandro had asked was notonly out of the question, but preposterous. Alessandro pleaded. For thechild's sake he could do it. The horse was at the door; there was nosuch horse in San Bernardino County; he went like the wind, and onewould not know he was in motion, it was so easy. Would not the doctorcome down and look at the horse? Then he would see what it would be liketo ride him.
"Oh, I've seen plenty of your Indian ponies," said the doctor. "I knowthey can run."
Alessandro lingered. He could not give up this last hope. The tears cameinto his eyes. "It is our only child, Senor," he said. "It will take youbut six hours in all. My wife counts the moments till you come! If thechild dies, she will die."
"No! no!" The doctor was weary of being importuned. "Tell the man itis impossible! I'd soon have my hands full, if I began to go about thecountry this way. They'd be sending for me down to Agua Caliente next,and bringing up their ponies to carry me."
"He will not go?" asked Alessandro.
The interpreter shook his head. "He cannot," he said.
Without a word Alessandro left the room. Presently he returned. "Ask himif he will come for money?" he said. "I have gold at home. I will payhim, what the white men pay him."
"Tell him no man of any color could pay me for going sixty miles!" saidthe doctor.
And Alessandro departed again, walking so slowly, however, that he heardthe coarse laugh, and the words, "Gold! Looked like it, didn't he?"which followed his departure from the room.
When Ramona saw him returning alone, she wrung her hands. Her heartseemed breaking. The baby had lain in a sort of stupor since noonshe was plainly worse, and Ramona had been going from the door to thecradle, from the cradle to the door, for an hour, looking each momentfor the hoped-for aid. It had not once crossed her mind that the doctorwould not come. She had accepted in much fuller faith than Alessandrothe account of the appointment by the Government of these two men tolook after the Indians' interests. What else could their coming mean,except that, at last, the Indians were to have justice? She thought,in her simplicity, that the doctor must have died, since Alessandro wasriding home alone.
"He would not come!" said Alessandro, as he threw himself off his horse,wearily.
"Would not!" cried Ramona. "Would not! Did you not say the Governmenthad sent him to be the doctor for Indians?"
"That was what they said," he replied. "You see it is a lie, like therest! But I offered him gold, and he would not come then. The child mustdie, Majella!"
"She shall not die!" cried Ramona. "We will carry her to him!" Thethought struck them both as an inspiration. Why had they not thought ofit before? "You can fasten the cradle on Baba's back, and he will go sogently, she will think it is but play; and I will walk by her side, oryou, all the way!" she continued. "And we can sleep at Aunt Ri's house.Oh, why, why did we not do it before? Early in the morning we willstart."
All through the night they sat watching the little creature. If they hadever seen death, they would have known that there was no hope for thechild. But how should Ramona and Alessandro know?
The sun rose bright and warm. Before it was up, the cradle was ready,ingeniously strapped on Baba's back. When the baby was placed in it, shesmiled. "The first smile she has given for days," cried Ramona. "Oh, theair itself will do good to her! Let me walk by her first! Come, Baba!Dear Baba!" and Ramona stepped almost joyfully by the horse's side,Alessandro riding Benito. As they paced along, their eyes never leavingthe baby's face, Ramona said, in a low tone, "Alessandro, I am almostafraid to tell you what I have done. I took the little Jesus out of theMadonna's arms and hid it! Did you never hear, that if you do that, theMadonna will grant you anything, to get him back again in her arms' Didyou ever hear of it?"
"Never!" exclaimed Alessandro, with horror in his tone. "Never, Majella!How dared you?"
"I dare anything now!" said Ramona. "I have been thinking to do it forsome days, and to tell her she could not have him any more till she gaveme back the baby well and strong; but I knew I could not have courage tosit and look at her all lonely without him in her arms, so I did not doit. But now we are to be away, I thought, that is the time; and I toldher, 'When we come back with our baby well, you shall have your littleJesus again, too; now, Holy Mother, you go with us, and make the doctorcure our baby!' Oh, I have heard, many times, women tell the Senora theyhad done this, and always they got what they wanted. Never will she letthe Jesus be out of her arms more than three weeks before she willgrant any prayer one can make. It was that way she brought you to me,Alessandro. I never before told you. I was afraid. I think she hadbrought you sooner, but I could keep the little Jesus hid from her onlyat night. In the day I could not, because the Senora would see. So shedid not miss him so much; else she had brought you quicker."
"But, Majella," said the logical Alessandro, "it was because I could notleave my father that I did not come. As soon as he was buried, I came."
"If it had not been for the Virgin, you would never have come at all,"said Ramona, confidently.
For the first hour of this sad journey it seemed as if the child werereally rallying; the air, the sunlight, the novel motion, the smilingmother by her side, the big black horses she had already learned tolove, all roused her to an animation she had not shown for days. Butit was only the last flicker of the expiring flame. The eyes drooped,closed; a strange pallor came over the face. Alessandro saw it first.He was now walking, Ramona riding Benito. "Majella!" he cried, in a tonewhich told her all.
In a second she was at the baby's side, with a cry which smote thedying child's consciousness. Once more the eyelids lifted; she knew hermother; a swift spasm shook the little frame; a convulsion as ofagony swept over the face, then it was at peace. Ramona's shrieks wereheart-rending. Fiercely she put Alessandro away from her, as he stroveto caress her. She stretched her arms up towards the sky. "I have killedher! I have killed her!" she cried. "Oh, let me die!"
Slowly Alessandro turned Baba's head homeward again.
"Oh, give her to me! Let her lie on my breast! I will hold her warm!"gasped Ramona.
Silently Alessandro laid the body in her arms. He had not spoken sincehis first cry of alarm, If Ramona had looked at him, she would haveforgotten her grief for her dead child. Alessandro's face seemed turnedto stone.
When they reached the house, Ramona, laying the child on the bed, ranhastily to a corner of the room, and lifting the deerskin, drew from itshiding-place the little wooden Jesus. Wi
th tears streaming, she laid itagain in the Madonna's arms, and flinging herself on her knees, sobbedout prayers for forgiveness. Alessandro stood at the foot of the bed,his arms folded, his eyes riveted on the child. Soon he went out, stillwithout speaking. Presently Ramona heard the sound of a saw. She groanedaloud, and her tears flowed faster: Alessandro was making the baby'scoffin. Mechanically she rose, and, moving like one half paralyzed,she dressed the little one in fresh white clothes for the burial; thenlaying her in the cradle, she spread over it the beautiful lace-wroughtaltar-cloth. As she adjusted its folds, her mind was carried back to thetime when she embroidered it, sitting on the Senora's veranda; the songof the finches, the linnets; the voice and smile of Felipe; Alessandrositting on the steps, drawing divine music from his violin. Was thatshe,--that girl who sat there weaving the fine threads in the beautifulaltar-cloth? Was it a hundred years ago? Was it another world? Was itAlessandro yonder, driving those nails into a coffin? How the blowsrang, louder and louder! The air seemed deafening full of sound. Withher hands pressed to her temples, Ramona sank to the floor. A mercifulunconsciousness set her free, for an interval, from her anguish.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed. Alessandro hadlifted her and laid her there, making no effort to rouse her. He thoughtshe would die too; and even that thought did not stir him from hislethargy. When she opened her eyes, and looked at him, he did not speak.She closed them. He did not move. Presently she opened them again. "Iheard you out there," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "It is done." And he pointed to a little box of roughboards by the side of the cradle.
"Is Majella ready to go to the mountain now?" he asked.
"Yes, Alessandro, I am ready," she said.
"We will hide forever," he said.
"It makes no difference," she replied.
The Saboba women did not know what to think of Ramona now. She had nevercome into sympathetic relations with them, as she had with the women ofSan Pasquale. Her intimacy with the Hyers had been a barrier the Sabobapeople could not surmount. No one could be on such terms with whites,and be at heart an Indian, they thought; so they held aloof from Ramona.But now in her bereavement they gathered round her. They wept at sightof the dead baby's face, lying in its tiny white coffin. Ramona hadcovered the box with white cloth, and the lace altar-cloth thrown overit fell in folds to the floor. "Why does not this mother weep? Is shelike the whites, who have no heart?" said the Saboba mothers amongthemselves; and they were embarrassed before her, and knew not whatto say. Ramona perceived it, but had no life in her to speak to them.Benumbing terrors, which were worse than her grief, were crowdingRamona's heart now. She had offended the Virgin; she had committed ablasphemy: in one short hour the Virgin had punished her, had smittenher child dead before her eyes. And now Alessandro was going mad; hourby hour Ramona fancied she saw changes in him. What form would theVirgin's vengeance take next? Would she let Alessandro become a ragingmadman, and finally kill both himself and her? That seemed to Ramonathe most probable fate in store for them. When the funeral was over, andthey returned to their desolate home, at the sight of the empty cradleRamona broke down.
"Oh, take me away, Alessandro! Anywhere! I don't care where! anywhere,so it is not here!" she cried.
"Would Majella be afraid, now, on the high mountain, the place I toldher of?" he said.
"No!" she replied earnestly. "No! I am afraid of nothing! Only take meaway!"
A gleam of wild delight flitted across Alessandro's face. "It is well,"he said. "My Majella, we will go to the mountain; we will be safethere."
The same fierce restlessness which took possession of him at SanPasquale again showed itself in his every act. His mind was unceasinglyat work, planning the details of their move and of the new life. Hementioned them one after another to Ramona. They could not take bothhorses; feed would be scanty there, and there would be no need of twohorses. The cow also they must give up. Alessandro would kill her, andthe meat, dried, would last them for a long time. The wagon he hopedhe could sell; and he would buy a few sheep; sheep and goats could livewell in these heights to which they were going. Safe at last! Oh, yes,very safe; not only against whites, who, because the little valley wasso small and bare, would not desire it, but against Indians also. Forthe Indians, silly things, had a terror of the upper heights of SanJacinto; they believed the Devil lived there, and money would not hireone of the Saboba Indians to go so high as this valley which Alessandrohad discovered. Fiercely he gloated over each one of these featuresof safety in their hiding-place. "The first time I saw it, Majella,--Ibelieve the saints led me there,--I said, it is a hiding-place. Andthen I never thought I would be in want of such,--of a place to keep myMajella safe! safe! Oh, my Majel!" And he clasped her to his breast witha terrifying passion.
For an Indian to sell a horse and wagon in the San Jacinto valley wasnot an easy thing, unless he would give them away. Alessandro had hardwork to give civil answers to the men who wished to buy Benito and thewagon for quarter of their value. He knew they would not have dared toso much as name such prices to a white man. Finally Ramona, who had feltunconquerable misgivings as to the wisdom of thus irrevocably partingfrom their most valuable possessions, persuaded him to take both horsesand wagon to San Bernardino, and offer them to the Hyers to use for thewinter.
It would be just the work for Jos, to keep him in the open air, ifhe could get teaming to do; she was sure he would be thankful for thechance. "He is as fond of the horses as we are ourselves, Alessandro,"she said. "They would be well cared for; and then, if we did not likeliving on the mountain, we could have the horses and wagon again when wecame down, or Jos could sell them for us in San Bernardino. Nobody couldsee Benito and Baba working together, and not want them."
"Majella is wiser than the dove!" cried Alessandro. "She has seen whatis the best thing to do. I will take them."
When he was ready to set off, he implored Ramona to go with him; butwith a look of horror she refused. "Never," she cried, "one step on thataccursed road! I will never go on that road again unless it is to becarried, as we brought her, dead."
Neither did Ramona wish to see Aunt Ri. Her sympathy would beintolerable, spite of all its affectionate kindliness. "Tell her I loveher," she said, "but I do not want to see a human being yet; next yearperhaps we will go down,--if there is any other way besides that road."
Aunt Ri was deeply grieved. She could not understand Ramona's feeling.It rankled deep. "I allow I'd never hev bleeved it uv her, never," shesaid. "I shan't never think she wuz quite right 'n her head, to do 't!I allow we shan't never set eyes on ter her, Jos. I've got jest thetfeelin' abaout it. 'Pears like she'd gone klar out 'er this yer worldinter anuther."
The majestic bulwark of San Jacinto Mountain looms in the southernhorizon of the San Bernardino valley. It was in full sight from the doorof the little shanty in which Aunt Ri's carpet-loom stood. As she satthere hour after hour, sometimes seven hours to the day, working theheavy treadle, and slipping the shuttle back and forth, she gazed withtender yearnings at the solemn, shining summit. When sunset colors smoteit, it glowed like fire; on cloudy days, it was lost in the clouds.
"'Pears like 'twas next door to heaven, up there, Jos," Aunt Ri wouldsay. "I can't tell yer the feelin' 't comes over me, to look up 't it,ever sence I knowed she wuz there. 'T shines enuf to put yer eyes aout,sometimes; I allow 'tain't so light's thet when you air into 't; 'tcan't be; ther couldn't nobody stan' it, ef 't wuz. I allow 't must belike bein' dead, Jos, don't yer think so, to be livin' thar? He sed thercouldn't nobody git to 'em. Nobody ever seed the place but hisself. Hefound it a huntin'. Thar's water thar, 'n' thet's abaout all thar is,fur's I cud make aout; I allow we shan't never see her agin."
The horses and the wagon were indeed a godsend to Jos. It was the verything he had been longing for; the only sort of work he was as yetstrong enough to do, and there was plenty of it to be had in SanBernardino. But the purchase of a wagon suitable for the purpose was atpresent out of their power; the utmost
Aunt Ri had hoped to accomplishwas to have, at the end of a year, a sufficient sum laid up to buy one.They had tried in vain to exchange their heavy emigrant-wagon for onesuitable for light work. "'Pears like I'd die o' shame," said Aunt Ri,"sometimes when I ketch myself er thinkin' what luck et's ben to Jos, ergettin' thet Injun's hosses an' waggin. But ef Jos keeps on, airnin' ezmuch ez he hez so fur, he's goin' ter pay the Injun part on 't, when hecums. I allow ter Jos 'tain't no more'n fair. Why, them hosses, they'lldew good tew days' work'n one. I never see sech hosses; 'n' they're jestlike kittens; they've ben drefful pets, I allow. I know she set all theworld, 'n' more tew, by thet nigh one. He wuz hern, ever sence she wuz achild. Pore thing,--'pears like she hedn't hed no chance!"
Alessandro had put off, from day to day, the killing of the cow. It wenthard with him to slaughter the faithful creature, who knew him, and cametowards him at the first sound of his voice. He had pastured her, sincethe baby died, in a canon about three miles northeast of the village,--alovely green canon with oak-trees and a running brook. It was here thathe had thought of building his house if they had stayed in Saboba. ButAlessandro laughed bitterly to himself now, as he recalled that dream.Already the news had come to Saboba that a company had been formed forthe settling up of the San Jacinto valley; the Ravallo brothers had soldto this company a large grant of land. The white ranchmen in the valleywere all fencing in their lands; no more free running of stock. TheSaboba people were too poor to build miles of fencing; they must soongive up keeping stock; and the next thing would be that they would bedriven out, like the people of Temecula. It was none too soon that hehad persuaded Majella to flee to the mountain. There, at least, theycould live and die in peace,--a poverty-stricken life, and the loneliestof deaths; but they would have each other. It was well the baby haddied; she was saved all this misery. By the time she had grown to bea woman, if she had lived, there would be no place in all the countrywhere an Indian could find refuge. Brooding over such thoughts asthese, Alessandro went up into the canon one morning. It must be done.Everything was ready for their move; it would take many days to carryeven their few possessions up the steep mountain trail to their newhome; the pony which had replaced Benito and Baba could not carry aheavy load. While this was being done, Ramona would dry the beef whichwould be their supply of meat for many months. Then they would go.
At noon he came down with the first load of the meat, and Ramona begancutting it into long strips, as is the Mexican fashion of drying.Alessandro returned for the remainder. Early in the afternoon, as Ramonawent to and fro about her work, she saw a group of horsemen riding fromhouse to house, in the upper part of the village; women came running outexcitedly from each house as the horsemen left it; finally one of themdarted swiftly up the hill to Ramona. "Hide it! hide it!" she cried,breathless; "hide the meat! It is Merrill's men, from the end of thevalley. They have lost a steer, and they say we stole it. They found theplace, with blood on it, where it was killed; and they say we did it.Oh, hide the meat! They took all that Fernando had; and it was his own,that he bought; he did not know anything about their steer!"
"I shall not hide it!" cried Ramona, indignantly. "It is our own cow.Alessandro killed it to-day."
"They won't believe you!" said the woman, in distress. "They'll take itall away. Oh, hide some of it!" And she dragged a part of it across thefloor, and threw it under the bed, Ramona standing by, stupefied.
Before she had spoken again, the forms of the galloping riders darkenedthe doorway; the foremost of them, leaping off his horse, exclaimed:"By God! here's the rest of it. If they ain't the damnedest impudentthieves! Look at this woman, cutting it up! Put that down, will you?We'll save you the trouble of dryin' our meat for us, besides killin'it! Fork over, now, every bit you've got, you--" And he called Ramona bya vile epithet.
Every drop of blood left Ramona's face. Her eyes blazed, and she cameforward with the knife uplifted in her hand. "Out of my house, you dogsof the white color!" she said. "This meat is our own; my husband killedthe creature but this morning."
Her tone and bearing surprised them. There were six of the men, and theyhad all swarmed into the little room.
"I say, Merrill," said one of them, "hold on the squaw says her husbandonly jest killed it to-day. It might be theirs."
Ramona turned on him like lightning. "Are you liars, you all," shecried, "that you think I lie? I tell you the meat is ours; and there isnot an Indian in this village would steal cattle!"
A derisive shout of laughter from all the men greeted this speech; andat that second, the leader, seeing the mark of blood where the Indianwoman had dragged the meat across the ground, sprang to the bed, andlifting the deerskin, pointed with a sneer to the beef hidden there."Perhaps, when you know Injun's well's I do," he said, "you won't be forbelievin' all they say! What's she got it hid under the bed for, if itwas their own cow?" and he stooped to drag the meat out. "Give us a handhere, Jake!"
"If you touch it, I will kill you!" cried Ramona, beside herself withrage; and she sprang between the men, her uplifted knife gleaming.
"Hoity-toity!" cried Jake, stepping back; "that's a handsome squaw whenshe's mad! Say, boys, let's leave her some of the meat. She wasn't toblame; of course, she believes what her husband told her."
"You go to grass for a soft-head, you Jake!" muttered Merrill, as hedragged the meat out from beneath the bed.
"What is all this?" said a deep voice in the door; and Ramona, turning,with a glad cry, saw Alessandro standing there, looking on, with anexpression which, even in her own terror and indignation, gave her asense of dread, it was so icily defiant. He had his hand on his gun."What is all this?" he repeated. He knew very well.
"It's that Temecula man," said one of the men, in a low tone, toMerrill. "If I'd known 't was his house, I wouldn't have let you comehere. You're up the wrong tree, sure!"
Merrill dropped the meat he was dragging over the floor, and turned toconfront Alessandro's eyes. His countenance fell. Even he saw thathe had made a mistake. He began to speak. Alessandro interrupted him.Alessandro could speak forcibly in Spanish. Pointing to his pony, whichstood at the door with a package on its back, the remainder of the meatrolled in the hide, he said: "There is the remainder of the beef.I killed the creature this morning, in the canon. I will take SenorMerrill to the place, if he wishes it. Senor Merrill's steer was killeddown in the willows yonder, yesterday."
"That's so!" cried the men, gathering around him. "How did you know? Whodid it?"
Alessandro made no reply. He was looking at Ramona. She had flung hershawl over her head, as the other woman had done, and the two werecowering in the corner, their faces turned away. Ramona dared not lookon she felt sure Alessandro would kill some one. But this was not thetype of outrage that roused Alessandro to dangerous wrath. He even felta certain enjoyment in the discomfiture of the self-constituted posseof searchers for stolen goods. To all their questions in regard to thestolen steer, he maintained silence. He would not open his lips. Atlast, angry, ashamed, with a volley of coarse oaths at him for hisobstinacy, they rode away. Alessandro went to Ramona's side. She wastrembling. Her hands were like ice.
"Let us go to the mountain to-night!" she gasped. "Take me where I neednever see a white face again!"
A melancholy joy gleamed in Alessandro's eyes. Ramona, at last, felt ashe did.
"I would not dare to leave Majella there alone, while there is nohouse," he said; "and I must go and come many times, before all thethings can be carried."
"It will be less danger there than here, Alessandro," said Ramona,bursting into violent weeping as she recalled the insolent leer withwhich the man Jake had looked at her. "Oh! I cannot stay here!"
"It will not be many days, my Majel. I will borrow Fernando's pony, totake double at once; then we can go sooner."
"Who was it stole that man's steer?" said Ramona. "Why did you not tellthem? They looked as if they would kill you."
"It was that Mexican that lives in the bottom, Jose Castro. I myselfcame on him, cuttin
g the steer up. He said it was his; but I knew verywell, by the way he spoke, he was lying. But why should I tell? Theythink only Indians will steal cattle. I can tell them, the Mexicanssteal more."
"I told them there was not an Indian in this village would stealcattle," said Ramona, indignantly.
"That was not true, Majella," replied Alessandro, sadly. "When theyare very hungry, they will steal a heifer or steer. They lose manythemselves, and they say it is not so much harm to take one when theycan get it. This man Merrill, they say, branded twenty steers for hisown, last spring, when he knew they were Saboba cattle!"
"Why did they not make him give them up?" cried Ramona.
"Did not Majella see to-day why they can do nothing? There is no helpfor us, Majella, only to hide; that is all we can do!"
A new terror had entered into Ramona's life; she dared not tell it toAlessandro; she hardly put it into words in her thoughts. But she washaunted by the face of the man Jake, as by a vision of evil, and on onepretext and another she contrived to secure the presence of some one ofthe Indian women in her house whenever Alessandro was away. Every dayshe saw the man riding past. Once he had galloped up to the open door,looked in, spoken in a friendly way to her, and ridden on. Ramona'sinstinct was right. Jake was merely biding his time. He had made up hismind to settle in the San Jacinto valley, at least for a few years, andhe wished to have an Indian woman come to live with him and keep hishouse. Over in Santa Ysabel, his brother had lived in that way with anIndian mistress for three years; and when he sold out, and left SantaYsabel, he had given the woman a hundred dollars and a little house forherself and her child. And she was not only satisfied, but held herself,in consequence of this temporary connection with a white man, much aboveher Indian relatives and friends. When an Indian man had wished to marryher, she had replied scornfully that she would never marry an Indian;she might marry another white man, but an Indian,--never. Nobody hadheld his brother in any less esteem for this connection it was quitethe way in the country. And if Jake could induce this handsomest squawhe had ever seen, to come and live with him in a smaller fashion, hewould consider himself a lucky man, and also think he was doing a goodthing for the squaw. It was all very clear and simple in his mind;and when, seeing Ramona walking alone in the village one morning, heovertook her, and walking by her side began to sound her on thesubject, he had small misgivings as to the result. Ramona trembled as heapproached her. She walked faster, and would not look at him; but he, inhis ignorance, misinterpreted these signs egregiously.
"Are you married to your husband?" he finally said. "It is but a poorplace he gives you to live in. If you will come and live with me, youshall have the best house in the valley, as good as the Ravallos';and--" Jake did not finish his sentence. With a cry which hauntedhis memory for years, Ramona sprang from his side as if to run; then,halting suddenly, she faced him, her eyes like javelins, her breathcoming fast. "Beast!" she said, and spat towards him; then turned andfled to the nearest house, where she sank on the floor and burst intotears, saying that the man below there in the road had been rude to her.Yes, the women said, he was a bad man; they all knew it. Of this Ramonasaid no word to Alessandro. She dared not; she believed he would killJake.
When the furious Jake confided to his friend Merrill his repulse, andthe indignity accompanying it, Merrill only laughed at him, and said: "Icould have told you better than to try that woman. She's married, fastenough. There's plenty you can get, though, if you want 'em. They'refirst-rate about a house, and jest's faithful's dogs. You can trust 'emwith every dollar you've got."
From this day, Ramona never knew an instant's peace or rest till shestood on the rim of the refuge valley, high on San Jacinto. Then, gazingaround, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to piercethe sky, looking down upon the world,--it seemed the whole world,so limitless it stretched away at her feet,--feeling that infiniteunspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth whichcomes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long breath of delight,and cried: "At last! at last, Alessandro! Here we are safe! This isfreedom! This is joy!"
"Can Majella be content?" he asked.
"I can almost be glad, Alessandro!" she cried, inspired by the gloriousscene. "I dreamed not it was like this!"
It was a wondrous valley. The mountain seemed to have been cleft tomake it. It lay near midway to the top, and ran transversely on themountain's side, its western or southwestern end being many feet lowerthan the eastern. Both the upper and lower ends were closed by piles ofrocks and tangled fallen trees; the rocky summit of the mountain itselfmade the southern wall; the northern was a spur, or ridge, nearlyvertical, and covered thick with pine-trees. A man might roam yearson the mountain and not find this cleft. At the upper end gushed outa crystal spring, which trickled rather than ran, in a bed of marshygreen, the entire length of the valley, disappeared in the rocks at thelower end, and came out no more; many times Alessandro had searched forit lower down, but could find no trace of it. During the summer, whenhe was hunting with Jeff, he had several times climbed the wall anddescended it on the inner side, to see if the rivulet still ran; and, tohis joy, had found it the same in July as in January. Drought could notharm it, then. What salvation in such a spring! And the water was pureand sweet as if it came from the skies.
A short distance off was another ridge or spur of the mountain, wideningout into almost a plateau. This was covered with acorn-bearing oaks; andunder them were flat stones worn into hollows, where bygone generationsof Indians had ground the nuts into meal. Generations long bygoneindeed, for it was not in the memory of the oldest now living, thatIndians had ventured so high up as this on San Jacinto. It was held tobe certain death to climb to its summit, and foolhardy in the extreme togo far up its sides.
There was exhilaration in the place. It brought healing to bothAlessandro and Ramona. Even the bitter grief for the baby's death wassoothed. She did not seem so far off, since they had come so much nearerto the sky. They lived at first in a tent; no time to build a house,till the wheat and vegetables were planted. Alessandro was surprised,when he came to the ploughing, to see how much good land he had. Thevalley thrust itself, in inlets and coves, into the very rocks of itssouthern wall; lovely sheltered nooks these were, where he hated towound the soft, flower-filled sward with his plough. As soon as theplanting was done, he began to fell trees for the house. No mournfulgray adobe this time, but walls of hewn pine, with half the bark lefton alternate yellow and brown, as gay as if glad hearts had devised it.The roof, of thatch, tule, and yucca-stalks, double laid and thick,was carried out several feet in front of the house, making a sort ofbower-like veranda, supported by young fir-tree stems, left rough. Oncemore Ramona would sit under a thatch with birds'-nests in it. A littlecorral for the sheep, and a rough shed for the pony, and the home wascomplete: far the prettiest home they had ever had. And here, in thesunny veranda, when autumn came, sat Ramona, plaiting out of fragrantwillow twigs a cradle. The one over which she had wept such bitter tearsin the valley, they had burned the night before they left their Sabobahome. It was in early autumn she sat plaiting this cradle. The groundaround was strewn with wild grapes drying; the bees were feasting onthem in such clouds that Ramona rose frequently from her work to drivethem away, saying, as she did so, "Good bees, make our honey fromsomething else; we gain nothing if you drain our grapes for it; we wantthese grapes for the winter;" and as she spoke, her imagination spedfleetly forward to the winter, The Virgin must have forgiven her, togive her again the joy of a child in her arms. Ay, a joy! Spite ofpoverty, spite of danger, spite of all that cruelty and oppression coulddo, it would still be a joy to hold her child in her arms.
The baby was born before winter came. An old Indian woman, the samewhose house they had hired in Saboba, had come up to live with Ramona.She was friendless now, her daughter having died, and she thankfullycame to be as a mother to Ramona. She was ignorant and feeble but Ramonasaw in her always the picture of what her own mother might perchancebe, wandering, suf
fering, she knew not what or where; and her yearning,filial instinct found sad pleasure in caring for this lonely, childless,aged one.
Ramona was alone with her on the mountain at the time of the baby'sbirth. Alessandro had gone to the valley, to be gone two days; butRamona felt no fear. When Alessandro returned, and she laid the child inhis arms, she said with a smile, radiant once more, like the old smiles,"See, beloved! The Virgin has forgiven me; she has given us a daughteragain!"
But Alessandro did not smile. Looking scrutinizingly into the baby'sface, he sighed, and said, "Alas, Majella, her eyes are like mine, notyours!"
"I am glad of it," cried Ramona. "I was glad the first minute I saw it."
He shook his head. "It is an ill fate to have the eyes of Alessandro,"he said. "They look ever on woe;" and he laid the baby back on Ramona'sbreast, and stood gazing sadly at her.
"Dear Alessandro," said Ramona, "it is a sin to always mourn. FatherSalvierderra said if we repined under our crosses, then a heavier crosswould be laid on us. Worse things would come."
"Yes," he said. "That is true. Worse things will come." And he walkedaway, with his head sunk deep on his breast.