XXIV
THERE was no real healing for Alessandro. His hurts had gone too deep.His passionate heart, ever secretly brooding on the wrongs he had borne,the hopeless outlook for his people in the future, and most of all onthe probable destitution and suffering in store for Ramona, consumeditself as by hidden fires. Speech, complaint, active antagonism, mighthave saved him; but all these were foreign to his self-contained,reticent, repressed nature. Slowly, so slowly that Ramona could not tellon what hour or what day her terrible fears first changed to an evenmore terrible certainty, his brain gave way, and the thing, in dreadof which he had cried out the morning they left San Pasquale, came uponhim. Strangely enough, and mercifully, now that it had really come,he did not know it. He knew that he suddenly came to his consciousnesssometimes, and discovered himself in strange and unexplained situations;had no recollection of what had happened for an interval of time, longeror shorter. But he thought it was only a sort of sickness; he did notknow that during those intervals his acts were the acts of a madman;never violent, aggressive, or harmful to any one; never destructive.It was piteous to see how in these intervals his delusions were alwaysshaped by the bitterest experiences of his life. Sometimes he fanciedthat the Americans were pursuing him, or that they were carrying offRamona, and he was pursuing them. At such times he would run with maniacswiftness for hours, till he fell exhausted on the ground, and slowlyregained true consciousness by exhaustion. At other times he believedhe owned vast flocks and herds; would enter any enclosure he saw, wherethere were sheep or cattle, go about among them, speaking of them topassers-by as his own. Sometimes he would try to drive them away; but onbeing remonstrated with, would bewilderedly give up the attempt. Once hesuddenly found himself in the road driving a small flock of goats, whosehe knew not, nor whence he got them. Sitting down by the roadside, heburied his head in his hands. "What has happened to my memory?" he said."I must be ill of a fever!" As he sat there, the goats, of their ownaccord, turned and trotted back into a corral near by, the owner ofwhich stood, laughing, on his doorsill; and when Alessandro came up,said goodnaturedly, "All right, Alessandro! I saw you driving off mygoats, but I thought you'd bring 'em back."
Everybody in the valley knew him, and knew his condition. It did notinterfere with his capacity as a worker, for the greater part ofthe time. He was one of the best shearers in the region, the besthorse-breaker; and his services were always in demand, spite of the riskthere was of his having at any time one of these attacks of wandering.His absences were a great grief to Ramona, not only from the lonelinessin which it left her, but from the anxiety she felt lest his mentaldisorder might at any time take a more violent and dangerous shape. Thisanxiety was all the more harrowing because she must keep it locked inher own breast, her wise and loving instinct telling her that nothingcould be more fatal to him than the knowledge of his real condition.More than once he reached home, breathless, panting, the sweat rollingoff his face, crying aloud, "The Americans have found us out, Majella!They were on the trail! I baffled them. I came up another way." At suchtimes she would soothe him like a child; persuade him to lie down andrest; and when he waked and wondered why he was so tired, she would say,"You were all out of breath when you came in, dear. You must not climbso fast; it is foolish to tire one's self so."
In these days Ramona began to think earnestly of Felipe. She believedAlessandro might be cured. A wise doctor could surely do something forhim. If Felipe knew what sore straits she was in, Felipe would help her.But how could she reach Felipe without the Senora's knowing it? And,still more, how could she send a letter to Felipe without Alessandro'sknowing what she had written? Ramona was as helpless in her freedom onthis mountain eyrie as if she had been chained hand and foot.
And so the winter wore away, and the spring. What wheat grew in theirfields in this upper air! Wild oats, too, in every nook and corner.The goats frisked and fattened, and their hair grew long and silky; thesheep were already heavy again with wool, and it was not yet midsummer.The spring rains had been good; the stream was full, and flowers grewalong its edges thick as in beds.
The baby had thrived; as placid, laughing a little thing as if itsmother had never known sorrow. "One would think she had suckled pain,"thought Ramona, "so constantly have I grieved this year; but the Virginhas kept her well."
If prayers could compass it, that would surely have been so; for nightand day the devout, trusting, and contrite Ramona had knelt before theMadonna and told her golden beads, till they were wellnigh worn smoothof all their delicate chasing.
At midsummer was to be a fete in the Saboba village, and the SanBernardino priest would come there. This would be the time to take thebaby down to be christened; this also would be the time to send theletter to Felipe, enclosed in one to Aunt Ri, who would send it for herfrom San Bernardino. Ramona felt half guilty as she sat plotting whatshe should say and how she should send it,--she, who had never had inher loyal, transparent breast one thought secret from Alessandro sincethey were wedded. But it was all for his sake. When he was well, hewould thank her.
She wrote the letter with much study and deliberation her dread of itsbeing read by the Senora was so great, that it almost paralyzed her penas she wrote. More than once she destroyed pages, as being too sacred aconfidence for unloving eyes to read. At last, the day before the fete,it was done, and safely hidden away. The baby's white robe, finelywrought in open-work, was also done, and freshly washed and ironed.No baby would there be at the fete so daintily wrapped as hers; andAlessandro had at last given his consent that the name should beMajella. It was a reluctant consent, yielded finally only to pleaseRamona; and, contrary to her wont, she had been willing in this instanceto have her own wish fulfilled rather than his. Her heart was set uponhaving the seal of baptism added to the name she so loved; and, "If Iwere to die," she thought, "how glad Alessandro would be, to have stilla Majella!"
All her preparations were completed, and it was yet not noon. She seatedherself on the veranda to watch for Alessandro, who had been two daysaway, and was to have returned the previous evening, to make ready forthe trip to Saboba. She was disquieted at his failure to return at theappointed time. As the hours crept on and he did not come, her anxietyincreased. The sun had gone more than an hour past the midheavens beforehe came. He had ridden fast; she had heard the quick strokes of thehorse's hoofs on the ground before she saw him. "Why comes he ridinglike that?" she thought, and ran to meet him. As he drew near, she sawto her surprise that he was riding a new horse. "Why, Alessandro!" shecried. "What horse is this?"
He looked at her bewilderedly, then at the horse. True; it was not hisown horse! He struck his hand on his forehead, endeavoring to collecthis thoughts. "Where is my horse, then?" he said.
"My God! Alessandro," cried Ramona. "Take the horse back instantly. Theywill say you stole it."
"But I left my pony there in the corral," he said. "They will know Idid not mean to steal it. How could I ever have made the mistake? Irecollect nothing, Majella. I must have had one of the sicknesses."
Ramona's heart was cold with fear. Only too well she knew what summarypunishment was dealt in that region to horse-thieves. "Oh, let me takeit back, dear!" she cried, "Let me go down with it. They will believeme."
"Majella!" he exclaimed, "think you I would send you into the fold ofthe wolf? My wood-dove! It is in Jim Farrar's corral I left my pony. Iwas there last night, to see about his sheep-shearing in the autumn. Andthat is the last I know. I will ride back as soon as I have rested. I amheavy with sleep."
Thinking it safer to let him sleep for an hour, as his brain wasevidently still confused, Ramona assented to this, though a sense ofdanger oppressed her. Getting fresh hay from the corral, she with herown hands rubbed the horse down. It was a fine, powerful black horse;Alessandro had evidently urged him cruelly up the steep trail, forhis sides were steaming, his nostrils white with foam. Tears stoodin Ramona's eyes as she did what she could for him. He recognized hergood-will, and put his nose to her face. "It must be be
cause he wasblack like Benito, that Alessandro took him," she thought. "Oh, MaryMother, help us to get the creature safe back!" she said.
When she went into the house, Alessandro was asleep. Ramona glancedat the sun. It was already in the western sky. By no possibility couldAlessandro go to Farrar's and back before dark. She was on the pointof waking him, when a furious barking from Capitan and the other dogsroused him instantly from his sleep, and springing to his feet, he ranout to see what it meant. In a moment more Ramona followed,--only amoment, hardly a moment; but when she reached the threshold, it was tohear a gun-shot, to see Alessandro fall to the ground, to see, in thesame second, a ruffianly man leap from his horse, and standing overAlessandro's body, fire his pistol again, once, twice, into theforehead, cheek. Then with a volley of oaths, each word of which seemedto Ramona's reeling senses to fill the air with a sound like thunder, heuntied the black horse from the post where Ramona had fastened him, andleaping into his saddle again, galloped away, leading the horse. As herode away, he shook his fist at Ramona, who was kneeling on the ground,striving to lift Alessandro's head, and to stanch the blood flowingfrom the ghastly wounds. "That'll teach you damned Indians to leaveoff stealing our horses!" he cried, and with another volley of terribleoaths was out of sight.
With a calmness which was more dreadful than any wild outcry of grief,Ramona sat on the ground by Alessandro's body, and held his hands inhers. There was nothing to be done for him. The first shot had beenfatal, close to his heart,--the murderer aimed well; the after-shots,with the pistol, were from mere wanton brutality. After a few secondsRamona rose, went into the house, brought out the white altar-cloth, andlaid it over the mutilated face. As she did this, she recalled wordsshe had heard Father Salvierderra quote as having been said by FatherJunipero, when one of the Franciscan Fathers had been massacred by theIndians, at San Diego. "Thank God." he said, "the ground is now wateredby the blood of a martyr!"
"The blood of a martyr!" The words seemed to float in the air; tocleanse it from the foul blasphemies the murderer had spoken. "MyAlessandro!" she said. "Gone to be with the saints; one of the blessedmartyrs; they will listen to what a martyr says." His hands were warm.She laid them in her bosom, kissed them again and again. Stretchingherself on the ground by his side, she threw one arm over him, andwhispered in his ear, "My love, my Alessandro! Oh, speak once toMajella! Why do I not grieve more? My Alessandro! Is he not blestalready? And soon we will be with him! The burdens were too great. Hecould not bear them!" Then waves of grief broke over her, and she sobbedconvulsively; but still she shed no tears. Suddenly she sprang to herfeet, and looked wildly around. The sun was not many hours high. Whithershould she go for help? The old Indian woman had gone away with thesheep, and would not be back till dark. Alessandro must not lie thereon the ground. To whom should she go? To walk to Saboba was out of thequestion. There was another Indian village nearer,--the village of theCahuillas, on one of the high plateaus of San Jacinto. She had once beenthere. Could she find that trail now? She must try. There was no humanhelp nearer.
Taking the baby in her arms, she knelt by Alessandro, and kissing him,whispered, "Farewell, my beloved. I will not be long gone. I go to bringfriends." As she set off, swiftly running, Capitan, who had been lyingby Alessandro's side, uttering heart-rending howls, bounded to his feetto follow her. "No, Capitan," she said; and leading him back to thebody, she took his head in her hands, looked into his eyes, and said,"Capitan, watch here." With a whimpering cry, he licked her hands, andstretched himself on the ground. He understood, and would obey; but hiseyes followed her wistfully till she disappeared from sight.
The trail was rough, and hard to find. More than once Ramona stopped,baffled, among the rocky ridges and precipices. Her clothes were torn,her face bleeding, from the thorny shrubs; her feet seemed leaden, shemade her way so slowly. It was dark in the ravines; as she climbed spurafter spur, and still saw nothing but pine forests or bleak opens, herheart sank within her. The way had not seemed so long before. Alessandrohad been with her; it was a joyous, bright day, and they had lingeredwherever they liked, and yet the way had seemed short. Fear seized herthat she was lost. If that were so, before morning she would be withAlessandro; for fierce beasts roamed San Jacinto by night. But for thebaby's sake, she must not die. Feverishly she pressed on. At last, justas it had grown so dark she could see only a few hand-breadths beforeher, and was panting more from terror than from running, lights suddenlygleamed out, only a few rods ahead. It was the Cahuilla village. In afew moments she was there.
It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla village,--a clusterof tule and adobe huts, on a narrow bit of bleak and broken ground,on San Jacinto Mountain; the people are very poor, but are proudand high-spirited,--veritable mountaineers in nature, fierce andindependent.
Alessandro had warm friends among them, and the news that he had beenmurdered, and that his wife had run all the way down the mountain, withher baby in her arms, for help, went like wild-fire through the place.The people gathered in an excited group around the house where Ramonahad taken refuge. She was lying, half unconscious, on a bed. As soonas she had gasped out her terrible story, she had fallen forward on thefloor, fainting, and the baby had been snatched from her arms just intime to save it. She did not seem to miss the child; had not asked forit, or noticed it when it was brought to the bed. A merciful oblivionseemed to be fast stealing over her senses. But she had spoken wordsenough to set the village in a blaze of excitement. It ran higher andhigher. Men were everywhere mounting their horses,--some to go up andbring Alessandro's body down; some organizing a party to go at once toJim Farrar's house and shoot him: these were the younger men, friends ofAlessandro. Earnestly the aged Capitan of the village implored them torefrain from such violence.
"Why should ten be dead instead of one, my sons?" he said. "Will youleave your wives and your children like his? The whites will kill us allif you lay hands on the man. Perhaps they themselves will punish him."
A derisive laugh rose from the group. Never yet within their experiencehad a white man been punished for shooting an Indian. The Capitan knewthat as well as they did. Why did he command them to sit still likewomen, and do nothing, when a friend was murdered?
"Because I am old, and you are young. I have seen that we fight invain," said the wise old man. "It is not sweet to me, any more than toyou. It is a fire in my veins; but I am old. I have seen. I forbid youto go."
The women added their entreaties to his, and the young men abandonedtheir project. But it was with sullen reluctance; and mutterings wereto be heard, on all sides, that the time would come yet. There was morethan one way of killing a man. Farrar would not be long seen in thevalley. Alessandro should be avenged.
As Farrar rode slowly down the mountain, leading his recovered horse, herevolved in his thoughts what course to pursue. A few years before, hewould have gone home, no more disquieted at having killed an Indian thanif he had killed a fox or a wolf. But things were different now. ThisAgent, that the Government had taken it into its head to send out tolook after the Indians, had made it hot, the other day, for some fellowsin San Bernardino who had maltreated an Indian; he had even gone sofar as to arrest several liquor-dealers for simply selling whiskey toIndians. If he were to take this case of Alessandro's in hand, it mightbe troublesome. Farrar concluded that his wisest course would be to makea show of good conscience and fair-dealing by delivering himself upat once to the nearest justice of the peace, as having killed a manin self-defence, Accordingly he rode straight to the house of a JudgeWells, a few miles below Saboba, and said that he wished to surrenderhimself as having committed "justifiable homicide" on an Indian, orMexican, he did net know which, who had stolen his horse. He told aplausible story. He professed not to know the man, or the place; but didnot explain how it was, that, knowing neither, he had gone so direct tothe spot.
He said: "I followed the trail for some time, but when I reached a turn,I came into a sort of blind trail, where I lost the track. I think thehorse h
ad been led up on hard sod, to mislead any one on the track. Ipushed on, crossed the creek, and soon found the tracks again in softground. This part of the mountain was perfectly unknown to me, and verywild. Finally I came to a ridge, from which I looked down on a littleranch. As I came near the house, the dogs began to bark, just as Idiscovered my horse tied to a tree. Hearing the dogs, an Indian, orMexican, I could not tell which, came out of the house, flourishing alarge knife. I called out to him, 'Whose horse is that?' He answeredin Spanish, 'It is mine.' 'Where did you get it?' I asked. 'In SanJacinto,' was his reply. As he still came towards me, brandishing theknife, I drew my gun, and said, 'Stop, or I'll shoot!' He did not stop,and I fired; still he did not stop, so I fired again; and as he did notfall, I knocked him down with the butt of my gun. After he was down, Ishot him twice with my pistol."
The duty of a justice in such a case as this was clear. Taking theprisoner into custody, he sent out messengers to summon a jury of sixmen to hold inquest on the body of said Indian, or Mexican; and earlythe next morning, led by Farrar, they set out for the mountain. Whenthey reached the ranch, the body had been removed; the house waslocked; no signs left of the tragedy of the day before, except a fewblood-stains on the ground, where Alessandro had fallen. Farrar seemedgreatly relieved at this unexpected phase of affairs. However, when hefound that Judge Wells, instead of attempting to return to the valleythat night, proposed to pass the night at a ranch only a few milesfrom the Cahuilla village, he became almost hysterical with fright.He declared that the Cahuillas would surely come and murder him in thenight, and begged piteously that the men would all stay with him toguard him.
At midnight Judge Wells was roused by the arrival of the Capitan andhead men of the Cahuilla village. They had heard of his arrival with hisjury, and they had come to lead them to their village, where the body ofthe murdered man lay. They were greatly distressed on learning that theyought not to have removed the body from the spot where the death hadtaken place, and that now no inquest could be held.
Judge Wells himself, however, went back with them, saw the body, andheard the full account of the murder as given by Ramona on her firstarrival. Nothing more could now be learned from her, as she was in highfever and delirium; knew no one, not even her baby when they laid iton her breast. She lay restlessly tossing from side to side, talkingincessantly, clasping her rosary in her hands, and constantly minglingsnatches of prayers with cries for Alessandro and Felipe; the only tokenof consciousness she gave was to clutch the rosary wildly, and sometimeshide it in her bosom, if they attempted to take it from her.
Judge Wells was a frontiersman, and by no means sentimentally inclined;but the tears stood in his eyes as he looked at the unconscious Ramona.
Farrar had pleaded that the preliminary hearing might take placeimmediately; but after this visit to the village, the judge refused hisrequest, and appointed the trial a week from that day, to give timefor Ramona to recover, and appear as a witness. He impressed upon theIndians as strongly as he could the importance of having her appear. Itwas evident that Farrar's account of the affair was false from first tolast. Alessandro had no knife. He had not had time to go many steps fromthe door; the volley of oaths, and the two shots almost simultaneously,were what Ramona heard as she ran to the door. Alessandro could not havespoken many words.
The day for the hearing came. Farrar had been, during the interval, in amerely nominal custody; having been allowed to go about his business,on his own personal guarantee of appearing in time for the trial. Itwas with a strange mixture of regret and relief that Judge Wells saw thehour of the trial arrive, and not a witness on the ground except Farrarhimself. That Farrar was a brutal ruffian, the whole country knew. Thislast outrage was only one of a long series; the judge would have beenglad to have committed him for trial, and have seen him get his deserts.But San Jacinto Valley, wild, sparsely settled as it was, had yet asfixed standards and criterions of popularity as the most civilized ofcommunities could show; and to betray sympathy with Indians was morethan any man's political head was worth. The word "justice" had lost itsmeaning, if indeed it ever had any, so far as they were concerned. Thevalley was a unit on that question, however divided it might be uponothers. On the whole, the judge was relieved, though it was not withouta bitter twinge, as of one accessory after the deed, and unfaithful toa friend; for he had known Alessandro well. Yet, on the whole, he wasrelieved when he was forced to accede to the motion made by Farrar'scounsel, that "the prisoner be discharged on ground of justifiablehomicide, no witnesses having appeared against him."
He comforted himself by thinking--what was no doubt true--that even ifthe case had been brought to a jury trial, the result would have beenthe same; for there would never have been found a San Diego County jurythat would convict a white man of murder for killing an Indian, ifthere were no witnesses to the occurrence except the Indian wife. But hederived small comfort from this. Alessandro's face haunted him, and alsothe memory of Ramona's, as she lay tossing and moaning in the wretchedCahuilla hovel. He knew that only her continued illness, or her death,could explain her not having come to the trial. The Indians would havebrought her in their arms all the way, if she had been alive and inpossession of her senses.
During the summer that she and Alessandro had lived in Saboba he hadseen her many times, and had been impressed by her rare quality. Hischildren knew her and loved her; had often been in her house; his wifehad bought her embroidery. Alessandro also had worked for him; and noone knew better than Judge Wells that Alessandro in his senses was asincapable of stealing a horse as any white man in the valley. Farrarknew it; everybody knew it. Everybody knew, also, about his strange fitsof wandering mind; and that when these half-crazed fits came on him,he was wholly irresponsible. Farrar knew this. The only explanation ofFarrar's deed was, that on seeing his horse spent and exhausted fromhaving been forced up that terrible trail, he was seized by ungovernablerage, and fired on the second, without knowing what he did. "But hewouldn't have done it, if it hadn't been an Indian!" mused the judge."He'd ha' thought twice before he shot any white man down, that way."
Day after day such thoughts as these pursued the judge, and he could notshake them off. An uneasy sense that he owed something to Ramona, or, ifRamona were dead, to the little child she had left, haunted him. Theremight in some such way be a sort of atonement made to the murdered,unavenged Alessandro. He might even take the child, and bring it up inhis own house. That was by no means an uncommon thing in the valley. Thelonger he thought, the more he felt himself eased in his mind by thispurpose; and he decided that as soon as he could find leisure he wouldgo to the Cahuilla village and see what could be done.
But it was not destined that stranger hands should bring succor toRamona. Felipe had at last found trace of her. Felipe was on the way.