Ramona

  VI

  A BAD beginning did not make a good ending of the Senora Moreno'ssheep-shearing this year. One as superstitiously prejudiced againstRoman Catholic rule as she was in favor of it, would have found, in theway things fell out, ample reason for a belief that the Senora wasbeing punished for having let all the affairs of her place come to astandstill, to await the coming of an old monk. But the pious Senora,looking at the other side of the shield, was filled with gratitudethat, since all this ill luck was to befall her, she had the good FatherSalvierderra at her side to give her comfort and counsel.

  It was not yet quite noon of the first day, when Felipe fainted and fellin the wool; and it was only a little past noon of the third, whenJuan Canito, who, not without some secret exultation, had taken SenorFelipe's place at the packing, fell from the cross-beam to the ground,and broke his right leg,--a bad break near the knee; and Juan Canito'sbones were much too old for fresh knitting. He would never again be ableto do more than hobble about on crutches, dragging along the uselessleg. It was a cruel blow to the old man. He could not be resigned toit. He lost faith in his saints, and privately indulged in blasphemousberatings and reproaches of them, which would have filled the Senorawith terror, had she known that such blasphemies were being committedunder her roof.

  "As many times as I have crossed that plank, in my day!" cried Juan;"only the fiends themselves could have made me trip; and there was thatwhole box of candles I paid for with my own money last month, and burnedto Saint Francis in the chapel for this very sheep-shearing! He may sitin the dark, for all me, to the end of time! He is no saint at all! Whatare they for, if not to keep us from harm when we pray to them? I'llpray no more. I believe the Americans are right, who laugh at us." Frommorning till night, and nearly from night till morning, for the legached so he slept little, poor Juan groaned and grumbled and swore, andswore and grumbled and groaned. Taking care of him was enough, Margaritasaid, to wear out the patience of the Madonna herself. There was nopleasing him, whatever you did, and his tongue was never still a minute.For her part, she believed that it must be as he said, that the fiendshad pushed him off the plank, and that the saints had had their reasonsfor leaving him to his fate. A coldness and suspicion gradually grew upin the minds of all the servants towards him. His own reckless language,combined with Margarita's reports, gave the superstitious fair groundfor believing that something had gone mysteriously wrong, and that theDevil was in a fair way to get his soul, which was very hard for the oldman, in addition to all the rest he had to bear. The only alleviation hehad for his torments, was in having his fellow-servants, men and women,drop in, sit by his pallet, and chat with him, telling him all that wasgoing on and when by degrees they dropped off, coming more and moreseldom, and one by one leaving off coming altogether, it was the onedrop that overflowed his cup of misery; and he turned his face to thewall, left off grumbling, and spoke only when he must.

  This phase frightened Margarita even more than the first. Now, shethought, surely the dumb terror and remorse of one who belongs to theDevil had seized him, and her hands trembled as she went through theneedful ministrations for him each day. Three months, at least, thedoctor, who had come from Ventura to set the leg, had said he must liestill in bed and be thus tended. "Three months!" sighed Margarita. "If Ibe not dead or gone crazy myself before the end of that be come!"

  The Senora was too busy with Felipe to pay attention or to give thoughtto Juan. Felipe's fainting had been the symptom and beginning of afierce relapse of the fever, and he was lying in his bed, tossing andraving in delirium, always about the wool.

  "Throw them faster, faster! That's a good fleece; five pounds more; around ton in those bales. Juan! Alessandro! Captain!--Jesus, how thissun burns my head!"

  Several times he had called "Alessandro" so earnestly, that FatherSalvierderra advised bringing Alessandro into the room, to see if by anychance there might have been something in his mind that he wished to sayto him. But when Alessandro stood by the bedside, Felipe gazed athim vacantly, as he did at all the others, still repeating, however,"Alessandro! Alessandro!"

  "I think perhaps he wants Alessandro to play on his violin," sobbed outRamona. "He was telling me how beautifully Alessandro played, and saidhe would have him up on the veranda in the evening to play to us."

  "We might try it," said Father Salvierderra. "Have you your violin here,Alessandro?"

  "Alas, no, Father," replied Alessandro, "I did not bring it."

  "Perhaps it would do him good it you were to sing, then," said Ramona."He was speaking of your voice also."

  "Oh, try, try." said the Senorita, turning to Alessandro. "Singsomething low and soft."

  Alessandro walked from the bed to the open window, and after thinkingfor a moment, began a slow strain from one of the masses.

  At the first note, Felipe became suddenly quiet, evidently listening. Anexpression of pleasure spread over his feverish face. He turned his headto one side, put his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes. The threewatching him looked at each other in astonishment.

  "It is a miracle," said Father Salvierderra. "He will sleep."

  "It was what he wanted!" whispered Ramona.

  The Senora spoke not, but buried her face in the bedclothes for asecond; then lifting it, she gazed at Alessandro as if she were prayingto a saint. He, too, saw the change in Felipe, and sang lower and lower,till the notes sounded as if they came from afar; lower and lower,slower; finally they ceased, as if they died away lost in distance. Asthey ceased, Felipe opened his eyes.

  "Oh, go on, go on!" the Senora implored in a whisper shrill withanxiety. "Do not stop!"

  Alessandro repeated the strain, slow, solemn; his voice trembled; theair in the room seemed stifling, spite of the open window; he feltsomething like terror, as he saw Felipe evidently sinking to sleep byreason of the notes of his voice. There had been nothing in Alessandro'shealthy outdoor experience to enable him to understand such aphenomenon. Felipe breathed more and more slowly, softly, regularly;soon he was in a deep sleep. The singing stopped; Felipe did not stir.

  "Can I go?" whispered Alessandro.

  "No, no." replied the Senora, impatiently. "He may wake any minute."

  Alessandro looked troubled, but bowed his head submissively, andremained standing by the window. Father Salvierderra was kneeling onone side of the bed, the Senora at the other, Ramona at the foot,--allpraying; the silence was so great that the slight sounds of the rosarybeads slipping against each other seemed loud. In a niche in the wall,at the head of the bed, stood a statue of the Madonna, on the other sidea picture of Santa Barbara. Candles were burning before each. The longwicks smouldered and died down, sputtering, then flared up again asthe ends fell into the melted wax. The Senora's eyes were fixed on theMadonna. The Father's were closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with tearsstreaming down her face as she mechanically told her beads.

  "She is his betrothed, no doubt," thought Alessandro. "The saints willnot let him die;" and Alessandro also prayed. But the oppression of thescene was too much for him. Laying his hand on the low window-sill, hevaulted over it, saying to Ramona, who turned her head at the sound,"I will not go away, Senorita, I will be close under the window, if heawakes."

  Once in the open air, he drew a long breath, and gazed bewilderedlyabout him, like one just recovering consciousness after a faint. Thenhe threw himself on the ground under the window, and lay looking up intothe sky. Capitan came up, and with a low whine stretched himself out atfull length by his side. The dog knew as well as any other one of thehouse that danger and anguish were there.

  One hour passed, two, three; still no sound from Felipe's room.Alessandro rose, and looked in at the window. The Father and the Senorahad not changed their attitudes; their lips were yet moving in prayer.But Ramona had yielded to her fatigue; slipped from her knees into asitting posture, with her head leaning against the post of the bedstead,and fallen asleep. Her face was swollen and discolored by weeping, andheavy circles under her eyes told how tired she w
as. For three days andnights she had scarcely rested, so constant were the demands on her.Between Felipe's illness and Juan Can's, there was not a moment withoutsomething to be done, or some perplexing question to be settled, andabove all, and through all, the terrible sorrow. Ramona was broken downwith grief at the thought of Felipe's death. She had never known tillshe saw him lying there delirious, and as she in her inexperiencethought, dying, how her whole life was entwined with his. But now, atthe very thought of what it would be to live without him, her heartsickened. "When he is buried, I will ask Father Salvierderra to takeme away. I never can live here alone," she said to herself, never for amoment perceiving that the word "alone" was a strange one to have comeinto her mind in the connection. The thought of the Senora did not enterinto her imaginations of the future which so smote her with terror. Inthe Senora's presence, Ramona always felt herself alone.

  Alessandro stood at the window, his arms folded, leaning on the sill,his eyes fixed on Ramona's face and form. To any other than a lover'seyes she had not looked beautiful now; but to Alessandro she looked morebeautiful than the picture of Santa Barbara on the wall beyond. With alover's instinct he knew the thoughts which had written such lineson her face in the last three days. "It will kill her if he dies,"he thought, "if these three days have made her look like that." AndAlessandro threw himself on the ground again, his face down. He did notknow whether it were an hour or a day that he had lain there, when heheard Father Salvierderra's voice speaking his name. He sprang up, tosee the old monk standing in the window, tears running down his cheeks."God be praised," he said, "the Senor Felipe will get well. A sweat hasbroken out on his skin; he still sleeps, but when he wakes he will be inhis right mind. The strength of the fever is broken. But, Alessandro, weknow not how to spare you. Can you not let the men go without you, andremain here? The Senora would like to have you remain in Juan Can'splace till he is about. She will give you the same wages he had. Wouldit not be a good thing for you, Alessandro? You cannot be sure ofearning so much as that for the next three months, can you?"

  While the Father was speaking, a tumult had been going on inAlessandro's breast. He did not know by name any of the impulses whichwere warring there, tearing him in twain, as it were, by their pullingin opposite directions; one saying "Stay!" and the other saying "Go!"He would not have known what any one meant, who had said to him, "Itis danger to stay; it is safety to fly." All the same, he felt as if hecould do neither.

  "There is another shearing yet, Father," he began, "at the Ortega'sranch. I had promised to go to them as soon as I had finished here, andthey have been wroth enough with us for the delay already. It will notdo to break the promise, Father."

  Father Salvierderra's face fell. "No, my son, certainly not," he said;"but could no one else take your place with the band?"

  Hearing these words, Ramona came to the window, and leaning out,whispered, "Are you talking about Alessandro's staying? Let me comeand talk to him. He must not go." And running swiftly through the hall,across the veranda, and down the steps, she stood by Alessandro's sidein a moment. Looking up in his face pleadingly, she said: "We can't letyou go, Alessandro. The Senor will pay wages to some other to go in yourplace with the shearers. We want you to stay here in Juan Can's placetill he is well. Don't say you can't stay! Felipe may need you to singagain, and what would we do then? Can't you stay?"

  "Yes, I can stay, Senorita," answered Alessandro, gravely. "I will stayso long as you need me."

  "Oh, thank you, Alessandro!" Ramona cried. "You are good, to stay. TheSenora will see that it is no loss to you;" and she flew back to thehouse.

  "It is not for the wages, Senorita," Alessandro began; but Ramonawas gone. She did not hear him, and he turned away with a sense ofhumiliation. "I don't want the Senorita to think that it was the moneykept me," he said, turning to Father Salvierderra. "I would not leavethe band for money; it is to help, because they are in trouble, Father."

  "Yes, yes, son. I understand that," replied the monk, who had knownAlessandro since he was a little fellow playing in the corridors of SanLuis Rey, the pet of all the Brothers there. "That is quite right ofyou, and the Senora will not be insensible of it. It is not for suchthings that money can pay. They are indeed in great trouble now, andonly the two women in the house; and I must soon be going on my wayNorth again."

  "Is it sure that Senor Felipe will get well?" asked Alessandro.

  "I think so," replied Father Salvierderra. "These relapses are alwaysworse than the first attack; but I have never known one to die, afterhe had the natural sweat to break from the skin, and got good sleep. Idoubt not he will be in his bed, though, for many days, and there willbe much to be seen to. It was an ill luck to have Juan Can laid up,too, just at this time. I must go and see him; I hear he is in mostrebellious frame of mind, and blasphemes impiously."

  "That does he!" said Alessandro. "He swears the saints gave him over tothe fiends to push him off the plank, and he'll have none of them fromthis out! I told him to beware, or they might bring him to worse thingsyet if he did not mend his speech of them."

  Sighing deeply as they walked along, the monk said: "It is but a signof the times. Blasphemers are on the highway. The people are beingcorrupted. Keeps your father the worship in the chapel still, and does apriest come often to the village?"

  "Only twice a year," replied Alessandro; "and sometimes for a funeral,if there is money enough to pay for the mass. But my father has thechapel open, and each Sunday we sing what we know of the mass; and thepeople are often there praying."

  "Ay, ay! Ever for money!" groaned Father Salvierderra, not heeding thelatter part of the sentence. "Ever for money! It is a shame. But that itwere sure to be held as a trespass, I would go myself to Temecula oncein three months; but I may not. The priests do not love our order."

  "Oh, if you could, Father," exclaimed Alessandro, "it would make myfather very glad! He speaks often to me of the difference he seesbetween the words of the Church now and in the days of the Mission. Heis very sad, Father, and in great fear about our village. They say theAmericans, when they buy the Mexicans' lands, drive the Indians away asif they were dogs; they say we have no right to our lands. Do you thinkthat can be so, Father, when we have always lived on them, and theowners promised them to us forever?"

  Father Salvierderra was silent a long time before replying, andAlessandro watched his face anxiously. He seemed to be hesitating forwords to convey his meaning. At last he said: "Got your father anynotice, at any time since the Americans took the country,--notice toappear before a court, or anything about a title to the land?"

  "No, Father," replied Alessandro.

  "There has to be some such paper, as I understand their laws," continuedthe monk; "some notice, before any steps can be taken to remove Indiansfrom an estate. It must be done according to the law, in the courts. Ifyou have had no such notice, you are not in danger."

  "But, Father," persisted Alessandro, "how could there be a law to takeaway from us the land which the Senor Valdez gave us forever?"

  "Gave he to you any paper, any writing to show it?"

  "No, no paper; but it is marked in red lines on the map. It was markedoff by Jose Ramirez, of Los Angeles, when they marked all the boundariesof Senor Valdez's estate. They had many instruments of brass and wood tomeasure with, and a long chain, very heavy, which I helped them carry.I myself saw it marked on the map. They all slept in my father'shouse,--Senor Valdez, and Ramirez, and the man who made the measures. Hehired one of our men to carry his instruments, and I went to help, for Iwished to see how it was done; but I could understand nothing, and Josetold me a man must study many years to learn the way of it. It seemed tome our way, by the stones, was much better. But I know it is all markedon the map, for it was with a red line; and my father understood it, andJose Ramirez and Senor Valdez both pointed to it with their finger, andthey said, 'All this here is your land, Pablo, always.' I do not thinkmy father need fear, do you?"

  "I hope not," replied Father Salvierderra, ca
utiously; "but since theway that all the lands of the Missions have been taken away, I havesmall faith in the honesty of the Americans. I think they will take allthat they can. The Church has suffered terrible loss at their hands."

  "That is what my father says," replied Alessandro. "He says, 'Look atSan Luis Rey! Nothing but the garden and orchard left, of all their vastlands where they used to pasture thirty thousand sheep. If the Churchand the Fathers could not keep their lands, what can we Indians do?'That is what my father says."

  "True, true!" said the monk, as he turned into the door of the roomwhere Juan Can lay on his narrow bed, longing yet fearing to see FatherSalvierderra's face coming in. "We are all alike helpless in theirhands, Alessandro. They possess the country, and can make what laws theyplease. We can only say, 'God's will be done,'" and he crossed himselfdevoutly, repeating the words twice.

  Alessandro did the same, and with a truly devout spirit, for he was fullof veneration for the Fathers and their teachings; but as he walked ontowards the shearing-shed he thought: "Then, again, how can it be God'swill that wrong be done? It cannot be God's will that one man shouldsteal from another all he has. That would make God no better than athief, it looks to me. But how can it happen, if it is not God's will?"

  It does not need that one be educated, to see the logic in this formula.Generations of the oppressed and despoiled, before Alessandro, hadgrappled with the problem in one shape or another.

  At the shearing-shed, Alessandro found his men in confusion andill-humor. The shearing had been over and done by ten in the morning,and why were they not on their way to the Ortega's? Waiting all day,--itwas now near sunset,--with nothing to do, and still worse with notmuch of anything to eat, had made them all cross; and no wonder. Theeconomical Juan Can, finding that the work would be done by ten, andsupposing they would be off before noon, had ordered only two sheepkilled for them the day before, and the mutton was all gone, and oldMarda, getting her cue from Juan, had cooked no more frijoles than thefamily needed themselves; so the poor shearers had indeed had a sorryday of it, in no wise alleviated either by the reports brought from timeto time that their captain was lying on the ground, face down, underSenor Felipe's window, and must not be spoken to.

  It was not a propitious moment for Alessandro to make the announcementof his purpose to leave the band; but he made a clean breast of it infew words, and diplomatically diverted all resentment from himself bysetting them immediately to voting for a new captain to take his placefor the remainder of the season.

  "Very well!" they said hotly; "captain for this year, captain for next,too!" It wasn't so easy to step out and in again of the captaincy of theshearers!

  "All right," said Alessandro; "please yourselves! It is all the sameto me. But here I am going to stay for the present. Father Salvierderrawishes it."

  "Oh, if the Father wishes it, that is different." "Ah, that altersthe case!" "Alessandro is right!" came up in confused murmur from theappeased crowd. They were all good Catholics, every one of the Temeculamen, and would never think of going against the Father's orders. Butwhen they understood that Alessandro's intention was to remain untilJuan Canito's leg should be well enough for him to go about again, freshgrumblings began. That would not do. It would be all summer. Alessandromust be at home for the Saint Juan's Day fete, in midsummer,--no doinganything without Alessandro then. What was he thinking of? Not of themidsummer fete, that was certain, when he promised to stay as long asthe Senorita Ramona should need him. Alessandro had remembered nothingexcept the Senorita's voice, while she was speaking to him. If he hadhad a hundred engagements for the summer, he would have forgottenthem all. Now that he was reminded of the midsummer fete, it must beconfessed he was for a moment dismayed at the recollection for that wasa time, when, as he well knew, his father could not do without his help.There were sometimes a thousand Indians at this fete, and disorderlywhites took advantage of the occasion to sell whisky and encourage allsorts of license and disturbance. Yes, Alessandro's clear path of dutylay at Temecula when that fete came off. That was certain.

  "I will manage to be at home then," he said. "If I am not through hereby that time, I will at least come for the fete. That you may dependon."

  The voting for the new captain did not take long. There was, in fact,but one man in the band fit for the office. That was Fernando, the onlyold man in the band; all the rest were young men under thirty, or boys.Fernando had been captain for several years, but had himself begged,two years ago, that the band would elect Alessandro in his place. He wasgetting old, and he did not like to have to sit up and walk about thefirst half of every night, to see that the shearers were not gamblingaway all their money at cards; he preferred to roll himself up in hisblanket at sunset and sleep till dawn the next morning. But just forthese few remaining weeks he had no objection to taking the officeagain. And Alessandro was right, entirely right, in remaining; theyought all to see that, Fernando said; and his word had great weight withthe men.

  The Senora Moreno, he reminded them, had always been a good friendof theirs, and had said that so long as she had sheep to shear, theTemecula shearers should do it; and it would be very ungrateful now ifthey did not do all they could to help her in her need.

  The blankets were rolled up, the saddles collected, the ponies caughtand driven up to the shed, when Ramona and Margarita were seen coming atfull speed from the house.

  "Alessandro! Alessandro!" cried Ramona, out of breath, "I have only justnow heard that the men have had no dinner to-day. I am ashamed; but youknow it would not have happened except for the sickness in the house.Everybody thought they were going away this morning. Now they must havea good supper before they go. It is already cooking. Tell them to wait."

  Those of the men who understood the Spanish language, in which Ramonaspoke, translated it to those who did not, and there was a cordialoutburst of thanks to the Senorita from all lips. All were only tooready to wait for the supper. Their haste to begin on the Ortegasheep-shearing had suddenly faded from their minds. Only Alessandrohesitated.

  "It is a good six hours' ride to Ortega's," he said to the men. "You'llbe late in, if you do not start now."

  "Supper will be ready in an hour," said Ramona. "Please let them stay;one hour can't make any difference."

  Alessandro smiled. "It will take nearer two, Senorita, before they areoff," he said; "but it shall be as you wish, and many thanks to you,Senorita, for thinking of it."

  "Oh, I did not think of it myself," said Ramona. "It was Margarita,here, who came and told me. She knew we would be ashamed to have theshearers go away hungry. I am afraid they are very hungry indeed," sheadded ruefully. "It must be dreadful to go a whole day without anythingto eat; they had their breakfast soon after sunrise, did they not?"

  "Yes, Senorita," answered Alessandro, "but that is not long; one can dowithout food very well for one day. I often do."

  "Often." exclaimed Ramona; "but why should you do that?" Then suddenlybethinking herself, she said in her heart, "Oh, what a thoughtlessquestion! Can it be they are so poor as that?" And to save Alessandrofrom replying, she set off on a run for the house, saying, "Come, come,Margarita, we must go and help at the supper."

  "Will the Senorita let me help, too," asked Alessandro, wondering at hisown boldness,--"if there is anything I can do?"

  "Oh, no," she cried, "there is not. Yes, there is, too. You can helpcarry the things down to the booth; for we are short of hands now, withJuan Can in bed, and Luigo gone to Ventura for the doctor. You and someof your men might carry all the supper over. I'll call you when we areready."

  The men sat down in a group and waited contentedly, smoking, chatting,and laughing. Alessandro walked up and down between the kitchen andthe shed. He could hear the sounds of rattling dishes, jingling spoons,frying, pouring water. Savory smells began to be wafted out. Evidentlyold Marda meant to atone for the shortcoming of the noon. Juan Can, inhis bed, also heard and smelled what was going on. "May the fiends getme," he growled, "if that wasteful old hussy
isn't getting up a feastfor those beasts of Indians! There's mutton and onions, and peppersstewing, and potatoes, I'll be bound, and God knows what else, forbeggars that are only too thankful to get a handful of roasted wheat ora bowl of acorn porridge at home. Well, they'll have to say theywere well feasted at the Moreno's,--that's one comfort. I wonder ifMargarita'll think I am worthy of tasting that stew! San Jose! but itsmells well! Margarita! Margarita!" he called at top of his lungs; butMargarita did not hear. She was absorbed in her duties in the kitchen;and having already taken Juan at sundown a bowl of the good broth whichthe doctor had said was the only sort of food he must eat for two weeks,she had dismissed him from her mind for the night. Moreover, Margaritawas absent-minded to-night. She was more than half in love with thehandsome Alessandro, who, when he had been on the ranch the yearbefore, had danced with her, and said many a light pleasant word to her,evenings, as a young man may; and what ailed him now, that he seemed,when he saw her, as if she were no more than a transparent shade,through which he stared at the sky behind her, she did not know. SenorFelipe's illness, she thought, and the general misery and confusion,had perhaps put everything else out of his head; but now he was goingto stay, and it would be good fun having him there, if only Senor Felipegot well, which he seemed likely to do. And as Margarita flew about,here, there, and everywhere, she cast frequent glances at the tallstraight figure pacing up and down in the dusk outside.

  Alessandro did not see her. He did not see anything. He was looking offat the sunset, and listening. Ramona had said, "I will call you when weare ready." But she did not do as she said. She told Margarita to call.

  "Run, Margarita," she said. "All is ready now; see if Alessandro is insight. Call him to come and take the things."

  So it was Margarita's voice, and not Ramona's, that called "Alessandro!Alessandro! the supper is ready."

  But it was Ramona who, when Alessandro reached the doorway, stood thereholding in her arms a huge smoking platter of the stew which had soroused poor Juan Can's longings; and it was Ramona who said, as she gaveit into Alessandro's hands, "Take care, Alessandro, it is very full. Thegravy will run over if you are not careful. You are not used to waitingon table;" and as she said it, she smiled full into Alessandro'seyes,--a little flitting, gentle, friendly smile, which went near tomaking him drop the platter, mutton, gravy, and all, then and there, ather feet.

  The men ate fast and greedily, and it was not, after all, much more thanan hour, when, full fed and happy, they were mounting their horses toset off. At the last moment Alessandro drew one of them aside. "Jose,"he said, "whose horse is the faster, yours or Antonio's?"

  "Mine," promptly replied Jose. "Mine, by a great deal. I will runAntonio any day he likes."

  Alessandro knew this as well before asking as after. But Alessandro waslearning a great many things in these days, among other things a littlediplomacy. He wanted a man to ride at the swiftest to Temecula and back.He knew that Jose's pony could go like the wind. He also knew that therewas a perpetual feud of rivalry between him and Antonio, in matter ofthe fleetness of their respective ponies. So, having chosen Jose forhis messenger, he went thus to work to make sure that he would urge hishorse to its utmost speed.

  Whispering in Jose's ear a few words, he said, "Will you go? I will payyou for the time, all you could earn at the shearing."

  "I will go," said Jose, elated. "You will see me back tomorrow bysundown."

  "Not earlier?" asked Alessandro. "I thought by noon."

  "Well, by noon be it, then," said Jose. "The horse can do it."

  "Have great care!" said Alessandro.

  "That will I," replied Jose; and giving his horse's sides a sharp punchwith his knees, set off at full gallop westward.

  "I have sent Jose with a message to Temecula," said Alessandro, walkingup to Fernando. "He will be back here tomorrow noon, and join you at theOrtega's the next morning."

  "Back here by noon to-morrow!" exclaimed Fernando. "Not unless he killshis horse!"

  "That was what he said," replied Alessandro, nonchalantly.

  "Easy enough, too!" cried Antonio, riding up on his little dun mare."I'd go in less time than that, on this mare. Jose's is no match forher, and never was. Why did you not send me, Alessandro?"

  "Is your horse really faster than Jose's?" said Alessandro. "Then I wishI had sent you. I'll send you next time."