THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
I
Pilar, from her little window just above the high wall surrounding thebig adobe house set apart for the women neophytes of the Mission ofSanta Ines, watched, morning and evening, for Andreo, as he came andwent from the rancheria. The old women kept the girls busy, spinning,weaving, sewing; but age nods and youth is crafty. The tall young Indianwho was renowned as the best huntsman of all the neophytes, and whosupplied Padre Arroyo's table with deer and quail, never failed to keephis ardent eyes fixed upon the grating so long as it lay within the lineof his vision. One day he went to Padre Arroyo and told him that Pilarwas the prettiest girl behind the wall--the prettiest girl in all theCalifornias--and that she should be his wife. But the kind stern oldpadre shook his head.
"You are both too young. Wait another year, my son, and if thou artstill in the same mind, thou shalt have her."
Andreo dared to make no protest, but he asked permission to prepare ahome for his bride. The padre gave it willingly, and the young Indianbegan to make the big adobes, the bright red tiles. At the end of amonth he had built him a cabin among the willows of the rancheria, alittle apart from the others: he was in love, and association with hisfellows was distasteful. When the cabin was builded his impatienceslipped from its curb, and once more he besought the priest to allow himto marry.
Padre Arroyo was sunning himself on the corridor of the mission,shivering in his heavy brown robes, for the day was cold.
"Orion," he said sternly--he called all his neophytes after thecelebrities of earlier days, regardless of the names given them at thefont--"have I not told thee thou must wait a year? Do not be impatient,my son. She will keep. Women are like apples: when they are too young,they set the teeth on edge; when ripe and mellow, they please everysense; when they wither and turn brown, it is time to fall from the treeinto a hole. Now go and shoot a deer for Sunday: the good padres fromSan Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara are coming to dine with me."
Andreo, dejected, left the padre. As he passed Pilar's window and saw apair of wistful black eyes behind the grating, his heart took fire. Noone was within sight. By a series of signs he made his lady understandthat he would place a note beneath a certain adobe in the wall.
Pilar, as she went to and fro under the fruit trees in the garden,or sat on the long corridor weaving baskets, watched that adobe withfascinated eyes. She knew that Andreo was tunnelling it, and one day atiny hole proclaimed that his work was accomplished. But how to get thenote? The old women's eyes were very sharp when the girls were in frontof the gratings. Then the civilizing development of Christianityupon the heathen intellect triumphantly asserted itself. Pilar, too,conceived a brilliant scheme. That night the padre, who encouraged anyevidence of industry, no matter how eccentric, gave her a little gardenof her own--a patch where she could raise sweet peas and Castilianroses.
"That is well, that is well, my Nausicaa," he said, stroking her smokybraids. "Go cut the slips and plant them where thou wilt. I will sendthee a package of sweet pea seeds."
Pilar spent every spare hour bending over her "patch"; and the hole, atfirst no bigger than a pin's point, was larger at each setting of thesun behind the mountain. The old women, scolding on the corridor, calledto her not to forget vespers.
On the third evening, kneeling on the damp ground, she drew from thelittle tunnel in the adobe a thin slip of wood covered with the labourof sleepless nights. She hid it in her smock--that first of California'slove-letters--then ran with shaking knees and prostrated herself beforethe altar. That night the moon streamed through her grating, and shedeciphered the fact that Andreo had loosened eight adobes above hergarden, and would await her every midnight.
Pilar sat up in bed and glanced about the room with terrified delight.It took her but a moment to decide the question; love had kept her awaketoo many nights. The neophytes were asleep; as they turned now andagain, their narrow beds of hide, suspended from the ceiling, swung toogently to awaken them. The old women snored loudly. Pilar slipped fromher bed and looked through the grating. Andreo was there, the dignityand repose of primeval man in his bearing. She waved her hand andpointed downward to the wall; then, throwing on the long coarse graysmock that was her only garment, crept from the room and down the stair.The door was protected against hostile tribes by a heavy iron bar, butPilar's small hands were hard and strong, and in a moment she stood overthe adobes which had crushed her roses and sweet peas.
As she crawled through the opening, Andreo took her hand bashfully, forthey never had spoken. "Come," he said; "we must be far away beforedawn."
They stole past the long mission, crossing themselves as they glancedaskance at the ghostly row of pillars; past the guard-house, where thesentries slept at their post; past the rancheria; then, springing upon awaiting mustang, dashed down the valley. Pilar had never been on a horsebefore, and she clung in terror to Andreo, who bestrode the unsaddledbeast as easily as a cloud rides the wind. His arm held her closely,fear vanished, and she enjoyed the novel sensation. Glancing overAndreo's shoulder she watched the mass of brown and white buildings,the winding river, fade into the mountain. Then they began to ascendan almost perpendicular steep. The horse followed a narrow trail; thecrowding trees and shrubs clutched the blankets and smocks of theriders; after a time trail and scene grew white: the snow lay on theheights.
"Where do we go?" she asked.
"To Zaca Lake, on the very top of the mountain, miles above us. No onehas ever been there but myself. Often I have shot deer and birds besideit. They never will find us there."
The red sun rose over the mountains of the east. The crystal moon sankin the west. Andreo sprang from the weary mustang and carried Pilar tothe lake.
A sheet of water, round as a whirlpool but calm and silver, lay amidstthe sweeping willows and pine-forested peaks. The snow glittered beneaththe trees, but a canoe was on the lake, a hut on the marge.
II
Padre Arroyo tramped up and down the corridor, smiting his handstogether. The Indians bowed lower than usual, as they passed, andhastened their steps. The soldiers scoured the country for the boldviolators of mission law. No one asked Padre Arroyo what he would dowith the sinners, but all knew that punishment would be sharp andsummary: the men hoped that Andreo's mustang had carried him beyond itsreach; the girls, horrified as they were, wept and prayed in secret forPilar.
A week later, in the early morning, Padre Arroyo sat on the corridor.The mission stood on a plateau overlooking a long valley forked andsparkled by the broad river. The valley was planted thick with olivetrees, and their silver leaves glittered in the rising sun. The mountainpeaks about and beyond were white with snow, but the great red poppiesblossomed at their feet. The padre, exiled from the luxury and societyof his dear Spain, never tired of the prospect: he loved his missionchildren, but he loved Nature more.
Suddenly he leaned forward on his staff and lifted the heavy brownhood of his habit from his ear. Down the road winding from the easternmountains came the echo of galloping footfalls. He rose expectantly andwaddled out upon the plaza, shading his eyes with his hand. A half-dozensoldiers, riding closely about a horse bestridden by a stalwart youngIndian supporting a woman, were rapidly approaching the mission. Thepadre returned to his seat and awaited their coming.
The soldiers escorted the culprits to the corridor; two held the horsewhile they descended, then led it away, and Andreo and Pilar were alonewith the priest. The bridegroom placed his arm about the bride andlooked defiantly at Padre Arroyo, but Pilar drew her long hair about herface and locked her hands together.
Padre Arroyo folded his arms and regarded them with lowered brows, asneer on his mouth.
"I have new names for you both," he said, in his thickest voice."Antony, I hope thou hast enjoyed thy honeymoon. Cleopatra, I hope thylittle toes did not get frost-bitten. You both look as if food had beenscarce. And your garments have gone in good part to clothe the brambles,I infer. It is too bad you could not wait a year and love in your ca
binat the rancheria, by a good fire, and with plenty of frijoles andtortillas in your stomachs." He dropped his sarcastic tone, and, risingto his feet, extended his right arm with a gesture of malediction. "Doyou comprehend the enormity of your sin?" he shouted. "Have you notlearned on your knees that the fires of hell are the rewards of unlawfullove? Do you not know that even the year of sackcloth and ashes I shallimpose here on earth will not save you from those flames a million timeshotter than the mountain fire, than the roaring pits in which evilIndians torture one another? A hundred years of their scorching breath,of roasting flesh, for a week of love! Oh, God of my soul!"
Andreo looked somewhat staggered, but unrepentant. Pilar burst into loudsobs of terror.
The padre stared long and gloomily at the flags of the corridor. Then heraised his head and looked sadly at his lost sheep.
"My children," he said solemnly, "my heart is wrung for you. Youhave broken the laws of God and of the Holy Catholic Church, and thepunishments thereof are awful. Can I do anything for you, excepting topray? You shall have my prayers, my children. But that is not enough;I cannot--ay! I cannot endure the thought that you shall be damned.Perhaps"--again he stared meditatively at the stones, then, after animpressive silence, raised his eyes. "Heaven vouchsafes me an idea, mychildren. I will make your punishment here so bitter that Almighty Godin His mercy will give you but a few years of purgatory after death.Come with me."
He turned and led the way slowly to the rear of the mission buildings.Andreo shuddered for the first time, and tightened his arm about Pilar'sshaking body. He knew that they were to be locked in the dungeons.Pilar, almost fainting, shrank back as they reached the narrow spiralstair which led downward to the cells. "Ay! I shall die, my Andreo!" shecried. "Ay! my father, have mercy!"
"I cannot, my children," said the padre, sadly. "It is for the salvationof your souls."
"Mother of God! When shall I see thee again, my Pilar?" whisperedAndreo. "But, ay! the memory of that week on the mountain will keep usboth alive."
Padre Arroyo descended the stair and awaited them at its foot.Separating them, and taking each by the hand, he pushed Andreo ahead anddragged Pilar down the narrow passage. At its end he took a great bunchof keys from his pocket, and raising both hands commanded them to kneel.He said a long prayer in a loud monotonous voice which echoed andreechoed down the dark hall and made Pilar shriek with terror. Then hefairly hurled the marriage ceremony at them, and made the couple repeatafter him the responses. When it was over, "Arise," he said.
The poor things stumbled to their feet, and Andreo caught Pilar in alast embrace.
"Now bear your incarceration with fortitude, my children; and if you donot beat the air with your groans, I will let you out in a week. Do nothate your old father, for love alone makes him severe, but pray, pray,pray."
And then he locked them both in the same cell.