Many things had happened, and it had been a bad day. "A day cursed of
God!" said Pedro Gallardo, the driver; and against such ill fortune the
carriage of Senora Luisa Arteaga made such progress as might be, from
San Luis Rey to San Juan.
Clouds had drifted along the mountains each night for a week, and never
the ranges a bit the better for it, until the cavalcade of Dona Luisa
had started north from San Diego; and then--well, it was not what you
would call a rain, it was a torrent came down. The skies had opened, and
a deluge followed.
Then, after leaving San Luis Rey, a carriage-pole must break in an
attempt at a runaway, and two horses were lost over that, to say nothing
of the off leader, whose "sire had been the devil, and whose dam had
been a witch thrice accursed in the foaling!" Their joint offspring
had demonstrated his infernal lineage by breaking his own leg as well as
the carriage-pole, and another untamed beast had to be roped on the
range--hog-tied, and blindfolded to get the harness on him; and because
of him Pedro's throat was fairly blistered with curses.
As the wheels sank into the sands or plunged from one ravine into
another, Dona Luisa prayed and trusted to the saints that she might see
her own valley again, and her companion, Dona Jacoba, protested, and
forgetting to pray, waxed argumentative.
"Raquel was right, Luisa," she repeated for the twentieth time between
her groans; "we had been wise to wait at San Diego for Rafael. She has
an old head on her shoulders--you will have a wise daughter when the day
comes."
"Wise! Yes--yes!" moaned Dona Luisa, shaking her head. "I thank the
Virgin for that, every day, for Rafael is young, Jacoba; a baby of a
wife would be his ruin. Yet--a baby might love him!"
"Our boys get love enough!" grunted Jacoba, thinking of her own sons,
and her own troubles. "They need wives with sense; and our girls all go
wild these days about the Americanos, so--"
[Illustration: RAQUEL ESTEVAN]
"The girls, too!" and Dona Luisa's tones were strident with censure. "It
is bad enough when men must buy and sell with the Americanos in the
markets; but the girls,--the women of California,--it is in their hands
to shut the door when the Americano knocks--is it not so?"
"Oh, yes, of course--yes--it is as you say," agreed Jacoba, weakly, as
she thought of the many girls of their relationship, who had opened
doors very wide indeed for the Americanos, and of not a few who were to
open also the door of the Church. But who could tell Dona Luisa that?
"Rafael is all I have left, now that Miguel is killed," continued the
mother. "My only grandchildren are half-breeds, and only Rafael is left.
Ai! it is hard to grow old,--to let go all lines. But you know what
makes me happy, Jacoba? No? It is this one big thing. Raquel will be
what I was. She may suffer, but she will stand square on her feet; and
she will fight as her father fought--and it will be for California."
"You think so?" asked Jacoba, doubtfully. "It may be so, but--do you
expect strong fights from a girl who was half a nun? I say she knows too
little of the world to fight it."
"You take from me my one hope when you say that!" and the older woman
put out her hand appealingly. "Our men are wild--always! It is the
women's work to save them. The death of Miguel is making me think much
and quick. Rafael must be marry. There must be no more Indio women and
children."
Jacoba glanced doubtfully at her friend. These five years, while Rafael
had been learning California ranch life, Jacoba had lived near enough to
hear much that she never could repeat to the old mother, whose life was
so nearly spent, whose weakness and prejudices could never cope with the
new life in the changed land--and of what use to torture her with the
truth? She wished with all her heart the exile had elected to stop over
at San Diego or San Luis Rey, until some little glimmer of present
conditions should enlighten her.
"It is well the _donas_ came by water," she remarked, eager to find some
straw of comfort in the situation. "Even extra baggage would be a care,
with these roads and troubles, to say nothing of the temptation to El
Capitan! Thanks to God, he never yet has had record of troubling women
on the road."
"He was a fine boy," said Dona Luisa, musingly. "It is not his fault
that he is an outlaw to these States. It means only that he is patriot
to California. He was a fine boy."
"Ask thy son how fine he thinks El Capitan!" remarked Jacoba. "Rafael
has paid him a heavy tax in his best stock. They have long ago
forgotten they are cousins."
"Raquel will make him remember," said the older woman, with certainty.
"Did he not fight as he was able beside her father? Ai! he fought for
California when only a boy. Do Californians forget?"
"He does not let them do so," remarked Jacoba dryly. "Much has changed,
Luisa."
"I see no change, only the Indios more poor. The hills are green, as
always after the rains. All these ranges are the same like we rode over
them forty years ago. The hills and the sea never change, only the
people. It is good to hear there is one of the young left who thinks in
the old way."
"But--holy Maria!--we were never robbers, Luisa!"
"Well, we did not need to be," returned her friend. "But I tell you
truly, Jacoba, I could find it in my heart to forgive a son who fought
the Americanos as he does, even if they made him outlaw. He could not be
outlaw to the Church, nor to me."
Jacoba said no more. Of what use was it to tell her that a few such
women would be firebrands in the land if they had youth, and that the
American soldiers, instead of coming peacefully to buy stock and pay
good prices, would come from Los Angeles shooting,--would come with
torches to burn each town where rebels hid. It was no longer little
internal wars, such as they used to have in the days they both
remembered, when the men who smoked or played together one month would
fight under different leaders the next.
There were no faction fights now. It was one great ugly pale nation to
the east, trailing slowly over the ranges and planting itself like the
live-oak in the canyons. The Mexicans might hate, might curse; but the
curses made no difference against the heretics. They had no churches,
and they laughed at the beautiful wooden saints in the old chapel. Had
not some of them snuffed out candles on the graves with their accursed
rifles, last All Souls' Day? Yet the sky had not fallen, and no
earthquake had come! What would even prayers or holy Church do against a
people so ignored by God?
But Jacoba knew there was no use to fight. She remembered what that
meant in the other days. In an old adobe of San Juan's one street she
had helped as a girl to nurse the wounded of San Pascual. It was years
ago, but she had not forgotten the cruel wounds, or the young Americano
who died in her arms there. She had never mentioned to any the reason of
her hatred for war; for even with revenge in reach, on whom would she
seek it?--on her brother who had killed a stranger forcing their gates?
"You do not forget how the blessed Junipero Serra himself spoke from the
altar of San Juan in the old days, Luisa; our grandfather telling us
that many times,--how, when the Spanish guard was hard with the Indios,
he stood on the altar and say that a new people will come and put the
foot on the neck of the Mexican like the Mexican tramp on the Indios. He
say it, and cry--cry for the reason that the good God no can make their
hearts more soft to the Indios. I think of that when I see the
Americanos come. They not put the foot on the neck--but they are here!"
"Father Junipero was old then--very old--like a child, and would make of
the Indios babies to be petted," returned Dona Luisa, leniently. "He was
a saint--not a man; only the saints could have the patience with those
Indios--I remember! One of the old scares of the padre's was that the
water would fail us; yet San Juan still has its river!"
Jacoba nodded. They were likely to find the river a difficulty after the
rainfall. The ford was not a good one in high water; but the thought of
getting across the ford was a trifle compared to the difficulty of
impressing Dona Luisa with any idea of the change she would find in the
land she had known.
In sheer despair she returned once more to a safer subject, Raquel
Estevan,--Raquel the wise, who was to marry with Rafael and forever
build a wall about him from American influence; Raquel, who might not
love, because of that dark shadow of the cloister, but who would be all
the more wise for that! Still, who could tell?
"When one is young like that, one never can be sure until the right man
comes," said Jacoba; "and she is handsome, your Raquel. But is it true
what they say, that there was the blood of the old Mexican Indios in her
mother?"
Dona Luisa did not commit herself; yet she realized that Raquel Estevan
might have a few battles to fight along the line of race, as well as
against the Americanos; for of course Rafael was a favorite; of course
there would be burning hearts and jealousy at first.
[Illustration: KEITH BRYTON]
[Music: _Esta Noche_]
Esta noche voy a verte,
Al otro lado del rio
Te encargo que estes despierta ay!
Para quando te haga (_se silva_)
Ay! Paloma, daca el pico De ese rico manantial,
Ay! Paloma, daca el pico De ese rico manantial!
[Music]