IX

That evening Anastacio called Roldan to him.

"I fear treachery," he said. "Who can trust five hundred men that have

learned too much? And the white men, they have better brains than mine.

I watch to-night. Will you watch with me, senor?--that I can sleep

before morning and rest for the fight."

"I will," said Roldan, enthusiastically. "And Adan also?"

"It matters not."

When the dusk was so thick in the aisles that every moving frond looked

like a man looming suddenly, one of the sentinels returned with the

news that the paper had been taken from the tree, and that the

Californians had pitched tents, and to all appearance were at rest for

the night.

It was not likely that the enemy would venture into the forest at

night. They were not a large body, they were not pressed for time, nor

were they the heroes of many wars. The Indians were comparatively safe

until morning; nevertheless, Anastacio was too good a general to relax

vigilance. When night came he and the two boys went down the mountain

and sent the outpost back to sleep. They ventured out where the trees

grew far apart, and the brilliant stars of California illumined the

great valley like so many thousand watch-fires.

The three sat down side by side, their gaze directed steadily downward

and outward.

"Why do you fight at all?" asked Roldan. "You could stay in these

mountains until the Californians were dust, and not be caught."

"And live like hunted beasts. I like the valley; the sun in winter, the

cool mountains in summer. If I am victor to-morrow, all the Indians in

California will call me chief. They will run here from every Mission

and hacienda, and from every hill and mountain, like little ones to

their good father; and we will drive the priests out of the country,

and make the hidalgos, the caballeros, the soft silk-dressed donas our

friends or our slaves--as they wish. California belongs to us. The

Great Spirit put us here, not the white man. If it was for them why did

they not grow out of the earth as we did? Why were we put here at all

if our land was not for us? We were happy until these priests came to

drive us mad making boots and mud bricks and wine all day, driven like

dogs to the kennel, flogged when we wanted to lie in the sun--"

"But, Anastacio," interrupted Roldan, who had listened to this strange

outburst with the vague consciousness that the soul of an expiring race

had opened its lips for a brief moment, "you are far more clever than

most Indians. If it were not for the priests you would be no better

than the most ignorant of them."

"If I am clever now, senor, was I not clever in the beginning? You do

not make cake out of bran. The Great Spirit sent his light into me and

said: 'Thou shalt be a great chief.' I could have done as well and

better without the priests. What good did it do me to read and tell my

beads and make chocolate? Was I happy at the Mission? Not for one moon,

senor. I felt as if I had a wild beast chained in me that choked and

panted for the free life of my youth, of my fathers. I ran away from

the Mission twenty-three times--and was brought back and flogged. Many

times I would have crushed my head with a stone had it not been that

all the other Indians of the Mission ran to me like dogs, and that I

could make them tremble with a word and obey with a look. I knew that

the Great Spirit had given me what these poor creatures had not, and

that one day I would give California to them again. It has begun."

"But we have better things to eat and drink and more comfortable houses

and clothes than you have in your pueblos. I like what the priests call

'civilisation.'"

"It is for the white man, not for the Indian with a skin like the earth

and a heart like the wild-cat. If we did not know of fine bread and

thin wine and heavy shoes and cursed bags about our legs we should not

want them. Padre Flores says that he and the other priests came here to

make us happy. Why not let us be happy in our own way? We needed no

teaching."

Years after, Roldan, who grew to know the world well and many men,

recalled the conversation of that night, and meditated upon the strange

workings of the human mind: the fundamental philosophy of life differs

little in the brain of the savage and the brain of the student-thinker.

"We are told that we must progress, grow better," he said.

"Hundreds and hundreds of years Indians lived and died here before the

priests came. All legends say they were happy. Now they 'progress,' and

suffer--in the body and in the spirit. One life is for us, another for

you. Should the white man have many children and children's children

until all the mountains and valleys of California are his, then will

all the Indians die, even though they are treated well for they are

slaves--no more. Are they happy? For what were they made? To be slaves

and die from the earth before they are threescore and ten, to be no

more remembered than the beasts of the field?"

"I hope you'll win to-morrow," cried Roldan, his young mind moved to

pity, and profoundly disturbed. "You can never get California away from

the Spaniard, and I can't wish you to; but you might, if you rallied

all the Indians to you, become powerful enough to live in the way you

like best, and I hope you will. Why should men say: 'I am better than

you; I will make you like myself?' How do we know? I have ridden like

the wind, and coliared a bull with the best vaquero in the Californias,

but I am afraid my mind has had fifteen years of siesta. Now--well, I

shall be governor of the Californias one day, and then I shall send all

the Indians back to the mountains."

Anastacio put out his hand, and the two civilisations decreed by Nature

to stand apart from the beginning to the end of time clasped in brief

friendship.

"I will be your friend," said the Indian, "and the white man need not

despise the friendship of a great chief. California is a fair land.

Others will come to it besides the Spaniard. If Anastacio has thousands

of Indians to run to his call they will fight when he bids them."

"Caramba! you are right," exclaimed Roldan. "Those Americans--"

"American boys?" asked Adan, eagerly.

"Now," said Anastacio, "I sleep. Awake me when the sky turns grey."

He stretched himself out and slept at once. The boys drew close

together and speculated upon the fateful morrow. They agreed to remain

close together, out of sight of the enemy, but where they could watch

the Indian forces. If Anastacio fell they would flee at once.

X

The small Californian force--it numbered little over two hundred

men--was under the command of Juan Pardo Mesa, a captain notable for

his victorious encounters with Indians and for his knowledge of their

cunning. He was on the alert at dawn next morning, and long before the

sun had spurned the tops of the Coast range, his assumption of

meditated treachery was confirmed. A rising wind had set the young

redwoods in motion. Before long the practised eye of Captain Mesa saw

an increased agitation among the feathery branches, his ear caught a

slight crackling. His men were flat on the ground. He stood in the

shadow of a large oak. A moment later a dusky form crept out to where

the brush grew more sparsely, hesitated a moment, and apparently passed

back word that all was well; he was immediately followed by many of his

kind; and the lower slope of the mountain, burnt bare by fire, seemed

suddenly swarming with huge black rats.

Mesa waited until they were well away from cover, then gave the

expected order: two hundred muskets, carbines, and flintlock pistols

were discharged, and one piece of artillery.

But Anastacio, no mean general himself, was also on the alert for the

unexpected. In a few moments he had marshalled his forces in the form

of a hollow square, and ordered them to discharge their arrows from a

recumbent position. Owing to the heavy shadows, the aim of the

Californians had been uncertain, and only a few of the Indians had

fallen. Roldan and Adan were safe behind two large redwoods just above

the Indian army.

The firing continued steadily all the morning, but resulted in few

mortal wounds. There was not a poisoned arrow in the pueblo. The balls

did more serious damage, and several Indians rolled groaning down the

slope. The rest were undaunted. They were more than two to one, and had

implicit faith in their chief's assurance that they were bound to rout

the Spaniard.

Under cover of the cloud of smoke his weapons had raised despite a

strong wind, Mesa executed two flank movements, justifying the tactics

of Anastacio: he detached forty men from the main body and directed

them to attack the Indians on both sides and to cut off their retreat

to the forest. They were almost upon the north and south ends of

Anastacio's square--after making a detour and advancing from a

distance--when the boys shouted a warning. In a moment arrows were

flying to right and left; and the answering volley was far more deadly

than the effects of firing up hill. The Indians stood their ground,

fitting their arrows with swift dexterity, encouraged by Anastacio, who

glided from point to point like a hungry cobra, discharging two arrows

to every man's one. His only hope was to keep the Californians at long

range until losses compelled the latter to retreat: at close quarters

arrows would be no match for firearms.

The battle began at five in the morning. It was at four in the

afternoon that Roldan passed his hand across his burning eyeballs, then

gripped Adan's arm and said through his teeth,--

"Anastacio is hit. I saw him shake from head to foot."

"Madre de dios! Shall we run?"

"Not yet. My brain is on fire. War is awful, and yet I burn to have a

pistol in my hands. I am sorry for Anastacio--but Dios de mi alma!--to

see a brave Spanish officer bite the dust with the arrow of a dog in

his brain! Ay, he moves! He is not dead."

"His hand is as steady--but--do you notice?--all are not firing."

"The arrows are giving out. There is only one end. But I must see it

through. Mary! Mary! They are breaking."

The Indians, finding themselves almost without arrows, had sprung to

their feet, intending to make a rush for cover; but Mesa had

anticipated this move, and almost immediately his men had closed with

the savages, knocking them on the head with the butt-end of their

muskets, discharging their pistols at short range. The Indians used

both tooth and nail, yelling like wildcats. The cool imperturbability

of the earlier part of the day had fled with their arrows. Anastacio

fought like a tiger. Despite his wounded thigh he stood firmly on his

feet, snatched the musket from a man his hands had throttled, and

whirled it about his head, threatening death to all that approached.

His face was swollen with passion, his eyes were starting from their

sockets, his long hair tossed wildly. The boys watched him with cold

extremities and hot cheeks and eyes. They were oblivious to the rest of

the battlefield. The fate of the indomitable chief, upon whose life the

freedom of a race perhaps depended, would have riveted the attention of

older and wiser brains. His movements were easy to follow; he was head

above all and shoulders above many.

Suddenly the boys gave a gasp. The head of Anastacio was no longer to

be seen above that surging throng. Had he been wounded in a vital part?

A moment later they gave a hoarse gurgling cry and clung together,

shaking like children in icy water. The head of Anastacio rose

again--above the crowd, then higher,--higher,--until it looked down

upon the squirming mass from six feet above. It was on the end of a

pole.