"I can do it," said Rafael, proudly, "and I shall."
The other boys, good sportsmen as they all were, shouted, "No! no!"
again; but Rafael laughed gaily, and forced his horse up the almost
perpendicular declivity, leisurely unwinding his lariat from the high
pommel of his saddle, and tossing it into big snake-like loops, which
he gathered one by one into his hand, the last about his thumb. The
bull fed on unsuspecting, for the early green of winter was very
delicious after eight months of unrelenting sunshine. When Rafael
reached the summit he rode back for some distance, then came at the
bull full charge, yelling like a demon. The bull, terrified and
indignant, gave a mighty snort and leaped over the brow of the hill. It
was much like descending the slightly inclined side of a cliff, but he
kept his footing. The boys held their breath as Rafael rode straight
over the brow in the wake of the bull. With one hand he held the bridle
in a tight grip, in the other he held aloft the coils of the lariat. It
looked like a huge snake, and quivered as if aware that it was about to
spring. There was no cheering; the boys were too much alarmed. A
mis-step and there would be a hideous heap at the foot of the hill.
The little mustang appeared scarcely to touch the uneven surface of the
descent. He looked as if galloping in air, and tossed his head fiercely
as though to shake the rising sun out of his eyes. The bull seemed
continually gathering himself for a great leap, his clumsy bulk heaving
from side to side. But a quarter of the distance had been traversed
when the great curves of the lasso sprang forward, and, amidst a hoarse
murmur from the boys, caught the bull below the horns. But that was
all. The bull would not down! There would be no coliar! He merely ran
on--the brute! the beast!--jerking his horns defiantly, putting down
his head, nearly dragging Rafael from the saddle. But no! but no!
Rafael has risen in his saddle, he has forced his mustang the harder,
he is almost level with the bull--he has passed! He gives a great jerk,
dragging the bull to his knees, then another, and the bull is on his
side and rolling over and over down the hill, Rafael following fast,
slackening his lariat. The boys now cheer wildly, although danger is
not over--yes, in another moment it is, and Rafael, smiling
complacently, is at the foot of the hill, disengaging the humbled bull.
"Bravo!" said a voice from behind the horses. All turned with a start.
It was the priest. "Coliar was never better done," he added graciously;
and Rafael felt that the day was his.
The priest had ridden up unnoted in the tense excitement of the last
few moments. He sat a big powerful horse, and his bearing was as
military as that of the two great generals of the Californias, Castro
and Vallejo.
As the boys, congratulations and modest acknowledgement over, were
making for home and breakfast, the priest pressed his horse close to
Roldan's. "I interested you much at the race yesterday, Don Roldan," he
said, with a good-humoured smile. "Why was that?"
Roldan was not often embarrassed, but he was so taken aback at the
abrupt sally he forgot to be flattered that the priest had evidently
thought it worth while to inquire his name; and stammered: "I--well,
you see, my father, you are not like other priests." Which was not
undiplomatic.
The priest smiled, this time with a faint flush of unmistakable
pleasure. "You are right, my son, I am not as other priests in this
wilderness. Would to Heaven I were, or--"
"Or that you were in Spain?" Roldan could not resist saying, then
caught his breath at his temerity.
The priest turned about and faced him squarely. "Yes," he said
deliberately, "and that I were a cardinal of Rome. Such words I have
never uttered to mortal before; but if I am not as other men, neither
are you as other lads. Some day you will be a Castro or an Alvarado; it
is written in your face. Perhaps something more, for changes may come
and your opportunities be greater. But I--I am no longer young; there
is no hope in California for me."
"Why do you not return to Spain?"
"I have written. They will not answer. In my youth I was wild. They
forced me to come here. I had no money. I was obliged to obey. I have
christianized a few hundred worthless savages who were better off in
their barbarism, and I have made myself a power among a few thousand
men of whom the outer world, the great world, knows nothing. My Mission
is the most prosperous in the Californias--and I--" he set and ground
his teeth.
Roldan thought of the gold. "When I am governor of the Californias, my
father," he said, "I shall send you back to Spain, for then I shall
have great influence--and much gold."
At the last word the priest's eyes flamed with so fierce a light that
Roldan shrank back repelled, feeling himself in the presence of a
passion of which he had no knowledge. But the priest controlled himself
at once. "Thank you, my son," he said with a brilliant smile. "And I do
not ask you to guard as your own what I have said. It is a part of the
power of such natures as yours that you know what to repeat and what to
leave unsaid." Then as they approached the house he suddenly took
Roldan's slender elegant hand in one of his mighty paws, shook it
heartily, and flinging his bridle to a vaquero, sprang lightly to the
ground and entered the courtyard, leaving our hero in a condition of
flattered bewilderment.