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Show 8 CMIL'CI: By FRANK H. SPEARMAN rrk h. sPM,m. wnu s.rvk. V., tllAl'lH! 1 Vhe s;te of the r.uu-ho coukl iut i- : h.:o ,l'' u're hjippil.v clusn. for J ; ii'.:!'S ii!' l.iiiJsOiipe t- v le a park .""in Ki'Htlv rolluifi hills rtiul wklo-Jv wklo-Jv s(,vf.ui;iis v.illovs. The soil vv;is car-"'jvt1 car-"'jvt1 with nutritious grasses tor :-. 1V:i Alfredo's herds, and nature pro-' pro-' ;. v..'V.1 (or spring and summer an un- C- !;!t profusion of wiM ttowers that :t turned the broad fields into a riot of purple and Sold, imperial in beauty. V Overlooking this inviting prospect ' rose the wooded foothills, like the frame of a picture, dignified in the distance by the heights of the ma-. ma-. N- Jes::o Sierras. ' : T!ie ranch house had been built on V" :1 elevation that commanded a view s ci both the ocean and the hill coiin-try. coiin-try. Ton Alfredo had developed the i r.uicho and built tlie ranch house to welcome his Spanish bride, now V r.'i'J Juana. the mother of his chil-dre:i. chil-dre:i. two little girls of six and eight rears and one older brother. Dona ji:.i:a had brought from Spain Cie culture and traditions of Spanish - centuries, and at the presidio in San Diego, in the gatherings at the i rsr.cho. or when a more formal fes- -tivity called for a bailie in town por.a Juana was notable among beautiful women for . gaiety and In her necessarily crude Callfor-" Callfor-" nia surroundings, far from the state- r It repose cf Estramadura and Ma--j - arid. Dona Juana confessed to only i j'cr.e feeling of uneasiness: that was i - what her devoted Don Alfredo 5 termed an '"unreasonable" fear of ir.eur.'.ain Indians, who at long in-J-t: tervals made forays on the ranches to steal horses. It was only gradually that she " overcame this fear. But the sun- - shine ar.d the peace of her imme- :d;ate surroundings, the care she de- ro'.ed to her children and the al-'"-ays affectionate solicitude of her husband, were powerful sedatives J""fcr her peace of mind. Z, It was thus that the years of moth-...srhood moth-...srhood passed for Dona Juana. Her jwn maid was an alert mission In-: In-: a Jian named Monica. Monica, like ier mistress, was of an apprehensive apprehen-sive temperament; she had even .es cor.2der.ee in the Sierra Indians an Dona Juana herself. The older of the two girls had frown to be eight when her mother r.ade ready for a little house party, i valecito casero. On the day be-' be-' ore the invitations were sent out ' - jy messengerv Monica came to her nistress with disquieting news. Dc.-.a Juana was seated in the patio acir.g the garden. The two children rere gathering Bowers. The elder ran to her mother with i pretty bloom and a question. TTnat is this one, Madre mia?" 'That, Carmelita, is a Mariposa, i beautiful flower. I am glad you our.d one." Before Teresa, the younger girl, :culd bring a rival for her sister's l X)sy Monica came running down rom the house. She ignored her 3 lets, the little girls, and spoke in ow tones to her mistress. t j Dcr.a Juana started. "'Where did 'O'j hear this?" she asked. "From Manuelo, the cock. You '.' j iot, senora, he has a boy, Yosco. do not trust that boy. Manuelo is -Js-icnest he has warned us before. x think Yosco gets his news secretly rom a renegade mission Indian and ells his father." "V."nen does Manuelo say the at- ack will take place?" rij "He does not know but soon." ' Dona Juana left Monica with the 1 1 hildren and returned to the house, he found Don Alfredo in his office, leaning his carbine for a hunt. : "Alfredo," said his wife, "Monica ' slls me an Indian outbreak is com- ag. You know, they always attack ae outlying ranchos first Monica banks we should go in at once to the 3 'residio, Alfredo, and stay till the anger is over." I Don Alfredo showed impatience. "Monica is always bringing some ock-and-bull story about an attack. ' he had the same story a year ago, rid there was no attack." Si' 'True, Alfredo. But we learned sjifterward they were frightened . way by the bonfires Don Santiago uilt and by the noise he made." Her husband scoffed. "And are yhese the savages we are to run u ' .way from, who are scared by bon- ires and by the noise Don Santiago Inakes at Tia Juana when he is half runk? It is nonsense, Juana; pay . j-; o attention to these old wives' 4 ... ales." But Don Alfredo's assurance id not set his wife's forebodings at s:'est. She abandoned her plans ; - or the house party. On the evening of the following aturday Monica's first alarm had ome on Monday the Indian woman ame to her mistress and Don AI-Jredo, AI-Jredo, begging them to heed her. vith tears in her eyes she told them e Indians would surely attack. She rgc-d that they leave at once for c ne presidio and safety. Dona Juana 'as so seriously affected by the ,ireat of danger to her children that J', er husband reluctantly consented ,1-': go to the presidio until the threat-ned threat-ned danger had passed. Sunday morning, after a hurried rcakfast and with all preparations t departure made, Don Alfredo, 'ith two vaqueros, went down to 4 if -orral. They were lassoing ttj orps for the trip when they heard yell that split the air. It was the war whoop of the Sierra Indians, riding nt breakneck pace out of the hills. Nuked or half-naked, they dashed helter-skelter down on the ranch house, yelling and beating- their ponies. po-nies. Hon Alfredo and the two vaqueros va-queros were caught at the corral gate. Realising their deadly peril, they ran on foot toward the ranch house for muskets. They hoped that the marauders might stop first nt the corral to run on horses. But the Indians were after more than horses. Despite the speed of their pursuers pur-suers the frantic Spaniard and his fleet cowboys, each of them already hit but not disabled, by murderous arrows, managed, breathless, to make the front door of the house. Don Alfredo sprang at the thumb latch to throw open the door. He gave a loud cry. The door was barred from the inside. He raised his voice in a mighty shout, his companions com-panions joining in. With only seconds sec-onds left before the yelling horsemen horse-men should be upon them the three desperate men threw themselves with all their force against the barred door in vain. It had been the boast of the Rancho Los Alamos that no foe. however powerful, could break through that door. Only a moment of life was left to the distracted Don to wonder, amazed, at why his own door had been thus barred against him. The next moment he and his men lay on the porch, shot through and through with arrows. The foremost of their pursuers, springing from ponies, were already astride their victims, hacking their bodies with knives as they glutted their fury and grunted at each stab into the bodies of their dying victims. In less time than the telling. It was over. The brown tile of the portico w-as a shambles. The savages, sav-ages, frenzied with triumph, dragged the bodies from the door, and the chief, his hands dripping with the blood of Don Alfredo, pounaea on me aoor ana snouted in his Indian tongue. The door was promptly flung open. The savages, rushing into the house, ran to the bedrooms. Thers were four. The Indian houseboy, Yosco, who had barred the door to his master, mas-ter, opened it to the murderers and pointed with eager, cunning eyes to the room of Don Alfredo. Within the room there were more whites to be butchered. Don Alfredo's Alfre-do's wife, clasping In each arm a young daughter, was on her knees before a pitying statue of the Blessed Bless-ed Virgin, calling distractedly for protection. The chief dashed toward her. H:s hatchet was uplifted to cleave her skull when, shrieking aloud. Monica, the Indian maid, dashed through the crowding warriors war-riors and seized the chief's arm. He turned and struck her to the floor with his fist. Before he could turn again and bring his hatchet on the Dona's head Monica had sprung to her feet and grasping his enraged arm, pleaded for her mistress' life. He struck her off and turned again, with hatchet uplifted. But the two screaming little girls clasped their arms about their mother's head. The infuriated butcher tried to tear them away. They screamed the more and clung the closer to their mother. Monica once more threw herself upon the savage. The lust for killing momentarily passed, j The beauty in the uplifted, terror- stricken faces of the girls gave him another thought He thrust the pant ing Monica away, ordered the mother moth-er of the girls bound and, with the savages who had crowded after him, ran from room to room, searching for more victims. Every corner of the premises was searched till the hidden guns and powder of the rancho were found, and these, with many grunts and yells, were taken out of doors for the chief. Wines and brandies were discovered. dis-covered. With bottles and demijohns demi-johns to their mouths the attackers poured fiery potions down their throats, grabbing the bottles from one another until they were staggering stag-gering around in every stage of drunkenness. The chief grew even more vicious In his cups. He ordered the frantic girls torn from their mother's arms and carried to his ponies. Again he sought to kill Dona Juana, and again Monica, who could not be wrenched from her mistress, prevented pre-vented the murder, offering her own life to appease the drunken rage of the captor. As the liquor worked on the savage sav-age his senses reeled increasingly, and as if glutted with bloodshed, he ordered the Dona stripped of her clothing and driven from the house. In the interval the buildings had all been gutted, and. capering before the house, the drunken savage arrayed ar-rayed In Don Alfredo's hat ordered the ranch buildings burned. Fires were set. Flames were soon rising In every direction. Drunken Indians danced about the flames and shot arrows into the burning houses; others, mounting, made ready to run olf the horses from the corral. The chief, securing the two fainting girls on a spare pony headed head-ed for tiie mountains, hardly looked back nt the complete ruin of what, Drunken Indians danced about. three hours before, had been the famed Rancho Los Alamos. Monica, her shriveled features streaming with grief, had crept down to the river after her mistress had bc?n stripped of her clothing. Hidden under her arm, she carrieJ a dress. Escaping the roaming eyes of the marauding savages, she worked her way stealthily down along the river, keeping under the shelving bank until the ranch house and Indians were out of sight. Leaving the river bed, she hurried through a field of barley that partly hid her from sight until she reached the trail to town and, turning into this, ran at top speed. It was along this trail that she knew she must look for her mistress. Monica had not far to seek for the unhappy Dona. She lay partly on her face in the hollow within which she had striven to hide her terrible plight The devoted maid cried out as she ran to her, dropping to her knees and hugging the trembling body in her arms while she wet it with tears. She spoke to the hardly conscious woman. The Dona's wealth of golden hair swept over her shoulders down to her waist, as if in protest against the outrageous treatment inflicted on her and to protect pro-tect so far as it might her outraged out-raged sensibilities. Her half-closed eyes, as Monica turned her face upward and begged pathetically for a word of recognition, gave no answer an-swer to the weeping maid. The lips of her mistress did Indeed move, but only In incoherent mutterings. With the superhuman strength of the Indian, Monica succeeded in getting the protection of the dress she carried car-ried on her mistress' quivering form and laid her tenderly back, staring with meaningless eyes into the cloudless sky. Monica herself, wild with despair, began again to pray, her arms lifted toward heaven as was her mistress' wont. Only a few minutes had passed when she saw a youth riding up toward the rancho. She sprang to her feet. Sho knew the llgure, screamed, and, us the lad turned toward her, wnved her urms frantically. fran-tically. It was young Alfredo, the pet of the llaneho I.os Alamos, tall and line for his twelve years, son and heir of his father. "Alfredo," she cried, "come quick! I am Mimical Quick, quickl" He ran to her. As he stared, dismayed dis-mayed at the sight of his unconscious uncon-scious mother. Monica clasped him in her arms. Hardly hud the word "Indians!" passed her lips when, flinging down his gun, he threw himself him-self on the breast of his mother, raining kisses on her closed eyes and culling to her passionately to spenk. Monica, kneeling beside him, told the boy in broken sentences of the fearful tragedy of the brief hour after he had left the rancho to hunt quail in the near-by foothills. She cut short Alfredo's frantic grief. "Now," she exclaimed, "you must be a man. Alfredo! As fast as you can, run to the presidio for help. Send the soldiers! Quick! Quick!" "But my sisters? Tell mel" "Gone, Alfredo! The Indians have stolen them. The soldiers! The soldiers! sol-diers! Make haste! Help me save your mother." CHAI'TUR II The morning sun was high, but the padre in his brown woolen habit plodded steadily on, sustained by the thought that Rancho Los Alamos Ala-mos could now be only a little way ahead. There, he promised himself, he would find rest a little refreshment refresh-ment and some pleasant conversation conversa-tion with Don Alfredo and his lovely wife. Dona Juana. before he continued contin-ued his southward Journey with the patient Indian neophyte now trudging trudg-ing by his side. Hardly had the pleasurable thought crossed his mind when the neophyte halted and. cupping his left hand above his eyes, looked toward the hills beyond the river. Padre Vicente Pasqual paused. "What do you sec, Diego? "Smoke, Padre." "What smoke? I see none." Diego pointed. "Across the river. Toward Alamos. Smoke." "Your eyes are younger than mine, Diego. I see no smoke." White spirals of smoke were rising ris-ing lazily and swaying dreamily in the hot sunshine. "It Is smoke," repeated the Indian solemnly. "There Is no matanza, nothing to cause smoke at Los Alamos. But we shall soon be there. Lower your pack a moment and rest your shoulders." shoul-ders." "I am not weary. Padre. Let us go on." Curiosity was stronger than a sense of fatigue with the Indian. He quickened his pace. Smoke at Los Alamos Diego said no more, but he thought much. Just before the ranch 'buildings of Los Alamos were to come into view Diego stood still. "I am afraid. Padre," he said slowly, "we shall see the work of bad Indians at Los Alamos." "What do you mean, my son?" "Bad Indians." "Yes, but what?" They followed the trail through a field of wheat. "Look." Diego pointed. point-ed. The ruins of Rancho Los Ala mos were in full view. Fadre Pasqual stared in amazement and grief. His staff dropped from his grasp. His hands parted in horror. "Merciful God!" he cried in agony. ago-ny. "What has been here?" He fell on his knees, and, with face uplifted and eyes sightless, prayer poured from his trembling lips. It was some moments before he could compose himself. He held out a hand for Diego's help the padre's knees were old and, regaining his feet beside the silent Indian, took from his hand the crude staff. "We must hasten, Diego, hasten," he exclaimed ex-claimed unsteadily. "Why do you hesitate why?" (TO BE CONTINUED) |