Ramona

by Helen Hunt Jackson

  XX

  ONE year, and a half of another year, had passed. Sheep-shearings andvintages had been in San Pasquale; and Alessandro's new house, havingbeen beaten on by the heavy spring rains, looked no longer new. It stoodon the south side of the valley,--too far, Ramona felt, from the blessedbell; but there had not been land enough for wheat-fields any nearer,and she could see the chapel, and the posts, and, on a clear day, thebell itself. The house was small. "Small to hold so much joy," she said,when Alessandro first led her to it, and said, deprecatingly, "It issmall, Majella,--too small;" and he recollected bitterly, as he spoke,the size of Ramona's own room at the Senora's house. "Too small," herepeated.

  "Very small to hold so much joy, my Alessandro," she laughed; "but quitelarge enough to hold two persons."

  It looked like a palace to the San Pasquale people, after Ramona hadarranged their little possessions in it; and she herself felt rich asshe looked around her two small rooms. The old San Luis Rey chairsand the raw-hide bedstead were there, and, most precious of all, thestatuette of the Madonna. For this Alessandro had built a niche in thewall, between the head of the bed and the one window. The niche was deepenough to hold small pots in front of the statuette; and Ramona keptconstantly growing there wild-cucumber plants, which wreathed andre-wreathed the niche till it looked like a bower. Below it hung hergold rosary and the ivory Christ; and many a woman of the village, whenshe came to see Ramona, asked permission to go into the bedroom and sayher prayers there; so that it finally came to be a sort of shrine forthe whole village.

  A broad veranda, as broad as the Senora's, ran across the front of thelittle house. This was the only thing for which Ramona had asked. Shecould not quite fancy life without a veranda, and linnets in the thatch.But the linnets had not yet come. In vain Ramona strewed food for them,and laid little trains of crumbs to lure them inside the posts; theywould not build nests inside. It was not their way in San Pasquale. Theylived in the canons, but this part of the valley was too bare of treesfor them. "In a year or two more, when we have orchards, they willcome," Alessandro said.

  With the money from that first sheep-shearing, and from the sale of partof his cattle, Alessandro had bought all he needed in the way of farmingimplements,--a good wagon and harnesses, and a plough. Baba and Benito,at first restive and indignant, soon made up their minds to work. Ramonahad talked to Baba about it as she would have talked to a brother. Infact, except for Ramona's help, it would have been a question whethereven Alessandro could have made Baba work in harness. "Good Baba!"Ramona said, as she slipped piece after piece of the harness over hisneck,--"Good Baba, you must help us; we have so much work to do, andyou are so strong! Good Baba, do you love me?" and with one hand in hismane, and her cheek, every few steps, laid close to his, she led Baba upand down the first furrows he ploughed.

  "My Senorita!" thought Alessandro to himself, half in pain, half inpride, as, running behind with the unevenly jerked plough, he watchedher laughing face and blowing hair,--"my Senorita!"

  But Ramona would not run with her hand in Baba's mane this winter. Therewas a new work for her, indoors. In a rustic cradle, which Alessandrohad made, under her directions, of the woven twigs, like the greatoutdoor acorn-granaries, only closer woven, and of an oval shape, andlifted from the floor by four uprights of red manzanita stems,--inthis cradle, on soft white wool fleeces, covered with white homespunblankets, lay Ramona's baby, six months old, lusty, strong, andbeautiful, as only children born of great love and under healthfulconditions can be. This child was a girl, to Alessandro's delight; toRamona's regret,--so far as a loving mother can feel regret connectedwith her firstborn. Ramona had wished for an Alessandro; but thedisappointed wish faded out of her thoughts, hour by hour, as she gazedinto her baby-girl's blue eyes,--eyes so blue that their color was thefirst thing noticed by each person who looked at her.

  "Eyes of the sky," exclaimed Ysidro, when he first saw her.

  "Like the mother's," said Alessandro; on which Ysidro turned anastonished look upon Ramona, and saw for the first time that her eyes,too, were blue.

  "Wonderful!" he said. "It is so. I never saw it;" and he wondered in hisheart what father it had been, who had given eyes like those to one bornof an Indian mother.

  "Eyes of the sky," became at once the baby's name in the village; andAlessandro and Ramona, before they knew it, had fallen into the way ofso calling her. But when it came to the christening, they demurred. Thenews was brought to the village, one Saturday, that Father Gaspara wouldhold services in the valley the next day, and that he wished all thenew-born babes to be brought for christening. Late into the night,Alessandro and Ramona sat by their sleeping baby and discussed whatshould be her name. Ramona wondered that Alessandro did not wish to nameher Majella.

  "No! Never but one Majella," he said, in a tone which gave Ramona asense of vague fear, it was so solemn.

  They discussed "Ramona," "Isabella." Alessandro suggested Carmena. Thishad been his mother's name.

  At the mention of it Ramona shuddered, recollecting the scene inthe Temecula graveyard. "Oh, no, no! Not that!" she cried. "It isill-fated;" and Alessandro blamed himself for having forgotten her onlyassociation with the name.

  At last Alessandro said: "The people have named her, I think, Majella.Whatever name we give her in the chapel, she will never be calledanything but 'Eyes of the Sky,' in the village."

  "Let that name be her true one, then," said Ramona. And so it wassettled; and when Father Gaspara took the little one in his arms,and made the sign of the cross on her brow, he pronounced with somedifficulty the syllables of the Indian name, which meant "Blue Eyes," or"Eyes of the Sky."

  Heretofore, when Father Gaspara had come to San Pasquale to say mass, hehad slept at Lomax's, the store and post-office, six miles away, in theBernardo valley. But Ysidro, with great pride, had this time ridden tomeet him, to say that his cousin Alessandro, who had come to live in thevalley, and had a good new adobe house, begged that the Father would dohim the honor to stay with him.

  "And indeed, Father," added Ysidro, "you will be far better lodged andfed than in the house of Lomax. My cousin's wife knows well how allshould be done."

  "Alessandro! Alessandro!" said the Father, musingly. "Has he been longmarried?"

  "No, Father," answered Ysidro. "But little more than two years. Theywere married by you, on their way from Temecula here."

  "Ay, ay. I remember," said Father Gaspara. "I will come;" and it waswith no small interest that he looked forward to meeting again thecouple that had so strongly impressed him.

  Ramona was full of eager interest in her preparations for entertainingthe priest. This was like the olden time; and as she busied herself withher cooking and other arrangements, the thought of Father Salvierderrawas much in her mind. She could, perhaps, hear news of him from FatherGaspara. It was she who had suggested the idea to Alessandro; and whenhe said, "But where will you sleep yourself, with the child, Majella,if we give our room to the Father? I can lie on the floor outside; butyou?"--"I will go to Ysidro's, and sleep with Juana," she replied. "Fortwo nights, it is no matter; and it is such shame to have the Fathersleep in the house of an American, when we have a good bed like this!"

  Seldom in his life had Alessandro experienced such a sense ofgratification as he did when he led Father Gaspara into his and Ramona'sbedroom. The clean whitewashed walls, the bed neatly made, with broadlace on sheets and pillows, hung with curtains and a canopy of brightred calico, the old carved chairs, the Madonna shrine in its bower ofgreen leaves, the shelves on the walls, the white-curtained window,--allmade up a picture such as Father Gaspara had never before seen inhis pilgrimages among the Indian villages. He could not restrain anejaculation of surprise. Then his eye falling on the golden rosary, heexclaimed, "Where got you that?"

  "It is my wife's," replied Alessandro, proudly. "It was given to her byFather Salvierderra."

  "Ah!" said the Father. "He died the other day."

  "Dead! Father Salvierderra dead!" cried Alessandro
. "That will be aterrible blow. Oh, Father, I implore you not to speak of it in herpresence. She must not know it till after the christening. It will makeher heart heavy, so that she will have no joy."

  Father Gaspara was still scrutinizing the rosary and crucifix. "To besure, to be sure," he said absently; "I will say nothing of it; but thisis a work of art, this crucifix; do you know what you have here? Andthis,--is this not an altar-cloth?" he added, lifting up the beautifulwrought altar-cloth, which Ramona, in honor of his coming, had pinned onthe wall below the Madonna's shrine.

  "Yes, Father, it was made for that. My wife made it. It was to be apresent to Father Salvierderra; but she has not seen him, to give it tohim. It will take the light out of the sun for her, when first she hearsthat he is dead."

  Father Gaspara was about to ask another question, when Ramona appearedin the doorway, flushed with running. She had carried the baby over toJuana's and left her there, that she might be free to serve the Father'ssupper.

  "I pray you tell her not," said Alessandro, under his breath; but itwas too late. Seeing the Father with her rosary in his hand, Ramonaexclaimed:--

  "That, Father, is my most sacred possession. It once belonged to FatherPeyri, of San Luis Rey, and he gave it to Father Salvierderra, who gaveit to me, Know you Father Salvierderra? I was hoping to hear news of himthrough you."

  "Yes, I knew him,--not very well; it is long since I saw him," stammeredFather Gaspara. His hesitancy alone would not have told Ramonathe truth; she would have set that down to the secular priest'sindifference, or hostility, to the Franciscan order; but looking atAlessandro, she saw terror and sadness on his face. No shadow thereever escaped her eye. "What is it, Alessandro?" she exclaimed. "Is itsomething about Father Salvierderra? Is he ill?"

  Alessandro shook his head. He did not know what to say. Looking fromone to the other, seeing the confused pain in both their faces, Ramona,laying both her hands on her breast, in the expressive gesture she hadlearned from the Indian women, cried out in a piteous tone: "You willnot tell me! You do not speak! Then he is dead!" and she sank on herknees.

  "Yes, my daughter, he is dead," said Father Gaspara, more tenderly thanthat brusque and warlike priest often spoke. "He died a month ago, atSanta Barbara. I am grieved to have brought you tidings to give yousuch sorrow. But you must not mourn for him. He was very feeble, and helonged to die, I heard. He could no longer work, and he did not wish tolive."

  Ramona had buried her face in her hands. The Father's words were onlya confused sound in her ears. She had heard nothing after the words, "amonth ago." She remained silent and motionless for some moments; thenrising, without speaking a word, or looking at either of the men, shecrossed the room and knelt down before the Madonna. By a common impulse,both Alessandro and Father Gaspara silently left the room. As they stoodtogether outside the door, the Father said, "I would go back to Lomax'sif it were not so late. I like not to be here when your wife is in suchgrief."

  "That would but be another grief, Father," said Alessandro. "She hasbeen full of happiness in making ready for you. She is very strong ofsoul. It is she who makes me strong often, and not I who give strengthto her."

  "My faith, but the man is right," thought Father Gaspara, a half-hourlater, when, with a calm face, Ramona summoned them to supper. He didnot know, as Alessandro did, how that face had changed in the half-hour.It wore a look Alessandro had never seen upon it. Almost he dreaded tospeak to her.

  When he walked by her side, later in the evening, as she went across thevalley to Fernando's house, he ventured to mention Father Salvierderra'sname. Ramona laid her hand on his lips. "I cannot talk about him yet,dear," she said. "I never believed that he would die without giving ushis blessing. Do not speak of him till to-morrow is over."

  Ramona's saddened face smote on all the women's hearts as they met herthe next morning. One by one they gazed, astonished, then turned away,and spoke softly among themselves. They all loved her, and half reveredher too, for her great kindness, and readiness to teach and to helpthem. She had been like a sort of missionary in the valley ever sinceshe came, and no one had ever seen her face without a smile. Now shesmiled not. Yet there was the beautiful baby in its white dress, readyto be christened; and the sun shone, and the bell had been ringingfor half an hour, and from every corner of the valley the people weregathering, and Father Gaspara, in his gold and green cassock, waspraying before the altar; it was a joyous day in San Pasquale. Why didAlessandro and Ramona kneel apart in a corner, with such heart-strickencountenances, not even looking glad when their baby laughed, and reachedup her hands? Gradually it was whispered about what had happened. Someone had got it from Antonio, of Temecula, Alessandro's friend. Thenall the women's faces grew sad too. They all had heard of FatherSalvierderra, and many of them had prayed to the ivory Christ inRamona's room, and knew that he had given it to her.

  As Ramona passed out of the chapel, some of them came up to her, andtaking her hand in theirs, laid it on their hearts, speaking no word.The gesture was more than any speech could have been.

  When Father Gaspara was taking leave, Ramona said, with quivering lips,"Father, if there is anything you know of Father Salvierderra's lasthours, I would be grateful to you for telling me."

  "I heard very little," replied the Father, "except that he had beenfeeble for some weeks; yet he would persist in spending most of thenight kneeling on the stone floor in the church, praying."

  "Yes," interrupted Ramona; "that he always did."

  "And the last morning," continued the Father, "the Brothers found himthere, still kneeling on the stone floor, but quite powerless to move;and they lifted him, and carried him to his room, and there they found,to their horror, that he had had no bed; he had lain on the stones; andthen they took him to the Superior's own room, and laid him in the bed,and he did not speak any more, and at noon he died."

  "Thank you very much, Father," said Ramona, without lifting her eyesfrom the ground; and in the same low, tremulous tone, "I am glad that Iknow that he is dead."

  "Strange what a hold those Franciscans got on these Indians!" musedFather Gaspara, as he rode down the valley. "There's none of them wouldlook like that if I were dead, I warrant me! There," he exclaimed, "Imeant to have asked Alessandro who this wife of his is! I don't believeshe is a Temecula Indian. Next time I come, I will find out. She's hadsome schooling somewhere, that's plain. She's quite superior to thegeneral run of them. Next time I come, I will find out about her."

  "Next time!" In what calendar are kept the records of those next timeswhich never come? Long before Father Gaspara visited San Pasquale again,Alessandro and Ramona were far away, and strangers were living in theirhome.

  It seemed to Ramona in after years, as she looked back over this life,that the news of Father Salvierderra's death was the first note ofthe knell of their happiness. It was but a few days afterward, whenAlessandro came in one noon with an expression on his face thatterrified her; seating himself in a chair, he buried his face in hishands, and would neither look up nor speak; not until Ramona was nearcrying from his silence, did he utter a word. Then, looking at her witha ghastly face, he said in a hollow voice, "It has begun!" and buriedhis face again. Finally Ramona's tears wrung from him the followingstory:

  Ysidro, it seemed, had the previous year rented a canon, at the head ofthe valley, to one Doctor Morong. It was simply as bee-pasture that theDoctor wanted it, he said. He put his hives there, and built a sort ofhut for the man whom he sent up to look after the honey. Ysidro did notneed the land, and thought it a good chance to make a little money. Hehad taken every precaution to make the transaction a safe one; had goneto San Diego, and got Father Gaspara to act as interpreter for him, inthe interview with Morong; it had been a written agreement, and the rentagreed upon had been punctually paid. Now, the time of the lease havingexpired, Ysidro had been to San Diego to ask the Doctor if he wishedto renew it for another year; and the Doctor had said that the land washis, and he was coming out there to build a house, and live.
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br />   Ysidro had gone to Father Gaspara for help, and Father Gaspara had hadan angry interview with Doctor Morong; but it had done no good. TheDoctor said the land did not belong to Ysidro at all, but to the UnitedStates Government; and that he had paid the money for it to the agentsin Los Angeles, and there would very soon come papers from Washington,to show that it was his. Father Gaspara had gone with Ysidro to a lawyerin San Diego, and had shown to his lawyer Ysidro's paper,--the old onefrom the Mexican Governor of California, establishing the pueblo of SanPasquale, and saying how many leagues of land the Indians were to have;but the lawyer had only laughed at Father Gaspara for believing thatsuch a paper as that was good for anything. He said that was all verywell when the country belonged to Mexico, but it was no good now; thatthe Americans owned it now; and everything was done by the American lawnow, not by the Mexican law any more.

  "Then we do not own any land in San Pasquale at all," said Ysidro. "Isthat what it means?"

  And the lawyer had said, he did not know how it would be with thecultivated land, and the village where the houses were,--he couldnot tell about that; but he thought it all belonged to the men atWashington.

  Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that he tore open his gownon his breast, and he smote himself, and he said he wished he were asoldier, and no priest, that he might fight this accursed United StatesGovernment; and the lawyer laughed at him, and told him to look aftersouls,--that was his business,--and let the Indian beggars alone! "Yes,that was what he said,--'the Indian beggars!' and so they would be allbeggars, presently."

  Alessandro told this by gasps, as it were; at long intervals. His voicewas choked; his whole frame shook. He was nearly beside himself withrage and despair.

  "You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no place safe. We can donothing! We might better be dead!"

  "It is a long way off, that canon Doctor Morong had," said Ramona,piteously. "It wouldn't do any harm, his living there, if no more came."

  "Majella talks like a dove, and not like a woman," said Alessandro,fiercely. "Will there be one to come, and not two? It is the beginning.To-morrow may come ten more, with papers to show that the land istheirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild beasts. They arebetter than we."

  From this day Alessandro was a changed man. Hope had died in his bosom.In all the village councils,--and they were many and long now, for thelittle community had been plunged into great anxiety and distressby this Doctor Morong's affair,--Alessandro sat dumb and gloomy. Towhatever was proposed, he had but one reply: "It is of no use. We can donothing."

  "Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we starve," he said one night,bitterly, as the council broke up. When Ysidro proposed to him thatthey should journey to Los Angeles, where Father Gaspara had said theheadquarters of the Government officers were, and where they could learnall about the new laws in regard to land, Alessandro laughed at him."What more is it, then, which you wish to know, my brother, about theAmerican laws?" he said. "Is it not enough that you know they have madea law which will take the land from Indians; from us who have ownedit longer than any can remember; land that our ancestors are buriedin,--will take that land and give it to themselves, and say it istheirs? Is it to hear this again said in your face, and to see the manlaugh who says it, like the lawyer in San Diego, that you will journeyto Los Angeles? I will not go!"

  And Ysidro went alone. Father Gaspara gave him a letter to the LosAngeles priest, who went with him to the land-office, patientlyinterpreted for him all he had to say, and as patiently interpretedall that the officials had to say in reply. They did not laugh, asAlessandro in his bitterness had said. They were not inhuman, andthey felt sincere sympathy for this man, representative of two hundredhard-working, industrious people, in danger of being turned out of houseand home. But they were very busy; they had to say curtly, and in fewwords, all there was to be said: the San Pasquale district was certainlythe property of the United States Government, and the lands were inmarket, to be filed on, and bought, according to the homestead laws,These officials had neither authority nor option in the matter. Theywere there simply to carry out instructions, and obey orders.

  Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though the details werebeyond his comprehension. But he did not regret having taken thejourney; he had now made his last effort for his people. The Los Angelespriest had promised that he would himself write a letter to Washington,to lay the case before the head man there, and perhaps something wouldbe done for their relief. It seemed incredible to Ysidro, as, ridingalong day after day, on his sad homeward journey, he reflected on thesubject,--it seemed incredible to him that the Government would permitsuch a village as theirs to be destroyed. He reached home just atsunset; and looking down, as Alessandro and Ramona had done on themorning of their arrival, from the hillcrests at the west end of thevalley, seeing the broad belt of cultivated fields and orchards, thepeaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. "If the people who makethese laws could only see this village, they would never turn us out,never! They can't know what is being done. I am sure they can't know."

  "What did I tell you?" cried Alessandro, galloping up on Benito, andreining him in so sharply he reared and plunged. "What did I tell you?I saw by your face, many paces back, that you had come as you went, orworse! I have been watching for you these two days. Another Americanhas come in with Morong in the canon they are making corrals; they willkeep stock. You will see how long we have any pasture-lands in that endof the valley. I drive all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sellit for what it will bring,--both the cattle and the sheep. It is no use.You will see."

  When Ysidro began to recount his interview with the land-officeauthorities, Alessandro broke in fiercely: "I wish to hear no more ofit. Their names and their speech are like smoke in my eyes and my nose.I think I shall go mad, Ysidro. Go tell your story to the men who arewaiting to hear it, and who yet believe that an American may speaktruth!"

  Alessandro was as good as his word. The very next week he drove allhis cattle and sheep to San Diego, and sold them at great loss. "Itis better than nothing," he said. "They will not now be sold by thesheriff, like my father's in Temecula." The money he got, he took toFather Gaspara. "Father," he said huskily. "I have sold all my stock. Iwould not wait for the Americans to sell it for me, and take the money.I have not got much, but it is better than nothing. It will make that wedo not starve for one year. Will you keep it for me, Father? I dare nothave it in San Pasquale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula,--it may beto-morrow."

  To the Father's suggestion that he should put the money in a bank in SanDiego, Alessandro cried: "Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder! Itrust no man, henceforth; only the Church I will trust. Keep it for me,Father, I pray you," and the Father could not refuse his imploring tone.

  "What are your plans now?" he asked.

  "Plans!" repeated Alessandro,--"plans, Father! Why should I make plans?I will stay in my house so long as the Americans will let me. You sawour little house, Father!" His voice broke as he said this. "I havelarge wheat-fields; if I can get one more crop off them, it will besomething; but my land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon asthe Americans see it, they will want it. Farewell, Father. I thank youfor keeping my money, and for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidrotold me. Farewell." And he was gone, and out of sight on the swiftgalloping Benito, before Father Gaspara bethought himself.

  "And I remembered not to ask who his wife was. I will look back at therecord," said the Father. Taking down the old volume, he ran his eyeback over the year. Marriages were not so many in Father Gaspara'sparish, that the list took long to read. The entry of Alessandro'smarriage was blotted. The Father had been in haste that night."Alessandro Assis. Majella Fa--" No more could be read. The name meantnothing to Father Gaspara. "Clearly an Indian name," he said to himself;"yet she seemed superior in every way. I wonder where she got it."

  The winter wore along quietly in San Pasquale. The delicious soft rainsset in early, promising a good grain y
ear. It seemed a pity not to getin as much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale people went earlyto ploughing new fields,--all but Alessandro.

  "If I reap all I have, I will thank the saints," he said. "I will ploughno more land for the robbers." But after his fields were all planted,and the beneficent rains still kept on, and the hills all along thevalley wall began to turn green earlier than ever before was known,he said to Ramona one morning, "I think I will make one more field ofwheat. There will be a great yield this year. Maybe we will be leftunmolested till the harvest is over."

  "Oh, yes, and for many more harvests, dear Alessandro!" said Ramona,cheerily. "You are always looking on the black side."

  "There is no other but the black side, Majella," he replied. "Strain myeyes as I may, on all sides all is black. You will see. Never any moreharvests in San Pasquale for us, after this. If we get this, we arelucky. I have seen the white men riding up and down in the valley, andI found some of their cursed bits of wood with figures on them set upon my land the other day; and I pulled them up and burned them to ashes.But I will plough one more field this week; though, I know not why itis, my thoughts go against it even now. But I will do it; and I will notcome home till night, Majella, for the field is too far to go and cometwice. I shall be the whole day ploughing." So saying, he stooped andkissed the baby, and then kissing Ramona, went out.

  Ramona stood at the door and watched him as he harnessed Benito and Babato the plough. He did not once look back at her; his face seemed full ofthought, his hands acting as it were mechanically. After he had gonea few rods from the house, he stopped, stood still for some minutesmeditatingly, then went on irresolutely, halted again, but finally wenton, and disappeared from sight among the low foothills to the east.Sighing deeply, Ramona turned back to her work. But her heart was toodisquieted. She could not keep back the tears.

  "How changed is Alessandro!" she thought. "It terrifies me to see himthus. I will tell the Blessed Virgin about it;" and kneeling before theshrine, she prayed fervently and long. She rose comforted, anddrawing the baby's cradle out into the veranda, seated herself at herembroidery. Her skill with her needle had proved a not inconsiderablesource of income, her fine lace-work being always taken by San Diegomerchants, and at fairly good prices.

  It seemed to her only a short time that she had been sitting thus, when,glancing up at the sun, she saw it was near noon at the same momentshe saw Alessandro approaching, with the horses. In dismay, she thought,"There is no dinner! He said he would not come!" and springing up, wasabout to run to meet him, when she observed that he was not alone.A short, thick-set man was walking by his side; they were talkingearnestly. It was a white man. What did it bode? Presently they stopped.She saw Alessandro lift his hand and point to the house, then to thetule sheds in the rear. He seemed to be talking excitedly; the whiteman also; they were both speaking at once. Ramona shivered with fear.Motionless she stood, straining eye and ear; she could hear nothing,but the gestures told much. Had it come,--the thing Alessandro had saidwould come? Were they to be driven out,--driven out this very day, whenthe Virgin had only just now seemed to promise her help and protection?

  The baby stirred, waked, began to cry. Catching the child up to herbreast, she stilled her by convulsive caresses. Clasping her tight inher arms, she walked a few steps towards Alessandro, who, seeing her,made an imperative gesture to her to return. Sick at heart, she wentback to the veranda and sat down to wait.

  In a few moments she saw the white man counting out money intoAlessandro's hand; then he turned and walked away, Alessandro stillstanding as if rooted to the spot, gazing into the palm of his hand,Benito and Baba slowly walking away from him unnoticed; at last heseemed to rouse himself as from a trance, and picking up the horses'reins, came slowly toward her. Again she started to meet him; againhe made the same authoritative gesture to her to return; and again sheseated herself, trembling in every nerve of her body. Ramona was nowsometimes afraid of Alessandro. When these fierce glooms seized him,she dreaded, she knew not what. He seemed no more the Alessandro she hadloved.

  Deliberately, lingeringly, he unharnessed the horses and put them inthe corral. Then still more deliberately, lingeringly, he walked to thehouse; walked, without speaking, past Ramona, into the door. A luridspot on each cheek showed burning red through the bronze of his skin.His eyes glittered. In silence Ramona followed him, and saw him drawfrom his pocket a handful of gold-pieces, fling them on the table, andburst into a laugh more terrible than any weeping,--a laugh which wrungfrom her instantly, involuntarily, the cry, "Oh, my Alessandro! myAlessandro! What is it? Are you mad?"

  "No, my sweet Majel," he exclaimed, turning to her, and flinging hisarms round her and the child together, drawing them so close to hisbreast that the embrace hurt,--"no, I am not mad; but I think I shallsoon be! What is that gold? The price of this house, Majel, and of thefields,--of all that was ours in San Pasquale! To-morrow we will go outinto the world again. I will see if I can find a place the Americans donot want!"

  It did not take many words to tell the story. Alessandro had not beenploughing more than an hour, when, hearing a strange sound, he lookedup and saw a man unloading lumber a few rods off'. Alessandro stoppedmidway in the furrow and watched him. The man also watched Alessandro.Presently he came toward him, and said roughly, "Look here! Be off, willyou? This is my land. I'm going to build a house here."

  Alessandro had replied, "This was my land yesterday. How comes it yoursto-day?"

  Something in the wording of this answer, or something in Alessandro'stone and bearing, smote the man's conscience, or heart, or what stoodto him in the place of conscience and heart, and he said: "Come, now, mygood fellow, you look like a reasonable kind of a fellow; you just clearout, will you, and not make me any trouble. You see the land's mine.I've got all this land round here;" and he waved his arm, describing acircle; "three hundred and twenty acres, me and my brother together, andwe're coming in here to settle. We got our papers from Washington lastweek. It's all right, and you may just as well go peaceably, as make afuss about it. Don't you see?"

  Yes, Alessandro saw. He had been seeing this precise thing for months.Many times, in his dreams and in his waking thoughts, he had lived overscenes similar to this. An almost preternatural calm and wisdom seemedto be given him now.

  "Yes, I see, Senor," he said. "I am not surprised. I knew it would come;but I hoped it would not be till after harvest. I will not give you anytrouble, Senor, because I cannot. If I could, I would. But I haveheard all about the new law which gives all the Indians' lands to theAmericans. We cannot help ourselves. But it is very hard, Senor." Hepaused.

  The man, confused and embarrassed, astonished beyond expression atbeing met in this way by an Indian, did not find words come ready to histongue. "Of course, I know it does seem a little rough on fellows likeyou, that are industrious, and have done some work on the land. But yousee the land's in the market; I've paid my money for it."

  "The Senor is going to build a house?" asked Alessandro.

  "Yes," the man answered. "I've got my family in San Diego, and I want toget them settled as soon as I can. My wife won't feel comfortable tillshe's in her own house. We're from the States, and she's been used tohaving everything comfortable."

  "I have a wife and child, Senor," said Alessandro, still in the samecalm, deliberate tone; "and we have a very good house of two rooms. Itwould save the Senor's building, if he would buy mine."

  "How far is it?" said the man. "I can't tell exactly where theboundaries of my land are, for the stakes we set have been pulled up."

  "Yes, Senor, I pulled them up and burned them. They were on my land,"replied Alessandro. "My house is farther west than your stakes; and Ihave large wheat-fields there, too,--many acres, Senor, all planted."

  Here was a chance, indeed. The man's eyes gleamed. He would do thehandsome thing. He would give this fellow something for his house andwheat-crops. First he would see the house, however; and it was forthat purpose he had walked back with Ale
ssandro, When he saw the neatwhitewashed adobe, with its broad veranda, the sheds and corrals allin good order, he instantly resolved to get possession of them by fairmeans or foul.

  "There will be three hundred dollars' worth of wheat in July, Senor, youcan see for yourself; and a house so good as that, you cannot build forless than one hundred dollars. What will you give me for them?"

  "I suppose I can have them without paying you for them, if I choose,"said the man, insolently.

  "No, Senor," replied Alessandro.

  "What's to hinder, then, I'd like to know!" in a brutal sneer. "Youhaven't got any rights here, whatever, according to law."

  "I shall hinder, Senor," replied Alessandro. "I shall burn down thesheds and corrals, tear down the house; and before a blade of the wheatis reaped, I will burn that." Still in the same calm tone.

  "What'll you take?" said the man, sullenly.

  "Two hundred dollars," replied Alessandro.

  "Well, leave your plough and wagon, and I'll give it to you," said theman; "and a big fool I am, too. Well laughed at, I'll be, do you knowit, for buying out an Indian!"

  "The wagon, Senor, cost me one hundred and thirty dollars in San Diego.You cannot buy one so good for less. I will not sell it. I need it totake away my things in. The plough you may have. That is worth twenty."

  "I'll do it," said the man; and pulling out a heavy buckskin pouch, hecounted out into Alessandro's hand two hundred dollars in gold.

  "Is that all right?" he said, as he put down the last piece.

  "That is the sum I said, Senor," replied Alessandro. "Tomorrow, at noon,you can come into the house."

  "Where will you go?" asked the man, again slightly touched byAlessandro's manner. "Why don't you stay round here? I expect you couldget work enough; there are a lot of farmers coming in here; they'll wanthands."

  A fierce torrent of words sprang to Alessandro's lips, but he chokedthem back. "I do not know where I shall go, but I will not stay here,"he said; and that ended the interview.

  "I don't know as I blame him a mite for feeling that way," thought theman from the States, as he walked slowly back to his pile of lumber. "Iexpect I should feel just so myself."

  Almost before Alessandro had finished this tale, he began to moveabout the room, taking down, folding up, opening and shutting lids; hisrestlessness was terrible to see. "By sunrise, I would like to be off,"he said. "It is like death, to be in the house which is no longer ours."Ramona had spoken no words since her first cry on hearing that terriblelaugh. She was like one stricken dumb. The shock was greater to her thanto Alessandro. He had lived with it ever present in his thoughts for ayear. She had always hoped. But far more dreadful than the loss of herhome, was the anguish of seeing, hearing, the changed face, changedvoice, of Alessandro. Almost this swallowed up the other. She obeyedhim mechanically, working faster and faster as he grew more and morefeverish in his haste. Before sundown the little house was dismantled;everything, except the bed and the stove, packed in the big wagon.

  "Now, we must cook food for the journey," said Alessandro.

  "Where are we going?" said the weeping Ramona.

  "Where?" ejaculated Alessandro, so scornfully that it sounded likeimpatience with Ramona, and made her tears flow afresh. "Where? I knownot, Majella! Into the mountains, where the white men come not! Atsunrise we will start."

  Ramona wished to say good-by to their friends. There were women in thevillage that she tenderly loved. But Alessandro was unwilling. "Therewill be weeping and crying, Majella; I pray you do not speak to one. Whyshould we have more tears? Let us disappear. I will say all to Ysidro.He will tell them."

  This was a sore grief to Ramona. In her heart she rebelled against it,as she had never yet rebelled against an act of Alessandro's; but shecould not distress him. Was not his burden heavy enough now?

  Without a word of farewell to any one, they set off in the gray dawn,before a creature was stirring in the village,--the wagon piled high;Ramona, her baby in her arms, in front; Alessandro walking. The load washeavy. Benito and Baba walked slowly. Capitan, unhappy, looking first atRamona's face, then at Alessandro's, walked dispiritedly by their side.He knew all was wrong.

  As Alessandro turned the horses into a faintly marked road leading in anortheasterly direction, Ramona said with a sob, "Where does this roadlead, Alessandro?"

  "To San Jacinto," he said. "San Jacinto Mountain. Do not look back,Majella! Do not look back!" he cried, as he saw Ramona, with streamingeyes, gazing back towards San Pasquale. "Do not look back! It is gone!Pray to the saints now, Majella! Pray! Pray!"