Part 35 (2/2)

And the lawyer had said, he did not know how it would be with the cultivated land, and the village where the houses were,--he could not tell about that; but he thought it all belonged to the men at Was.h.i.+ngton.

Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that he tore open his gown on his breast, and he smote himself, and he said he wished he were a soldier, and no priest, that he might fight this accursed United States Government; and the lawyer laughed at him, and told him to look after souls,--that was his business,--and let the Indian beggars alone! ”Yes, that was what he said,--'the Indian beggars!' and so they would be all beggars, presently.”

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

”You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no place safe. We can do nothing! 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 is theirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild beasts. They are better 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 the little community had been plunged into great anxiety and distress by this Doctor Morong's affair,--Alessandro sat dumb and gloomy. To whatever was proposed, he had but one reply: ”It is of no use. We can do nothing.”

”Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we starve,” he said one night, bitterly, as the council broke up. When Ysidro proposed to him that they should journey to Los Angeles, where Father Gaspara had said the headquarters of the Government officers were, and where they could learn all 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 the American laws?” he said. ”Is it not enough that you know they have made a law which will take the land from Indians; from us who have owned it longer than any can remember; land that our ancestors are buried in,--will take that land and give it to themselves, and say it is theirs? Is it to hear this again said in your face, and to see the man laugh who says it, like the lawyer in San Diego, that you will journey to Los Angeles? I will not go!”

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

Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though the details were beyond his comprehension. But he did not regret having taken the journey; he had now made his last effort for his people. The Los Angeles priest had promised that he would himself write a letter to Was.h.i.+ngton, to lay the case before the head man there, and perhaps something would be done for their relief. It seemed incredible to Ysidro, as, riding along day after day, on his sad homeward journey, he reflected on the subject,--it seemed incredible to him that the Government would permit such a village as theirs to be destroyed. He reached home just at sunset; and looking down, as Alessandro and Ramona had done on the morning of their arrival, from the hillcrests at the west end of the valley, seeing the broad belt of cultivated fields and orchards, the peaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. ”If the people who make these 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, and reining 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, or worse! I have been watching for you these two days. Another American has come in with Morong in the canon; they are making corrals; they will keep stock. You will see how long we have any pasture-lands in that end of the valley. I drive all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sell it 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-office authorities, Alessandro broke in fiercely: ”I wish to hear no more of it. 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 are waiting to hear it, and who yet believe that an American may speak truth!”

Alessandro was as good as his word. The very next week he drove all his cattle and sheep to San Diego, and sold them at great loss. ”It is better than nothing,” he said. ”They will not now be sold by the sheriff, like my father's in Temecula.” The money he got, he took to Father Gaspara. ”Father,” he said huskily. ”I have sold all my stock. I would 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 we do not starve for one year. Will you keep it for me, Father? I dare not have it in San Pasquale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula,--it may be to-morrow.”

To the Father's suggestion that he should put the money in a bank in San Diego, Alessandro cried: ”Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder! I trust 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 saw our little house, Father!” His voice broke as he said this. ”I have large wheat-fields; if I can get one more crop off them, it will be something; but my land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon as the Americans see it, they will want it. Farewell, Father. I thank you for keeping my money, and for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidro told me. Farewell.” And he was gone, and out of sight on the swift galloping Benito, before Father Gaspara bethought himself.

”And I remembered not to ask who his wife was. I will look back at the record,” said the Father. Taking down the old volume, he ran his eye back over the year. Marriages were not so many in Father Gaspara's parish, that the list took long to read. The entry of Alessandro's marriage was blotted. The Father had been in haste that night.

”Alessandro a.s.sis. Majella Fa--” No more could be read. The name meant nothing 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 rains set in early, promising a good grain year. It seemed a pity not to get in as much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale people went early to ploughing new fields,--all but Alessandro.

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