The Girl of the Golden West | Page 6

riding they were forced to slacken
their pace. In front of them the ground could be seen, in the light of a
fast disappearing moon, to be gradually rising. Another mile or two and
vertical walls of rock rose on each side of them; while great ravines,
holding mountain torrents, necessitated their making a short detour for
the purpose of finding a place where the stream could be safely forded.
Even then it was not an easy task on account of the boulder-enclosing
whirlpools whose waters were whipped into foam by the wind that
swept through the forest.
At a point of the road where there was a break in the chaparral, a voice
suddenly cried out in Spanish:
"Who comes?"
"Follow us!" was the quick answer without drawing rein; and, instantly,
on recognition of the young master's voice, a mounted sentinel spurred
his horse out from behind an overhanging rock and closed in behind
them. And as they were challenged thus several times, it happened that
presently there was quite a little band of men pushing ahead in the
darkness that had fallen.
And so another hour passed. Then, suddenly, there sprung into view the
dark outlines of a low structure which proved to be a corral, and finally
they made their way through a gate and came upon a long adobe house,
situated in a large clearing and having a kind of courtyard in front of it.
In the centre of this courtyard was what evidently had once been a

fountain, though it had long since dried up. Around it squatted a group
of vaqueros, all smoking cigarettes and some of them lazily twisting
lariats out of horsehair. Close at hand a dozen or more wiry little
mustangs stood saddled and bridled and ready for any emergency. In
colour, one or two were of a peculiar cream and had silver white manes,
but the rest were greys and chestnuts. It was evident that they had great
speed and bottom. All in all, what with the fierce and savage faces of
the men scattered about the courtyard, the remoteness of the adobe, and
the care taken to guard against surprise, old Bartolini's hacienda was an
establishment not unlike that of the feudal barons or a nest of banditti
according to the point of view.
At the sound of the fast galloping horses, every man on the ground
sprang to his feet and ran to his horse. For a second only they stood still
and listened intently; then, satisfied that all was well and that the
persons approaching belonged to the rancho, they returned to their
former position by the fountain--all save an Indian servant, who caught
the bridle thrown to him by the young man as he swung himself out of
the saddle. And while this one led his horse noiselessly away, another
of the same race preceded him along a corridor until he came to the
_Maestro's_ room.
Old Ramerrez Bartolini, or Ramerrez, as he was known to his followers,
was dying. His hair, pure white and curly, was still as luxuriant as when
he was a young man. Beneath the curls was a patrician, Spanish face,
straight nose and brilliant, piercing, black eyes. His gigantic frame lay
on a heap of stretched rawhides which raised him a few inches from the
floor. This simple couch was not necessarily an indication of poverty,
though his property had dwindled to almost nothing, for in most
Spanish adobes of that time, even in some dwellings of the very rich,
there were no beds. Over him, as well as under him, were blankets. On
each side of his head, fixed on the wall, two candles were burning, and
almost within reach of his hand there stood a rough altar, with crucifix
and candles, where a padre was making preparations to administer the
Last Sacraments.
In the low-studded room the only evidence remaining of prosperity

were some fragments of rich and costly goods that once had been piled
up there. In former times the old Spaniard had possessed these in
profusion, but little was left now. Indeed, whatever property he had at
the present time was wholly in cattle and horses, and even these were
comparatively few.
There had been a period, not so very long ago at that, when old
Ramerrez was a power in the land. In all matters pertaining to the
province of Alta California his advice was eagerly sought, and his
opinion carried great weight in the councils of the Spaniards. Later,
under the Mexican regime, the respect in which his name was held was
scarcely less; but with the advent of the Americanos all this was
changed. Little by little he lost his influence, and nothing could exceed
the hatred which he felt for the race that he deemed