The Mathis News (Mathis, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 31, Ed. 1 Friday, August 23, 1940 Page: 3 of 8
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THE MATHIS NEWS
.
By FRANK H. SPEARMAN
© Frank H. Spearman
WNU Service
SYNOPSIS
Don Alfredo, wealthy, Spanish owner of a
Southern California rancho, refuses to heed
several warnings of a raid by a band of
outlaws. Sierra Indians. One day after he
has finally decided to seek the protection of
the nearby mission for his wife and family,
the Indians strike. Don Alfredo is killed and
his two young daughters are torn from the
arms of the family’s faithful maid, Monica,
and are carried away to the hills. Padre
Pasqual, missionary friend of the family,
arrives at the ruins of the ranch and learns
the story of the raid from Monica. After a
trying and difficult trip across the plains
and mountains from Texas to California,
youthful Henry Bowie, a Texas adventurer,
with his friends, Ben Pardaloe and Simmie,
an Indian scout, sight the party of Indians
who have carried off the two little girls. The
three Texans attack the war party of fifty-
odd Indians and through a clever ruse, scat-
ter the savages to the hills. The girls are
saved. The group makes its way out of the
hills and meets the distraught Monica, the
children’s maid. The girls are left with
Monica and the friendly Padre at a mission,
and the Texans proceed to Monterey. Here
Bowie completes his business for Gen. Sam
Houston of Texas, who has commissioned
him to deliver an important message. Bowie
decides to have a look at the wild untamed
country that California was in the middle
Nineteenth century. Bowie disappears from
California but returns eight years later and
makes the acquaintance of a friendly Span-
ish family at the Rancho Guadalupe. He is
attracted by the lovely Carmen, daughter
of Don Ramon, the rancho’s owner. Bowie
eaves Don Ramon’s life in a fierce fight
with a huge grizzly bear.
CHAPTER VI—Continued
—7—
But Pedro dared take no chances.
His horse was frantic, and he knew
the deadly danger of a wounded
bear. Casting a hasty glance at
Bowie, who lay on his face, he urged
his frightened horse closer to the
fallen monster of the Sierras. The
vaquero eyed the beast narrowly
while he rode his horse, kicking and
flinging, around him until he caught
sight of the handle of a bowie
knife sunk to the hilt between the
ribs under the left forepaw. The
grizzly lay quite dead.
Hastening to Bowie, Pedro slipped
from his horse to examine him.
Dust-covered and mangled, the Tex-
an lay in a rapidly widening pool of
his own blood. His heart was beat-
ing faintly, and Pedro, giving hur-
ried orders to his comrades, raised
the unconscious man in his arms,
pushed up from one ear a flap of
scalp torn from Bowie’s temple,
and, shouting for puffballs, plastered
the dry spores as best he could
over the unconscious man’s head,
shoulders and arms.
CHAPTER VII
Bowie woke in bed to see a tall
bald man in the brown woolen habit
of a Franciscan padre sitting in a
chair beside him and eying him with
a suspicion of a smile. As Bowie
opened his eyes the padre raised the
forefinger of his right hand and laid
it across his own lips as if to enjoin
silence.
“Dos palabros, amigo, no mas!”
he said in a low sympathetic voice.
“Few words from you for some
time yet. I want to see some nour-
ishment for you before you expend
any strength—you left most of that,
amigo, in the canyon.
“Yes,” he continued, still in Eng-
lish, “I know what you want to
ask. You were brought back to the
ranch house, given up for dead.
When they sent for me at the mis-
sion I asked, ‘Who is this man?' ‘A
Texan, mangled by a grizzly,’ they
told me. ‘A Texan?’ I repeated. And
when they assured me you were, I
said, ‘The Texan is not dead; I have
seen many men torn by grizzlies;
but the Texan outlasts the bear.'
However, I say to you seriously, few
words and on your back till we can
get more blood coursing through
your veins.”
Bowie lay so utterly weak he could
hardly find voice, but speak he
would. “Padre,” he said, breathing
with difficulty, “if the bear is dead
I want my knife. My knife,” he
repeated with an effort, “and my
revolver.”
For answer the Franciscan rose,
turned to the bureau in the bedroom,
took from it the long knife and the
Colt revolver. “They have been
cared for, amigo, as you see. But
I advise you to rest up for at least
three months before you resume
with a grizzly . . . That is, indeed,
a knife,” remarked the padre, hold-
ing up the bowie knife for interested
inspection. “Where did you get it,
amigo?”
“The blade was made from a
blacksmith’s file,” returned Bowie
with a trace of pride in his weak-
ness.
“And calls for a long strong arm
to wield it,” mused the padre.
Don Francisco entered the room
on tiptoe. He greeted Bowie warm-
ly. “Amigo!” he exclaimed.
“Thanks to God that you are alive!
Tell me: what happened in that can-
yon?”
The padre put up his hand. “He is
too weak to talk.”
“But in a few words,” begged
Don Francisco.
“In a few words,” responded Bow-
ie dryly, “we had more or less of a
fight.”
“Madre de Dios!” exclaimed Don
Francisco. “I would call it more
than ‘less of a fight.’ Pedro has nev-
er seen so big a bear—no, not in all
his life, he truly says. But Bowie,
you must know Padre Martinez. He
has been our surgeon, amigo. We
had none else to call on. Dr. Doane
was in Santa Barbara. Doctors are
scarce in California, very scarce.
We feared you would die from all
the blood you lost. But Padre Mar-
tinez, who graduated a surgeon in
Spain before he became a mission-
er, came quickly to our aid—and
you see!” Bowie weakly acknowl-
edged his obligation by pressing the
hand of Padre Martinez, who sat
beside his bed, and the padre si-
lenced Don Francisco by waving
him out of the room and then fol-
lowing him.
At the door he encountered Don
Ramon just coming to speak to Bow-
ie and, in matter of fact, to apolo-
gize for exposing his guest’s life to
such danger. Don Ramon brought
back hi§ nephew Francisco for
translator. “Only a few words, Pad-
re,” exclaimed Don Ramon. “But
he saved my life. I must, at least,
thank him.”
Bowie, who in the everyday course
of the life of a frontiersman would
not have looked on his narrow es-
cape as an extraordinary event,
found.himself the hero of the rancho.
Pardaloe and Simmie, shining in the
penumbra of his prestige and though
secretly elated at the feat, put on
airs of indifference among the va-
queros to intimate that where they
came from such incidents were ev-
eryday occurrences.
The days went slowly, almost
painfully, for an active man like
Bowie. Dona Maria, realizing that
her husband’s life had been spared
through the diversion of the bear’s
fury, was unremitting in her solici-
tude for the Texan’s comfort. And
when he was ready to sit up, Car-
men sent flowers and a Chinese con-
fection to him.
During the impatient days that fol-
lowed, Bowie had one faithful at-
tendant. Don Francisco spent hours
at his bedside and entertained him
with stories of California and of his
people, the rancheros. Bowie was a
good listener. One day while Don
Francisco sat with Bowie a jar of
Canton ginger was sent in with the
compliments of Carmen. Bowie, as-
suming such indifference as he could
muster, asked why Carmen wore
black.
“She had a sweetheart, Don Ra-
mon de Haro. He had a twin broth-
er .. . Now if you are an admirer
of General Fremont,” Don Fran-
cisco interrupted himself to say,
“you would not like to hear this.”
“Fremont,” said Bowie, “means
nothing to me.”
“The brothers, one day this
spring, took a boat at Yerba Buena
to row over to San Rafael. They
wanted to see Fre*nont about get-
ting pay for a bunch of steers his
men had taken from the De Haro
rancho. They took with them an
old friend, Don Jose de Berreyesa,
to interpret. The three men landed
at San Rafael, and when they were
seen by Fremont he detailed three
to meet them and kill them.”
“Kill them?” echoed Bowie, sur-
prised.
“Listen,” continued Don Francis-
co. “One of these three men sent
by Fremont was his scout, Kit Car-
son. Carson, before he set out,
asked Fremont whether he should
take these three Californians pris-
oners. Fremont growled, ‘I’ve got
no room for prisoners.’
“Carson and his two men dis-
mounted about fifty yards from the
De Haro boys and Berreyesa, who
were walking up the hill unarmed,
and, covering them with rifles, de-
liberately shot the three.”
Bowie tightened up a little. “Is
that the kind of a man Fremont is?”
he asked.
“Judge for yourself,” returned
Don Francisco succinctly.
For a moment Bowie made no
comment. “I’ve heard some tough
stories about him,” he said slowly,
“but nothing to equal that.”
“They buried the boys—fine young
fellows—and poor Berreyesa. You
can imagine how Californians
felt.”
“I can.”
“Senorita Carmen was wild. Don
Ramon and she were not, what you
say, engaged, but they were deeply
in love. I really believe if she could
have got hold of Fremont she would
have strangled hiim. No wonder she
hates Americanos.”
Bowie’s padre surgeon, Martinez,
came often. When the danger had
passed he confessed he had greatly
feared infection. “But I should have
known better,” he said one day.
“Texans are strong blooded. You
may be discharged from my care,
let us see—it is four weeks. You
are a lucky man, Senor Bowie. What
will you do now?”
This was the question that was
being asked in the Estrada family.
After prolonged discussions in which
Padre Martinez was consulted Don
Ramon spoke to Bowie.
“You have come to California to
live. You mean to go upriver to
join Captain Sutter. I have some-
thing better. If you will become
major-domo of Rancho Guadalupe I
will make you a rich man.”
Bowie thanked Don Ramon but
shook his head. “I would rather be
free, Don Ramon. I have always
been free. A Texan just naturally
hates to be tied down. Besides, I
want to see more of this country. It
is very wonderful. And — who
knows? I might be called back to
Texas.”
Don Ramon did not press his of-
fer. “As you will, senor. Remem-
ber, you are always welcome, with
your friends, at Guadalupe. And if
you honor us again with your com-
pany I shall be careful not to lead
you into any more bear traps. You
have saved my life.”
As the last day of his stay ap-
proached, Bowie began to wonder
whether he should catch a final
glimpse of the young girl who had
occupied his thoughts so much since
coming to the rancho. She had been
visiting in Monterey and came home
the night before Bowie and his
scouts took their departure.
The scene in the morning as the
trio made ready to mount their
horses was a lovely one. The sun
had broken into flame above the
eastern Sierras and flung its billows
of gold over the land. They livened
the spreading green of the pepper
trees and brightened the pink tips of
the burgeoning oaks.
The family were grouped together.
After good-bys to Don Ramon and
the Dona, Carmen came forward,
with her cousin Francisco for in-
terpreter, to thank Bowie for the
claws. Bowie yielded to an im-
pulse and stepped up to Carmen to
thank her for the Canton jar. “Since
I can’t take it with me, I have left
it in the car of Don Francisco,” he
explained. “It was most kind of
you, senorita,” he said, while Don
Francisco translated, “to think of
the stranger within the gates. I
shall not forget it.”
He watched her narrowly as Don
Francisco repeated his words, but
her manner v/as reserved, her smile
cool. Yet at the end as he turned
away he thought, perhaps imagined,
that a faint flush crept unwelcomed
into her cheeks.
“If ever I am happy enough to
revisit Guadalupe ...” remarked
Bowie, soliloquizing, as he rode
away, “I shall certainly have
learned to speak Spanish. In fact,
I won’t come back till I can.”
He kept his word. They heard
from him at Guadalupe. For months
after the Texan had ridden away
there came from upriver, almost
regularly, choice bits of game from
Bowie—saddles of venison and elk;
Canadian geese, mallard ducks and,
not infrequently, pelts, from the
north, of the silver-tipped fox. Of
these there were always two, soft
tanned and deep piled, for the Dona
and her daughter.
“The Texan has the instincts of a
gentleman,” observed Don Ramon
at dinner, one evening, “since he
exaggerates in his mind the slight
hospitality we have been able to ex-
tend to him and his men. Nor does
he forget Padre Martinez, for Pe-:.
dro tells me that Santa Clara
ceives much courtesy from him—not
alone in gifts of compliment, but—
so Pedro says—he and his men have
helped the padres recover horses
and sometimes cattle, driven off by
thieving Indians.”
“The Indians are growing con-
stantly bolder, Don Ramon,” said
his nephew indignantly. “I hear it
on every hand. They raid our neigh-
bors already. Soon they will be
after our horses. Yosco and Stani-
slaus long ago taught them rebel-
lion. They need to be driven out of
these mountains.”
“Don’t undertake it yourself, Don
Francisco,” remarked his uncle,
who knew his fiery disposition.
“Nevertheless, my uncle, you will
see them give us trouble if they are
not taught a lesson.”
Don Francisco proved too good a
prophet. The horse-stealing Indians
did grow bolder. Their depredations
increased, and they raided the big
ranchos with less fear of conse-
quences. Every young Californian
along the foothills was angry. They
demanded something be done by the
soldiers at the mission or the pre-
sidio.
But the authorities were indolent.
Following minor depredations at
Rancho Pinole, the Indians, embold-'
ened, ran off, one dark night, every
saddle horse on the place. Don Jose
Martinez and his son had to bor-
row horses from Don Ramon at
Guadalupe.
The neighbors were infuriated.
They organized a party and set out
to recover the horses and chastise
the thieves. Don Francisco of Guad-
alupe was chosen captain.
The posse was in the saddle early
next morning, and two vaqueros
tracked the marauders through the
hills to a canyon in the mountains
where, toward evening, they charged
the Indians in a surprise attack.
It was made too hastily, and the
red men, scattering at the onslaught
of the rancheros, sent back a cloud
of arrows at their pursuers. Pedro
and his vaqueros took advantage of
the sudden confusion of the warriors
to run the stolen horses out of the
canyon and head them downhill for
home. For a time the brush was
fast; but there were too many In-
dians. Don Francisco called a re-
treat, and the Californians slowly
retired from the field.
As the leader of his little band,
Don Francisco was the last to wheel
from the scene of battle. The young-
ster was fearless beyond his years.
Unhappily, as he spurred after his
comrades, an arrow struck him be-
tween the shoulders. For a moment
he swayed in his saddle, but before
he had galloped a hundred yards,
striving to cling to his horse, he
pitched forward headlong to the
ground.
A score of Indian horsemen in j
hot pursuit yelled in triumph as he
fell. His companions turned to at- I
tempt a rescue. But the fighting j
line of pursuers had already passed i
the fallen Don, and the pitifully j
few Californians were driven back j
without being able to save their
youthful leader.
The duty of informing Don Ramon
of the capture of his nephew was
put upon Don Guillermo Castro, eld-
est of the young men. Hat in hand,
he headed his companions into the
living room. The family were, un-
fortunately, there — Don Ramon,
Dona Maria and Carmen. No soon-
er had Don Guillermo spoken than
all seemed to grasp the dread tid-
ings at once.
Don Ramon sank, crushed, into a
chair. Dona Maria burst into tears,
and Carmen, ghastly white, fainted.
Like wildfire the bad news spread
to the servant quarters. Guadalupe,
that night, was a house of mourn-
ing.
It was nearing midnight when a
clattering of hoofs was heard out-
side. Carmen, in the living room,
was still trying to comfort her moth-
er; Don Ramon sat gazing into the
dying fire. He had smoked a final
cigar and given himself over to pain-
ful thoughts. At the sound of horse-
men he stirred and, answering a
rapping on the door, rose to his feet,
answering, “Adelante!” Don Ramon
thought some of the neighbors had
returned.
The visitor strode somewhat for-
ward and spoke easily in Spanish.
“You do not remember me, Don
Ramon. It is more than a year since
I have seen you. I am Henry Bow-
ie, the Texan.”
The Don’s gloomy features light-
ened. “Senor!” he cried. “Who
could be more welcome? I am only
sorry that you find us grief strick-
en.”
Bowie raised his hand. “That is
why I am here. The bad news
reached me in Monterey tonight. I
came down the river this morning
with Pardaloe and Simmie, bringing
a batch of furs. They are with me.
And I came at once to offer any
help that I can to my friends, Don
Francisco and yourself.”
Don Ramon recounted briefly the
tragedy and said the rancheros were
waiting for daybreak to assemble
for pursuit.
“You tell me that Pedro was with
him? May I go to the vaquero quar-
ters to speak with him?”
“Stay. He will come here. Car-
men, tell Pepita to call Pedro.”
When the sleepy-eyed vaquero ap-
peared Bowie plied him with rapid
questions. Don Ramon listened, im-
pressed by the ease with which
Bowie reconstructed, step by step,
the fatal fight. It was almost as if
he had been there.
CHAPTER VIII
“You say you can find the canyon
in the dark?”
“Without doubt, senor.”
“And you think you know the
band?”
“Yosco led them, senor. I know
him.”
Bowie turned to Don Ramon. “Pe-
dro seems sure he can find the
ground of the fight. We will start at
once.”
“Pedro might easily go wrong on
a night like this, senor. It is rain-
ing hard.”
Bowie shook his head. “Every
hour is precious if Don Francisco is
alive. The Indians will not kill their
prisoner before daybreak. Since
they drove off the Californianos they
may have remained in the canyon.
Vamos!”
“How about carbines, senor?”
. “My men are well armed. You,
Pedro, see that your vaqueros have
carbines with plenty of dry ammu-
nition—and hatchets and knives, Pe-
dro.”
Bowie spoke rapidly. His eager-
ness to get started was most appar-
ent. In the vaquero quarter Parda-
loe and Simmie, who had gone to
bed, were roused with the vaqueros
picked for the rescue party.
Under the conditions it was not
possible to go fast after the beaten
trail was left behind. Yet Bowie
was keenly anxious to make time.
The party halted for a moment
while Pedro took his bearings.
“I want to get to the canyon by
daylight, Pedro,” said Bowie. “Push
on whenever you are sure you’re
right. But be careful not to get lost.
Except for that, I like the rainy
night. Sabe?”
“Si, senor.”
The others of the party were cau-
tioned to stick close together, to
make no noise and not to attempt
to light pipes. The faintest light of
dawn, penetrating the leaden sky
and the driving rain, found the res-
cuers riding fast. They reached the
canyon entrance an hour later, but
the high walls shut out the added
daylight, and utmost caution was
used in threading the winding re-
cesses. Pedro suddenly halted and
waited for Bowie to come up. “Here
is the place, senor,” he whispered,
pointing to a sharp rock that jutted
well up from the canyon floor. “The
fight was here.”
“Then we’d better scout ahead a
way to look for Indians. We’ll no
on foot.”
He spoke to Pardaloe and Sim-
mie. “Pedro and I will work ahead,
Ben,” he explained. “You boys fol-
low. Keep your priming pans dry.”
The horses were left with the va-
queros, and the four stole forwanl
on foot.
(TO BE CONTINUED!
AROUND M
the house!
Items of Interest
to the Housewife
Delicate colors in washing ma-
terials will not fade if before be-
ing washed they are soaked in
tepid water to which a few drops
of turpentine have been added.
* * *
All vegetables should be put on
to cook in boiling water. This
holds the major portion of the
mineral matter and starch within.
* * *
The backs of pictures should be
inspected from time to time. If
there are any holes in the paper,
fresh pieces should be pasted over
them, or dust will get in.
Clean paint brushes used for en-
ameling with turpentine. When
used to shellac, clean with de-
natured alcohol.
* * *
When stewing fruit, add the sug-
ar just before taking the fruit off
the stove. In this way far less
sugar is needed than if it is put
in at the beginning.
* * *
Grass stains can easily be re-
moved from linens, cottons or
white stockings by rubbing the
stains with molasses before wash-
ing.
Switch to something you’ll like!
MADE BY KELLOGG’S IN BATTLE CREEK
Trained Heart
The man anywhere with a
trained head apart from a trained
heart is a menace, however many
degrees he may write after his
name.—Anon.
Illfj »J
II
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■1
4H
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Coltrin, George W. The Mathis News (Mathis, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 31, Ed. 1 Friday, August 23, 1940, newspaper, August 23, 1940; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1038553/m1/3/: accessed July 1, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Mathis Public Library.