The Mathis News (Mathis, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 33, Ed. 1 Friday, September 6, 1940 Page: 3 of 8
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CHAPTER IX—Continued
—9—
Despite the utmost care an occa-
sional bit of rock would rattle down
the canyon wall; fortunately the dull
ascending roar of the small water-
fall muffled the noise. For the weary
rancheros this final climb on hands
and knees, dragging their rifles with
painful care, topped the hardships
of the night. But just as the first
faint streak of dawn lightened the
eastern sky Sanchez, with the ut-
most caution, turned the top of 'the
trail and led his men into a second
recess in the precipice.
As each man crept around the
corner he beheld with astonishment
a small fire burning fifty yards away
with dim figures dancing and chant-
ing around it. Sanchez did not al-
low a word to be even whispered.
He had achieved his surprise; what,
now, of the attack?
“Dancing to keep warm?” asked
Bowie to Sanchez.
“War dance,” whispered Sanchez.
“Another raid tonight.”
“Maybe!” exclaimed Bowie men-
tally. “Call on them to surrender,
Sanchez.”
The high shrill yell of the vaquero
broke loud over the empty gorge.
The dancers stopped, petrified. The
squaws sprang up and scurried from
sight. Sanchez called for surrender.
The startled warriors looked about
in vain for a foe. They raised a
quick sharp yell of defiance. For
most of them it was the last. A
burst of rifle fire toppled them over
like pasteboard men. The few who
partly escaped the fatal hail stag-
gered or plunged, wounded, back to
shelter.
Undismayed and sooner than the
Californians could reload, a fresh
party of warriors ran out; one limp-
ing savage pointed in the direction
of the gunfire. A shower of arrows
flew from the cave mouth. As these
struck the rocks hiding the attack-
ers a yell and a volley came from
across the canyon. Three of the war-
riors went down before the rifles of
the Texan scouts and Pedro. The
savages had not recovered from
their amazement at gunfire from a
new quarter when a second volley
was poured into them from the Cali-
fornians hidden on the trail.
To add to the trouble of the cave
men, boulders were tumbling down
on them from above. As warrior
after warrior, yelling defiance, is-
sued from the cave he was struck
down. The ledge was soon covered
with dead. Still Sanchez waited.
He waited till the patience of Bowie
and that of the shivering rancheros
was exhausted But the patience of
an Indian surpasses the patience of
a white man.
“Sanchez,” protested Bowie at
length, “it has been half an hour
since a buck has come out—”
“Yosco is waiting to ambush us,”
said Sanchez quietly. “If he can get
us to attack he will fight.”
“No matter. We can’t lie behind
these rocks all day,” continued Bow-
ie. “When the sun gets high enough
they can pick us off with arrows.
You say there’s a hole at the other
end of the cave. They can crawl
through there and get above us.
When they do, we’re done. Sanchez,
we’ve got to rush the cave.”
“Senores?” Bowie called quickly
to the men lining about him. He
explained the situation and what he
purposed. He asked for five or six
volunteers.
Bowie, moccasin shod, crept down
toward the cave, followed closely
by Sanchez and the picked Califor-
nians.
As they drew closer to the cave
entrance they heard within the low
wails of the squaws in death song—
mourning their warriors; its one
advantage for the men advancing
was that it helped absorb .the slight
noises of rock fragments underfoot.
Bowie was thus able, by hugging
the wall, to gain the side of the
opening itself without discovery.
He paused only long enough to
signal his followers, then, whirling
to the right, threw himself, knife
in hand, into the narrow cave open-
ing.
An ear-splitting yell burst from
within. Using only his knife and
pushed closely by Sanchez, Bowie
grappled the first warrior, a tall
supple fellow, not heavy, but with
muscles of steel. For a few swift
minutes a deadly encounter was
waged for possession of the mouth
of the cave. The floor on which
they fought put the Texan at a dis-
advantage, but he managed to
dodge the knife of the Indian until
he could bring him down.
He cut and jimmied his way in-
side, dodging as best he could knife
thrusts and ax blows, but he gained
the entrance.
The struggle was too furious to
last long. Once they saw inevitable
defeat, the surviving warriors re-
treated behind their squaws into the
farthest recesses of the cave and
begged for quarter.
Bowie stopped his Californians
anc^ took stock. One of the ranche-
rs' "was seriously wounded, Sanchez
was a mass of bloody bruises and
Bowie had suffered a vicious knife
slash across his bared chest and
half-a-dozen lesser cuts.
The enraged Californians were for
extermination. The Texan would
have none of it. Sanchez, wild to
reach the stolen girls and Amelita,
found the frightened neophytes
where they had been hidden by the
squaws.
THE MATHIS NEWS
CARMEN,''RANCHO3 4 5^'
By FRANK H. SPEARMAN
© Frank H. Spearman
WNU Service
But he searched in vain for Ame-
lita. Beside himself, he searched
every rift in the cave for Yosco.
His frantic efforts were bootless.
His bloody knife in hand, he faced
the beaten subchief of the savages,
threatening instant death for all un-
less Yosco Were produced. “Only
his squaws can tell you where Yos-
co is,” muttered the stolid Indian.
“Yosco is not here,” said the
swarthy, wrinkled woman. “He
started yesterday for the high moun-
tains.”
“Where is Amelita?” demanded
Sanchez, beside himself.
“He took two mission girls along.
Amelita was one.”
Late that night a weary and strag-
gling procession roused Santa Clara
Mission with resounding shouts.
Despite the hour they were given
a joyous welcome. Padre Martinez,
for himself and his associates, or-
dered the slender reserves of his
fatlings brought from the cold room,
and at midnight the fires were still
blazing and the kettles bubbling to
fill a half-starved company with the
best provender the mission afforded.
To the surprise of the savages,
who expected to be executed at
once, they, too, were served with
an abundance and -went to their
quarters, filled both with stew and
with amazement.
The Californians, after mutual
congratulations, scattered for their
ranchos. It was almost daybreak
when Don Ramon, with Dona Ma-
ria, Carmen, Bowie and his men
reached Guadalupe. Lights were
still burning everywhere in the
ranch house.
Some moments passed before
Bowie came into the living room.
After taking measures with the
scouts and vaqueros for the guard-
ing of the corral, Don Ramon and
his wife were just retiring to their
rooms.
“You must ask Senor Bowie more
about the fight itself,” Don Ramon
was saying to his wife. He had evi-
dently been recounting the story of
the day. “Because,” he added with
a cold glance at the Texan, “he
kept me out of it—for which I do
not thank him.”
The early morning was gray with
fog, but even the gray of a Cali-
fornia morning is an inspiration to
the young. When the mist floats
lazily in from the sea, when the
valley lies green in the soft light
of dawn, when the cattle and the
horses in thousands shake off the
torpor of the night and turn peace-
fully to the lush grass of the hill
slopes, when the curtained bay lies
asleep in the distance, not even the
sun is needed to inspire youth with
strength and hope.
But the Texan had an added in-
spiration that early morning when
he rode up the field to the house,
in the spectacle of Carmen in the
saddle. The two wheeled together
and loped down the valley on the
major-domo’s daily round of inspec-
tion.
Carmen, animated by the brisk
ride, slowed down after a few miles.
“Senor,” she said, turning to
Bowie, “I wanted to thank you for
your protection of my dear father.
It meant so much to me. I am
sorry he did not understand.”
“I hope his resentment will pass,”
said Bowie.
“I know it will. He has the high-
est opinion of you, and rightly, since
you saved his life.”
He looked at her to disclaim. But
the vision of her face, the depth
and splendor of her eyes bent full
and with perfect poise on his own,
confused him. Just the faintest
flush crept to her cheeks.
He looked down and could utter
only a word or two. “It was noth-
ing, really nothing. Shall we go a
bit faster?”
Her spirit attracted him; it was
so brimming with fire. And all the
time she was sinking deeper into
his life.
He knew she could ride, but now
she surpassed even his idea of her
daring.
The race was cut short by the
appearance of a horseman gallop-
ing smartly around the hill ahead
of them. He was swinging his hat
in his hand as he rode. Heavily
bearded, tall in the saddle and rid-
ing free as he came on, Bowie
placed him as an American, and
as he drew closer the verdict was
strengthened.
“Hello, greaser,” shouted the
stranger in Yankee fashion.
“Who are you and what do you
want?” asked Bowie in curt Eng-
lish.
“Looking for some stray horses,
greaser. What are you doing here
with a pretty girl?—I’d like to get
acquainted with that shy one my-
self.”
Bowie felt sure the man was ly-
ing about stray horses, and, early
as it was, he was evidently drunk.
A nearer inspection of his features
did not better Bowie’s opinion of
him.
“Look here, Yank,” said the Tex-
an, chopping his words sharply,
“bridle your tongue before you get
into trouble. You’re on Rancho
Guadalupe. The quicker you get
off it the better it will suit me. And
don’t make any more remarks about
my companion.”
“Greaser, I don’t think I like
you.”
“You’ll like me less if you don’t
move on pronto.”
The invader very slowly drew a
double-barreled horse pistol from
his belt. The movement cost Bowie
his first tremor. He wheeled his
horse back toward Carmen. “Seno-
rita,” he said in Spanish, “ride
home. This fellow is drunk and
might shoot wild. You’re in danger
here.”
“What will you do?” asked Car-
men coolly.
“I think I can handle the situation.
Go, do.”
He turned to face the threat from
the insolent horseman, who stormed
on. “I want you to understand I’m
Captain Blood, and I don’t take no
back talk from any greaser. If
you open your mouth once more I’ll
blow your head off.”
Bowie felt suddenly angry with
himself. Perhaps for the first time
since riding inspection of the rancho
he had come out unarmed. In his
exhilaration at. seeing Carmen in
the saddle he had forgotten his re-
volver.
His anger turned on the intruder.
“So you’re Captain Blood!” he
called out rather contemptuously.
The doughty captain’s only retort
was to make good his words. He
leveled his big pistol at Bowie. The
Texan spurred violently and ducked
in his saddle as Blood fired. The
vs
—sss<®
“Had enough?” demanded Bowie.
bullet missed its mark. Bowie’s po-
ny plunged. The Texan rode nei-
ther toward nor from Blood, but
headed sidewise, loosing his reata
from its coil as he rode. The bel-
ligerent captain was confused by
the tactic. He whirled his own horse
about to keep face to face with the
flying Texan and get in his second
shot to better purpose.
But a racing horseman is a no-
toriously slippery mark for an ene-
my in the saddle with his own horse
jumping under him. In point of
fact, Bowie already had his foe at
his mercy. Even the captain, so-
bering rapidly at this unexpected
shift in the fight, sat alertly await-
ing his chance to shoot. So vividly
intent was he on getting a bead on
his adroit antagonist that he saw in
his field of vision only , as a remote
danger the long snakelike coils of
the deadly reata now circling above
him.
When he perceived his peril it
was too late. The great loop set-
tled gracefully over him. Pistol in
hand, he tried to dodge, flung a wild
shot at Bowie, and the next instant,
caught like a rat, he was jerked
violently from his horse and, with
arms pinioned, dragged headfirst
and bumping violently at the heels
of his captor. It was rough treat-
ment. No man could have lived
long under it. But Bowie was thor-
oughly angry and hardhearted. It
was not consideration for the im-
pudent bully that checked his pace,
but as he dragged his captive down
the slope whom should he see
watching him but Carmen.
Instinctively he checked his pony.
He seemed to realize that this would
be too unpleasant a scene for her
approval. He was pulling the strug-
gling man toward outcropping
rocks. In five minutes more their
jagged edges would have torn him
to pieces.
Bowie halted within speaking dis-
tance of Carmen. He was still un-
der the influence of his anger and
spoke sharply.
“I asked the Senorita to ride
home.”
She spoke without resentment. “I
disobeyed.”
“You have exposed yourself to
danger,” he said bluntly.
“Don’t kill that poor man, if he
isn’t dead already. Please.”
“He tried to kill me, didn’t he?”
asked Bowie tartly.
“Yes, but let him go, senor—if
he’s still alive.”
“It’s hard to kill such vermin.”
“Please let him go.”
“He’ll make more trouble anoth-
er time,” grumbled Bowie.
“Please let him go.”
Bowie rode back to him. His eyes
were staring wildly and he was
panting. “Had enough?” demanded
Bowie sullenly.
The captive could not raise breath
enough to speak but he nodded fee-
bly.
CHAPTER X
Bowie, dismounting and stooping
to release his captive, heard the
clatter of hoofs. He sprang up, ex-
pecting enemies. It was only Pe-
dro and Sanchez, galloping in hard
after the report of the two shots.
“Sanchez,” said Bowie in Span-
ish, “ride fast back to the house
and fetch me my gun. Pedro,” he
added, “loosen this fellow and set •
him up. Then pick up his pistol—
it’s over by that hill somewhere.
And bring in his horse—it’s proba-
bly grazing back of the hill.”
A moment or more passed before
the doughty captain sat up, stag-
gered to his feet and shook himself
to see whether he was all apart or
all together. Hatless, hair awry,
breathless and covered with dust
and dry grass, he was a sight. Bow-
ie, remounting, eyed him with little
sympathy. “So your name’s Blood?”
he snapped.
“Ben Blood,” answered the man.
“You’ll pay for this. I’m a scout
from General Fremont’s expedi-
tion.”
“What are you scouting down this
way?”
“Horses—three hundred head.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place
for horses.”
“Give me my horse and pistol,
and I’ll be going.”
“You’ll be going, Blood—with an
escort. This vaquero will take you
to the presidio for trial. You’re un-
der arrest.”
“You’d better not arrest me! Give
me my horse.”
“You’re headed for the presidio,
Blood. Climb into your saddle.”
Bowie then spoke in Spanish to
his vaquero. “Ride this wretch well
away from the i~*ncho—far north;
and lose him sc’Bfe-'where along the
Melena de Leon.^Cvt him think he’s
escaping. We dor^jS'want to bother
with him. When lie gets away,
chase him and gives him a good
scare.”
When Carmen and Bowie reached
the rancho Don Ramon and Dona..
Maria were on the porch with a
group of house servants huddled
close at hand, and Dr. Doane. After
the story of the morning was told,
the surgeon engaged Bowie and with
some effort extracted from him a
story of the fight at the cave.
The event of the morning was
passed over briefly by Bowie. “But,
Don Ramon,” he added, “do not de-
ceive yourself. Half-drunken ras-
cals like this one we encountered
this morning will be back. We must
always be prepared for them. Their
leaders are unscrupulous—the rank
and file are worse.”
Bowie tried all next day to catch
Dona Maria alone in order to lay
a momentous request before her.
But an itinerant painter had ap-
peared at the rancho and for that
day and next few, the family was
busy having their portraits painted.
Even Bowie was included in the
paintings. One day the artist took
his leave and Bowie appealed to
Dona Maria, asking that he might
have a word with her.
The lovely mistress of the rancho
was, as always, gracious. “You
certainly may, Senor Bowie,” she
said in her gentle Spanish, “and
as many words as you like. Come
with me.”
She led him to her sitting room.
“Speak freely,” she said.
“I am a stranger to you, Dona
Maria,” he began.
“Not wholly,” smiled Dona Ma-
ria, “but let that pass.”
“Thank you; yet I am—and to
your people. My stay under the
roof of Don Ramon has been a very
happy one.”
“Surely,” exclaimed Dona Maria,
alarmed, “you are not leaving us?”
“That is the last thing I’d like to
think of, Dona Maria. I have come
to love Californianos and Califor-
nia, I can honestly say, as if it and
they were my own.
“I am a Tejano. My own people
are from Maryland and France.
When Don Ramon asked me to take
charge of Guadalupe I hesitated, as
you know. The presence of your
daughter, Senorita Carmen, made
me fear, from the first time I ever
saw her, that my feelings might
carry me beyond my depth.
“They have done so, Dona Maria,
I am obliged to confess. And I am
painfulty conscious that I have noth-
ing to offer her. She is an heiress
of large possessions. Yet—here I
am, asking you for her hand. I am
not worthy of it. What will you do
with me?”
Dona Maria listened with varied
feelings, nor did she seem shocked
at the confidence, though her ex-
pression was grave, as seemed to
her to befit the situation.
“Your words do you honor, Senor
Bowie,” she responded evenly.
“There are, indeed, as you say, un-
usual circumstances to be consid-
ered. Yet after discussing it with
Don Ramon, I shall not hesitate to
lay your avowal before Carmen.
From him I do not anticipate any
serious objection. As to her feel-
ings, I am not, much as you might
so think, in her confidence. Carmen
is mature beyond her years and
much reserved by nature. She has
been delicate—”
“She seems in perfect health
now,” suggested Bowie.
“So she is,” declared Dona Ma-
ria, “in perfect health—have no mis-
givings on that score.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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Coltrin, George W. The Mathis News (Mathis, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 33, Ed. 1 Friday, September 6, 1940, newspaper, September 6, 1940; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1039301/m1/3/: accessed July 4, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Mathis Public Library.