It was the Cahuilla
village. In a few moments she was there,
It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla village, -- a cluster
of tule and adobe huts, on a narrow bit of bleak and broken
ground, on San Jacinto Mountain; the people are very poor, but are
proud and high-spirited,-- veritable mountaineers in nature, fierce
and independent.
Alessandro had warm friends among them, and the news that he
had been murdered, and that his wife had run all the way down the
mountain, with her baby in her arms, for help, went like wild-fire
through the place. The people gathered in an excited group around
the house where Ramona had taken refuge. She was lying, half
unconscious, on a bed. As soon as she had gasped out her terrible
story, she had fallen forward on the floor, fainting, and the baby
had been snatched from her arms just in time to save it. She did
not seem to miss the child; had not asked for it, or noticed it when
it was brought to the bed. A merciful oblivion seemed to be fast
stealing over her senses. But she had spoken words enough to set
the village in a blaze of excitement.
Pages:
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665