"No, my man, I am sorry to
say I do not," he answered. "I live a long way from here. Where
were you thinking of going?"
"Somewhere in San Jacinto," said the man. "They say the
Americans have not come in there much yet. I have a brother
living there. Thanks, Senor; may the saints reward you!"
"San Jacinto!" After Felipe returned home, the name haunted his
thoughts. The grand mountain-top bearing that name he had
known well in many a distant horizon. "Juan Can," he said one
day, "are there many Indians in San Jacinto?"
"The mountain?" said Juan Can.
"Ay, I suppose, the mountain," said Felipe. "What else is there?"
"The valley, too," replied Juan. "The San Jacinto Valley is a fine,
broad valley, though the river is not much to be counted on. It is
mostly dry sand a good part of the year. But there is good grazing.
There is one village of Indians I know in the valley; some of the
San Luis Rey Indians came from there; and up on the mountain is
a big village; the wildest Indians in all the country live there. Oh,
they are fierce, Senor!"
The next morning Felipe set out for San Jacinto.
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