The Valiant Runaways [11]
He had broken in more
than one bucking horse. He remained as immovable as a fly on the top of
a coach, only giving an occasional prick with his spur to madden the
animal and wear him out the sooner.
Roldan had cast the lariat from the animal's neck as soon as he mounted,
and it was well that he had, for his quarry made a sudden dash and did
not stop for half a mile,--when he paused on his forefeet, waving his
hind in the air.
But still Roldan kept his seat, Adan shouting: "Bravo! Bravo!" by way of
encouragement.
The battle lasted nearly an hour; then the mustang confessed himself
conquered, and the boys sought out the trail, from which they had
wandered far, and continued their journey.
"Caramba!" exclaimed Roldan, "but I am famished, not to say tired. If it
had been ten miles instead of twenty, it would not have been worth
while."
VI
They rode on rapidly, too hungry to talk. The ground began to rise, and
they advanced through hills sprouting with the early green of winter.
Once they paused, and tethering the horses where they could feed, shot
several quail and roasted them. But the pangs of hunger were by no means
allayed, and when, in the early afternoon, they saw the white walls of
the Mission below them, they gave a shout of joy.
The Mission stood in the middle of a valley, well away from woods and
hills, and surrounded by a large vineyard and orchard. On the long
corridor traversing the building adjoining the church, several figures
in habit and cowl walked slowly behind the arches. Indians were in the
vineyards and orchards and moving about the rancheria adjacent to the
main buildings. Cattle were browsing on the hills. A stream tangled in
willows cut a zig-zag course across the valley.
The boys rode quickly down the hillside. As the padres heard the
approaching hoof-beats they paused in their walk, and shading their eyes
with their hands gazed earnestly at the travellers.
"Friends! Friends!" cried Roldan gaily, as the tired steeds trotted up
to the corridor. The boys dismounted and made a deep reverence. One of
the priests, a man with a grave stern face came forward.
"Who are you, my children?" he asked. "You are the sons of aristocrats,
and yet you are torn and unkempt, and one of you has ridden many leagues
without a saddle. Are you runaways? The shelter of the Mission is for
all, but we do not countenance insubordination."
Roldan introduced himself and his friend. "We are runaways, my father,"
he added, "but from the government; and we have arranged that our
parents shall not be anxious. We do not wish to be drafted."
The priest's brow relaxed. The padres had little respect for a system
that owed its existence mainly to the vanity of governors and generals,
and the present governor, Micheltorena, had by no means won the approval
of the Church.
"You are welcome, my sons," he said. "If the officers come we cannot
deny your presence; but I do not think they will find their way here,
and we certainly shall not send for them. You are hungry and tired, no?"
"Father, we could eat our horses."
The padre laughed, and calling a young brother who was piously telling
his beads bade him go and see that a hasty luncheon was prepared. An
Indian came and took the mustangs, and the boys were led by the
hospitable priest into a large room, comfortably furnished, the walls
hung with some very good religious pictures.
The padres, in truth, were glad of visitors at any time. They were
clever educated men who had given their lives to christianising
brainless savages in a sparsely settled country; and any news of the
outer world was very welcome. They pushed back their hoods and sat about
the boys, their faces beaming with interest and amusement as they
listened to the adventures of those wayward youths. And as all men, even
priests, love courage and audacity, they clapped their hands together
more than once or embraced the lads heartily.
When luncheon was announced and the doors of the long refectory thrown
open, the boys were
than one bucking horse. He remained as immovable as a fly on the top of
a coach, only giving an occasional prick with his spur to madden the
animal and wear him out the sooner.
Roldan had cast the lariat from the animal's neck as soon as he mounted,
and it was well that he had, for his quarry made a sudden dash and did
not stop for half a mile,--when he paused on his forefeet, waving his
hind in the air.
But still Roldan kept his seat, Adan shouting: "Bravo! Bravo!" by way of
encouragement.
The battle lasted nearly an hour; then the mustang confessed himself
conquered, and the boys sought out the trail, from which they had
wandered far, and continued their journey.
"Caramba!" exclaimed Roldan, "but I am famished, not to say tired. If it
had been ten miles instead of twenty, it would not have been worth
while."
VI
They rode on rapidly, too hungry to talk. The ground began to rise, and
they advanced through hills sprouting with the early green of winter.
Once they paused, and tethering the horses where they could feed, shot
several quail and roasted them. But the pangs of hunger were by no means
allayed, and when, in the early afternoon, they saw the white walls of
the Mission below them, they gave a shout of joy.
The Mission stood in the middle of a valley, well away from woods and
hills, and surrounded by a large vineyard and orchard. On the long
corridor traversing the building adjoining the church, several figures
in habit and cowl walked slowly behind the arches. Indians were in the
vineyards and orchards and moving about the rancheria adjacent to the
main buildings. Cattle were browsing on the hills. A stream tangled in
willows cut a zig-zag course across the valley.
The boys rode quickly down the hillside. As the padres heard the
approaching hoof-beats they paused in their walk, and shading their eyes
with their hands gazed earnestly at the travellers.
"Friends! Friends!" cried Roldan gaily, as the tired steeds trotted up
to the corridor. The boys dismounted and made a deep reverence. One of
the priests, a man with a grave stern face came forward.
"Who are you, my children?" he asked. "You are the sons of aristocrats,
and yet you are torn and unkempt, and one of you has ridden many leagues
without a saddle. Are you runaways? The shelter of the Mission is for
all, but we do not countenance insubordination."
Roldan introduced himself and his friend. "We are runaways, my father,"
he added, "but from the government; and we have arranged that our
parents shall not be anxious. We do not wish to be drafted."
The priest's brow relaxed. The padres had little respect for a system
that owed its existence mainly to the vanity of governors and generals,
and the present governor, Micheltorena, had by no means won the approval
of the Church.
"You are welcome, my sons," he said. "If the officers come we cannot
deny your presence; but I do not think they will find their way here,
and we certainly shall not send for them. You are hungry and tired, no?"
"Father, we could eat our horses."
The padre laughed, and calling a young brother who was piously telling
his beads bade him go and see that a hasty luncheon was prepared. An
Indian came and took the mustangs, and the boys were led by the
hospitable priest into a large room, comfortably furnished, the walls
hung with some very good religious pictures.
The padres, in truth, were glad of visitors at any time. They were
clever educated men who had given their lives to christianising
brainless savages in a sparsely settled country; and any news of the
outer world was very welcome. They pushed back their hoods and sat about
the boys, their faces beaming with interest and amusement as they
listened to the adventures of those wayward youths. And as all men, even
priests, love courage and audacity, they clapped their hands together
more than once or embraced the lads heartily.
When luncheon was announced and the doors of the long refectory thrown
open, the boys were