The Valiant Runaways [36]
house. You will break your neck, my friend."
Roldan said: "It is dangerous, but it could be done."
"I can do it," said Rafael, proudly, "and I shall."
The other boys, good sportsmen as they all were, shouted, "No! no!"
again; but Rafael laughed gaily, and forced his horse up the almost
perpendicular declivity, leisurely unwinding his lariat from the high
pommel of his saddle, and tossing it into big snake-like loops, which he
gathered one by one into his hand, the last about his thumb. The bull
fed on unsuspecting. for the early green of winter was very delicious
after eight months of unrelenting sunshine. When Rafael reached the
summit he rode back for some distance, then came at the bull full
charge, yelling like a demon. The bull, terrified and indignant, gave a
mighty snort and leaped over the brow of the hill. It was much like
descending the slightly inclined side of a cliff, but he kept his
footing. The boys held their breath as Rafael rode straight over the
brow in the wake of the bull. With one hand he held the bridle in a
tight grip, in the other he held aloft the coils of the lariat. It
looked like a huge snake, and quivered as if aware that it was about to
spring. There was no cheering; the boys were too much alarmed. A mis-
step and there would be a hideous heap at the foot of the hill.
The little mustang appeared scarcely to touch the uneven surface of the
descent. He looked as if galloping in air, and tossed his head fiercely
as though to shake the rising sun out of his eyes. The bull seemed
continually gathering himself for a great leap, his clumsy bulk heaving
from side to side. But a quarter of the distance had been traversed when
the great curves of the lasso sprang forward, and, amidst a hoarse
murmur from the boys, caught the bull below the horns. But that was all.
The bull would not down! There would be no coliar! He merely ran on--the
brute! the beast!--jerking his horns defiantly, putting down his head,
nearly dragging Rafael from the saddle. But no! but no! Rafael has risen
in his saddle, he has forced his mustang the harder, he is almost level
with the bull--he has passed! He gives a great jerk, dragging the bull
to his knees, then another, and the bull is on his side and rolling over
and over down the hill, Rafael following fast, slackening his lariat.
The boys now cheer wildly, although danger is not over--yes, in another
moment it is, and Rafael, smiling complacently, is at the foot of the
hill, disengaging the humbled bull.
"Bravo!" said a voice from behind the horses. All turned with a start.
It was the priest. "Coliar was never better done," he added graciously;
and Rafael felt that the day was his.
The priest had ridden up unnoted in the tense excitement of the last few
moments. He sat a big powerful horse, and his bearing was as military as
that of the two great generals of the Californias, Castro and Vallejo.
As the boys, congratulations and modest acknowledgement over, were
making for home and breakfast, the priest pressed his horse close to
Roldan's. "I interested you much at the race yesterday, Don Roldan," he
said, with a good-humoured smile. "Why was that?"
Roldan was not often embarrassed, but he was so taken aback at the
abrupt sally he forgot to be flattered that the priest had evidently
thought it worth while to inquire his name; and stammered: "I--well, you
see, my father, you are not like other priests." Which was not
undiplomatic.
The priest smiled, this time with a faint flush of unmistakable
pleasure. "You are right, my son, I am not as other priests in this
wilderness. Would to Heaven I were, or--"
"Or that you were in Spain?" Roldan could not resist saying, then caught
his breath at his temerity.
The priest turned about and faced him squarely. "Yes," he said
deliberately, "and that I were a cardinal of Rome. Such words I have
never uttered to mortal before; but if I am not as other men, neither
are you as other lads. Some day you will be a Castro or an Alvarado; it
is written in your face.
Roldan said: "It is dangerous, but it could be done."
"I can do it," said Rafael, proudly, "and I shall."
The other boys, good sportsmen as they all were, shouted, "No! no!"
again; but Rafael laughed gaily, and forced his horse up the almost
perpendicular declivity, leisurely unwinding his lariat from the high
pommel of his saddle, and tossing it into big snake-like loops, which he
gathered one by one into his hand, the last about his thumb. The bull
fed on unsuspecting. for the early green of winter was very delicious
after eight months of unrelenting sunshine. When Rafael reached the
summit he rode back for some distance, then came at the bull full
charge, yelling like a demon. The bull, terrified and indignant, gave a
mighty snort and leaped over the brow of the hill. It was much like
descending the slightly inclined side of a cliff, but he kept his
footing. The boys held their breath as Rafael rode straight over the
brow in the wake of the bull. With one hand he held the bridle in a
tight grip, in the other he held aloft the coils of the lariat. It
looked like a huge snake, and quivered as if aware that it was about to
spring. There was no cheering; the boys were too much alarmed. A mis-
step and there would be a hideous heap at the foot of the hill.
The little mustang appeared scarcely to touch the uneven surface of the
descent. He looked as if galloping in air, and tossed his head fiercely
as though to shake the rising sun out of his eyes. The bull seemed
continually gathering himself for a great leap, his clumsy bulk heaving
from side to side. But a quarter of the distance had been traversed when
the great curves of the lasso sprang forward, and, amidst a hoarse
murmur from the boys, caught the bull below the horns. But that was all.
The bull would not down! There would be no coliar! He merely ran on--the
brute! the beast!--jerking his horns defiantly, putting down his head,
nearly dragging Rafael from the saddle. But no! but no! Rafael has risen
in his saddle, he has forced his mustang the harder, he is almost level
with the bull--he has passed! He gives a great jerk, dragging the bull
to his knees, then another, and the bull is on his side and rolling over
and over down the hill, Rafael following fast, slackening his lariat.
The boys now cheer wildly, although danger is not over--yes, in another
moment it is, and Rafael, smiling complacently, is at the foot of the
hill, disengaging the humbled bull.
"Bravo!" said a voice from behind the horses. All turned with a start.
It was the priest. "Coliar was never better done," he added graciously;
and Rafael felt that the day was his.
The priest had ridden up unnoted in the tense excitement of the last few
moments. He sat a big powerful horse, and his bearing was as military as
that of the two great generals of the Californias, Castro and Vallejo.
As the boys, congratulations and modest acknowledgement over, were
making for home and breakfast, the priest pressed his horse close to
Roldan's. "I interested you much at the race yesterday, Don Roldan," he
said, with a good-humoured smile. "Why was that?"
Roldan was not often embarrassed, but he was so taken aback at the
abrupt sally he forgot to be flattered that the priest had evidently
thought it worth while to inquire his name; and stammered: "I--well, you
see, my father, you are not like other priests." Which was not
undiplomatic.
The priest smiled, this time with a faint flush of unmistakable
pleasure. "You are right, my son, I am not as other priests in this
wilderness. Would to Heaven I were, or--"
"Or that you were in Spain?" Roldan could not resist saying, then caught
his breath at his temerity.
The priest turned about and faced him squarely. "Yes," he said
deliberately, "and that I were a cardinal of Rome. Such words I have
never uttered to mortal before; but if I am not as other men, neither
are you as other lads. Some day you will be a Castro or an Alvarado; it
is written in your face.