The Valiant Runaways [39]
measure of vision they huddled together, staring with
affrighted eyes at the moving wall of cattle not twenty yards to their
left, hardly able to keep their balance.
Suddenly Roldan pulled his wits together. "Sit down," he said. "We are
the colour now of the earth. If we keep quiet and look no taller than
weeds they will not see us and we shall not be hurt."
The boys dropped to the ground and sat in silence, staring ahead of
them. Would that rushing, heaving, bellowing mass have no end? It was
indeed a long time before the last line, curiously compact, swept by.
Occasionally the earth jumped with brief abruptness, causing hair to
crackle at the roots, and dust-laden as it was, make as if to rise on
end. The squirrels were screeching in the trees. The birds pitifully
twittered. Even the leaves rustled in response to those terrible
quivers.
The cattle were a red streak at the end of the perspective. The boys
rose, shook themselves, and walked heavily to their tethered mustangs.
The poor beasts were trembling and whinnying; they greeted their young
masters with a quavering neigh of relief. The boys mounted; but although
they rode rapidly, with ever increasing impatience, they paused every
few moments to listen; there was likely to be a return stampede at any
moment. More than once they were obliged to swerve suddenly aside from
yawning rifts, and they passed a spring of boiling water, spouting and
hissing upward, which had not been there in the morning. They were too
frightened to talk; not only the paralysing awe of the earthquake was
upon them, but the least imaginative saw his home levelled to the
ground, his relatives and friends trodden down into the cracking earth.
Hills lay between them and the Casa Encarnacion.
There were two exits from the valley where the branding had taken place:
one, very narrow, to the right, which led directly to the house, the
other straight ahead, almost as broad as the valley itself. The boys saw
at a glance that pursued and pursuers had taken the more spacious way,
and they followed without consultation.
The crushed grass looked like green blood, but there was no other
evidence of slaughter; the mustangs had been fleeter than the cattle.
The latter had evidently kept well together, for on either side of a
swath some three hundred yards in width, the grass stood high.
They were in a wide valley now; they could see the great mountains,
still faint under their vapourous mist, the redwoods as rigid of outline
as if the heart of the world beneath had never changed its measure. Just
beyond this valley was a wood, then the Mission. Were twenty thousand
hoofs trampling among its ruins?
They left the valley, entered the wood, galloped down its narrow path,
and emerged. The Mission stood on its plateau above the river, as serene
and proud as the redwoods on the mountain. She had held her own against
many earthquakes and would against many more. But there was not a horn,
a horse, a man, nor a woman to be seen.
The boys dismounted, not daring to think. They walked toward the
buildings, then paused to listen. Through the open doors of the church
rolled the sonorous tones of Padre Osuna's voice, intoning mass. The
boys ran forward to enter the building. They paused on the threshold,
held by a sight, the like of which had never been seen in California
before, and never shall be again.
Near the entrance of the vast building were a multitude of half-clothed
dusky forms, prone. Between them and the altar were more than an hundred
horses, caparisoned with silver and carved leather, and gay anquera.
They stood as if petrified. On them, huddled to the arching necks, in an
attitude of prostrate devotion, were magnificent bunches of colour;
scarce an outline could be seen of the proudly attired men and women who
had fled before a tidal wave of tossing horns. Father Osuna, in his
coarse brown woollen robes, stood before the altar, chanting the mass of
thanksgiving. The church blazed with the light of many candles. The air
was thick and
affrighted eyes at the moving wall of cattle not twenty yards to their
left, hardly able to keep their balance.
Suddenly Roldan pulled his wits together. "Sit down," he said. "We are
the colour now of the earth. If we keep quiet and look no taller than
weeds they will not see us and we shall not be hurt."
The boys dropped to the ground and sat in silence, staring ahead of
them. Would that rushing, heaving, bellowing mass have no end? It was
indeed a long time before the last line, curiously compact, swept by.
Occasionally the earth jumped with brief abruptness, causing hair to
crackle at the roots, and dust-laden as it was, make as if to rise on
end. The squirrels were screeching in the trees. The birds pitifully
twittered. Even the leaves rustled in response to those terrible
quivers.
The cattle were a red streak at the end of the perspective. The boys
rose, shook themselves, and walked heavily to their tethered mustangs.
The poor beasts were trembling and whinnying; they greeted their young
masters with a quavering neigh of relief. The boys mounted; but although
they rode rapidly, with ever increasing impatience, they paused every
few moments to listen; there was likely to be a return stampede at any
moment. More than once they were obliged to swerve suddenly aside from
yawning rifts, and they passed a spring of boiling water, spouting and
hissing upward, which had not been there in the morning. They were too
frightened to talk; not only the paralysing awe of the earthquake was
upon them, but the least imaginative saw his home levelled to the
ground, his relatives and friends trodden down into the cracking earth.
Hills lay between them and the Casa Encarnacion.
There were two exits from the valley where the branding had taken place:
one, very narrow, to the right, which led directly to the house, the
other straight ahead, almost as broad as the valley itself. The boys saw
at a glance that pursued and pursuers had taken the more spacious way,
and they followed without consultation.
The crushed grass looked like green blood, but there was no other
evidence of slaughter; the mustangs had been fleeter than the cattle.
The latter had evidently kept well together, for on either side of a
swath some three hundred yards in width, the grass stood high.
They were in a wide valley now; they could see the great mountains,
still faint under their vapourous mist, the redwoods as rigid of outline
as if the heart of the world beneath had never changed its measure. Just
beyond this valley was a wood, then the Mission. Were twenty thousand
hoofs trampling among its ruins?
They left the valley, entered the wood, galloped down its narrow path,
and emerged. The Mission stood on its plateau above the river, as serene
and proud as the redwoods on the mountain. She had held her own against
many earthquakes and would against many more. But there was not a horn,
a horse, a man, nor a woman to be seen.
The boys dismounted, not daring to think. They walked toward the
buildings, then paused to listen. Through the open doors of the church
rolled the sonorous tones of Padre Osuna's voice, intoning mass. The
boys ran forward to enter the building. They paused on the threshold,
held by a sight, the like of which had never been seen in California
before, and never shall be again.
Near the entrance of the vast building were a multitude of half-clothed
dusky forms, prone. Between them and the altar were more than an hundred
horses, caparisoned with silver and carved leather, and gay anquera.
They stood as if petrified. On them, huddled to the arching necks, in an
attitude of prostrate devotion, were magnificent bunches of colour;
scarce an outline could be seen of the proudly attired men and women who
had fled before a tidal wave of tossing horns. Father Osuna, in his
coarse brown woollen robes, stood before the altar, chanting the mass of
thanksgiving. The church blazed with the light of many candles. The air
was thick and