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Mistress of Montereq
• * Mi • © Virginia Stiver* Bartlett Uirqima Slivers Dartleti - - - - WNU Service CHAPTER XXll— Continued. —l9 She writhed and struggled, claw ing at his muffling fingers. The re bozo slipped around her neck, her hair tumbled wildly over her shoul ders. But Pedro Fages clutched her firmly, and at last threw her over his shoulder, and lifted her to toss her on to the horse. As soon as she touched the saddle she began to scream, and started to slide down. As her feet touched the earth at the side of the horse, Fages pinned her to the side of his ani mal with one arm and looked at her a moment. “You let me alone!” she ex claimed stridently. “I will not stay another minute here!” Fages lifted his hand and rapped a stinging slap across Eulalia’s jaws. She put her hands to her face, and her mouth fell open in pain and surprise. "Now, get on that horse.” said the Governor sternly. She hesitated just a second for the strong hand that was usually her mounting block, then scrambled quickly into the saddle. As they passed the sentries at the presidio gates, she covered her head and bent low. The sentries looked after them with lively curiosity. At the door of the mansion An gustias’ scared face met them. “Go to oed,” said the Governor shortly. With a gasp of understanding An gustias scuttled away. Eulalia cast herself on the bed, trembling and fearful, but the Gov ernor did not even look at her. She rubbed her stinging cheek tenderly a moment, then undressed, and slipped beneath the covers. Still the Governor did not speak, nor make any move, only stood with folded arms, looking at the floor. At last, with a sigh, he stirred himself, and sank, a dejected dusty figure, before the Madonna. He reached for his rosary and be gan his prayers. But his thoughts wandered from his devotions. “Poor little thing. Poor little thing. I had not dreamed she hated California so. Hated me. Ave Ma ria Purisima . . . hates me! Ai. ai, ai! Who loves her so. Poor lit tle thing. Ave Maria ...” He bowed his head still lower. His wife’s frightened, frantic face, surrounded by her roughened tresses, her wide wet eyes, and lit tle sharp teeth bared by trembling lips came into his mind again. He groaned. "Poor little thing . . . like a little frightened animal caught in a snare, goaded into gnawing off a foot, rath er than to be held in a trap. Ave Maria!” He beat his breast softly, despairingly. Then he slipped his hand beneath his leather jerkin and drew out the scapular made from Junipero Serra’s habit. Holding It in his hands was some comfort. Timidly he lifted it to his lips and kissed it “Poor little thing!” That was all bis thoughts could form. “I under stand. I, too, if I did not love this strange California, would wish to sail away. Even with my love, I have loneliness, the wish for com panionship. Ave Maria! What shall I do now? God help me. holy Mas ter Jesus, help me, Santa Maria, help me, holy Father Serra, inter cede for me.” He had crouched so long, lost in prayer and bitterness, that when he raised his head, he saw it was al ready dawn. From the parade ground there came the sound of a bugle’s notes, and of horses’ hoofs. Sharply he remembered he had or dered a guard to accompany him to the beach to witness the depar ture of the French ships. He pulled himself stiffly to his feet, and looked across at the bed. Eulalia was asleep, one hand still curved over her outraged cheek. Tenderly he bent over her a mo ment then tiptoed out of the room. On the beach blazed a huge fire of driftwood. The sand was marked with the prints of many feet. There were bits of refuse and scraps left by the departing French sailors. Fages looked about him. Here the tent which was the laboratory had stood, with its strange fascinating instruments. Here were the black ened cinders of the fire where the balloon had risen. Fages sighed and lifted his glasses. It was a thick morning. Fog moved in so densely he could scarcely see the water. He won dered if La Perouse could see the beams of the fire he had built in bis honor. He thought of Le Pante Dagelet . . . and dismissed him, once and for all, from his thoughts. He remembered what La Perouse had said, that on leaving California he must catch the Chinese monsoon into Asiatic waters. “My imagina tion must always precede my ves sel by two or three thousand leagues,” he had laughed. Fages en vied him with all his heart. Suddenly a breeze moved, and lifted the fog for a few moments from the face of the waters. Don Pedro and the watchers on shore saw the spread sails and tow »r..i£ masts o i the Boussole ind the ♦ Astrolabe, nearer than it had seemed they could be, putting out of the bay into the open sea. They cheered, moved by the sight of the shadowy ships. From one of them, the flag-ship, came a burst of smoke, followed by a mist-muffled salute. The soldiers of the presidio guard fired a volley in reply. Then as the fog moved down again they were lost to sight, and the fog did not lift again. It was years later that the Viceroy of Mexico learned, by dispatches sent from Europe, that the Boussole and the Astrolabe had made the Sandwich Islands, and there de posited with the captain of a home ward-bound English ship all of the findings of the Count Jean Francois Galaup de La Perouse, concerning his expedition, and his visit to Cali fornia, the fortitude of the Governor Don Pedro Fages. the kindness and piety of Pere Fermin Lasuen, and the hospitality of them both. From the Sandwich Isles, the Frenchmen had sailed away, had been seen once again by men in New Zealand, then disappeared. The Astrolabe, the Boussole. the Count de La Perouse, Monsieur de Langle, Le Pante Dagelet, the schol ars, scientists, sailors and lovers; the delicate instruments, the botan ical and zoological specimens which had been picked up in the French- Watt hed Indizuela Sauntering Toward Him. men’s expedition, were all lost in the Pacific. And the manner of their disaster remained for ever a mys tery. CHAPTER XXIII “Now I will sing to my well beloved a song of my beloved touching his vineyard. My well beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill—” Fr< y Fermin Lasuen, sitting be side t. e Governor on the hot earth beneath a great oak on top of a hill, repeated the words of Isaiah as they watched the Indians picking the ripe grapes that burdened the gnarled and twisted vines. It was the last day of the ven dimia. The fruit had been allowed to hang beneath the burning sun un til the last possible minute when rich juices would strain the purple skins to the utmost, without begin ning to dry. Only a few stragglers remained in the vineyard. The fi esta de la vendimia was already starting as a bustle and stir in the direction of the barbecue pits, shouts and songs from the workers attested. Fray Fermin, who had come over from Carmelo to bless the vintage, watched the Indian girl, Indizuela, as she passed them, a great basket of grapes on her head. “I want to speak to you of that little one,” he said. “She is no long er a savage child, but a well-trained little Christian woman, fit to be a good wife to some man. It is time for her to wed. And because she is your protege, you should know 1 have it in my heart to arrange a marriage for her with young Pio.’’ “An Indian!” exclaimed the Gov ernor. “Why not? He is a good Chris tian, and since his beloved master’i death he has been so bereft I feel he needs something happy in his life. Several times, you know, he has run away to join his savage brethren, and I am afraid we will lose him entirely.” Fages mused, looking after the graceful figure of the girl. “I suppose you are right. Padre. But she still seems a child to me. And I had rather thought she would marry, when the time came, one of the King’s soldiers. Do you want me to speak with her? I will.” The father rose to his feet. “Then do it now, my son. I w’ill go down to see how the fiesta is progress ing.” He stretched in the bright sun light, blinking as he faced the sun. “Ah-h-h!” he breathed. “How good is this sun. and warm air! I am happy, your Excellency. Very happy. I shall go now in a few days to Santa Barbara to begin prepara tions for founding the Mission Santa Barbara.” “Yes, Father. I am happy also about that, as you can well under stand. If only Fray Junipero were here to be with us.” “Ah, well, I doubt not he knows well what is going forward. It seems most fitting to be beginning these preparations during the sea son of the vintage. For lam plan ning to plant for my beloved, my Master, another vineyard, and 1 pray the hill will be very fruitful, as yours is.” He smiled, and Fages watched him walk away, his old face lit with exalted smiles. Then he turned and watched Indi zuela sauntering toward him. her basket empty. Her hands were pur ple-stained, and her lips, for she had filched the most luscious grapes here and there as she picked. “Her eyes are black, black as a starry night,” thought Fages. As she came toward him, she smiled suddenly, and the flash of white teeth in her dark face was startling. She was dark, dark as the earth, and from her rose an aura of fruit fulness, of ancient earth-mysteries, hidden, savage, impenetrable. Pedro Fages’ blood pounded. His throat felt choked. A temple vein rose and pulsed suddenly. His eyes swam, and his knees felt weak. “Indizuela!” he called, but his voice broke suddenly. He cleared his throat as the girl looked at him. still smiling with a subtle under standing look in her eyes. “I ... I want to . . . speak with you . Sit down.” She sank on to the earth, and with a little gesture seemed to become a part of it. From swimming eyes she looked up at him. “Si, Senor?” she asked softly. Fages clenched his hands. “Fray Fermin has said,” he blurted hasti ly, “that he wishes to arrange a marriage for you with Pio. What do you say?” She looked at him mockingly, gravely. “That old man should think of other things than marriages. It is not decent for his thoughts to dwell on such things. So 1 have been taught." “Do you want to marry Pio?” the Governor asked hurriedly. “Do you love him?” “I have also been taught to tell the truth.” She bent over and pat ted a handful of earth into a little pile, and smoothed it as she spoke. “I do not love Pio. I do not love any of the Indian boys, nor any of the soldiers.” She looked at the Gov ernor, with head suddenly thrown back. She laughed. “You know. You have always known, as I have, that I am for you. No one shall have me but my lord, my beloved master. I am his, to gather as he does the grapes from his vineyard, and to crush, as he crushes them.” Fages listened to the low voice that seemed to blend with the buzz ing of the bees. What she said seemed natural, as though some where, some time, he had heard it before. As though in a spell he spoke. “Yes,” he said, in a voice not his own. The girl took a deep breath. “When?” she asked simply. “Now? This is the vendimia." The man trembled. He was un der a spell. He must break it . . . quickly ... He looked about him in a panic. The gatherers had fin ished their tasks, and now were clustered around the barbecue. Their voices seemed to come from a great distance. There was no one Finland Calm in World of Confusion; Co-Operative Societies Solve Problem The sanity and good sense pre vailing in Finland's people and their government may be traced to vari ous sources and conditions. Per haps the fountain head is the char acter of the Finns self-reliant, strong, sturdy, stubborn—developed in overcoming the forces of nature in their forbidding country, with its long and cold winters and a soil none too fertile, for the bald granite thrusts its way up through the thin top soil all the way from the Baltic sea to the Arctic ocean, writes Ma son Warner in the Chicago Tribune. The Finn is an individualist. He thinks for himself, is slow in com ing to a conclusion, and is steadfast in holding an opinion once formed. While an individualist and insistent upon managing his own affairs free from bureaucratic interference, he is a natural born co-operator. Co-operative societies existed in the days of Czar Alexander 11, and they flcurished and grew under Al exander 111 and Nicholas 11. The bolsheviks made a determined and fierce attempt to capture the co operatives in 1918, but did not suc ceed. These societies support schools THE COOLIDGE EXAMINER near. Heat shimmered from the earth, but the Governor of Califor nia shivered. Yes. it was the vendimia. Why not? She was his. So utterly his. And he needed her so. Not only his body, but his mind and spirit called for the fulfilment a blending with her would bring. But he fought the girl’s witchcraft, and she sensed it. “I know. It is your woman. La Gobernadora. Pah!” she spat. “That white one. That cold cruel Spaniard! Listen!” She leaned for ward eagerly. “I know what hap pened when the Frenchmen were here! I know who brought La Gob ernadora through the gates of the presidio the night before the Frenchmen sailed! We can do away with her!” She laughed triumphant ly. “Look!” She slipped her hand in her bosom and brought out a lit tle sack of skin. It was dry and something rattled in it. “Look! This is magic. I got it from a witch woman. It is strong medicine. If I will I can make her wither away and die . . . and then . . The Governor unconsciously put his hand beneath his leather jerkin. “Junipero Serra . . he muttered, feeling the scrap of sanctified cloth. He closed his lids to shut out the warm wonder of the Indian girl’s eyes. “Go away,” he said gutturally. “Please, Indizuela. if you love me, go away.” The girl did not move. It was the Governor who rose on unsteady feet and staggered like a drunken man toward the fiesta. In spite of the priests mov ing about in their somber habits, the vendimia seemed a pagan festi val. Beneath the ancient live-oaks, a crowd of merrymakers celebrated the vintage in manner traditional. Among them Don Pedro noticed his guests from the Presidio at San Francisco and Santa Barbara, and a group of officers and sailors from the San Carlos which lay in Monte rey Bay. Their heads were wreathed with vines, and they were drinking wine from the last vintage, singing, laughing, dancing; uttering robust jokes, circling around the barbecue pits where slaving cooks were lifting the savory roasted bull and hacking it into pieces. Near by was the great vat where the grapes were poured to be crushed. A little stream ran near it, and there, all who wished to tread the wine washed their feet, then plunged into the purple pool with jocund shouts. On a rough dais, beneath a ra mada, sat La Gobernadora sur rounded by young laughing officers, who vied with one another in com posing flattering toasts to her beau ty. her wit, her distinguished posi tion as Queen of the California*. She was dressed in the Maja cos tume, in her lap a great basket of grapes, and on her head a wreath of grape leaves. At her feet a soldier sat, his head tied in a scarlet hand kerchief, and across his knees a guitar. He was singing a song to ; her, and she smiled, as Don Pedro watched, and lifted her glass to the troubador. Don Pedro stared at Eulalia curi ously, as though he had never seen her before. She seemed happy. This was what she loved, craved, after all; flattery, admiration, adulation. He stopped uncertainly. For a mo ment he thought he would turn and go back to the brown ardent Indian girl who still waited for him be neath the quiet sheltering tree. But young Pedro, watching the carving of the bull meat, saw him. “There he is!” he shouted. “Now we can have the feast!” So the Governor was drawn un willingly into the festivities. (TO BF. CONTINUED) for the training of executives and employees Uave developed prac tices in management and account ing systems, and have so perfected economical buying and selling that private enteri»ises profit by their scientific methods of warehousing, stock keeping, and retail distribu tion. Empoyees of co-operatives re ceive moderate salaries. Manage ment and operation are on a sound basis. There are no “cut prices,” no items sold at a loss merely to at tract trade. There is no watered stock receiving dividends. Cus tomers get low prices in and out of season and at the end of the year receive small rebates on their total purchases. Members can withdraw at any time and their subscriptions are refunded in full. Newspapers in China Once China had a newspaper that was printed on silk, some Socialists had one that was printed on red pa per, a royal family had one that was printed in gold and certain spiritualists had one that was print ed on black paper.—Collier’* Week Farm Champions on the Air A MONG the Champion Farmers of America who are being fea tured on Firestone’s series of 26 “Voice of the Farm’’ programs, is this representative group of leading crop growers and stock raisers. Each program in the se ries presents a farm champion in an interview with Everett Mitch ell, popular farm commentator who has been heard on the Na tional Farm and Home Hour for the last eight years. Each cham pion tells the fact story of his ’ climb to championship rating in his particular branch of farm op eration. Top from left—Albert Schroe ThE name Firestone on a truck ® greater blowout protection greater non-skid ’•, protection! Gum-Dipped cord body —two extra layers of Gum-Dipped cords under the tread new non-skid tread all these Firestone patented ■■■ and exclusive construction features at remarkably low 7|f£sfO!t€ prices! Call on your nearby Firestone Tire Dealer CONVOY Firestone Auto Supply «&. Service Store or Implement high quality—low price Dealer today and equip your car or truck with Firestone Convoy Tires you will SAVE MONEY! Come In Today B and Get Our Low GO£S MUCH FARTHER Popular LoiV\ costs MUCH LESSI truck tires fjiITOMJ “ il I BEE J Listen to . . . THE FIRESTONE VOICE OF THE FARM THE VOICE OF FIRESTONE Interviews with the Champion Farmers of Featuring Richard Crooks and Margaret Speak* America, featuring Everett Mitchell. Twice * and the Firestone Symphony Orchestra, under the weekly during the noon hour . Consult your local 1 direction of Alfred Wallenstein, Monday evening* paper for the station, day, and time of broadcast over Nationuide N. B. C. Red Network der, pioneer user of rubber trac tor tires; Sarah-Ann and John To-1 lan, champion Aberdeen-Angus breeders; Darwin Neal, champion poultry raiser; Paul Fisher, champion hog producer. Lower row—L. E. Mathers, champion Shorthorn breeder; Harry L. Chadwick, potato champion; Adolph Pirani, champion cotton grower; Ralph L. Heilman, cham pion corn grower; Paul Stiefboldt, plowing champion. Distinguish by Purity Distinguish between baseness and merit, not by descent, but by purity of life and heart.—Horace. Wise and Otherwise _A_ DOUBT the tailor who I ’ asked for cash in advance had taken his customer’s meas ! ure. Quite small things may keep } you from sleeping at night, says a doctor. Never mind — they’ll grow up presently. Little Buddy wants to know h#w far it is ’tween to and fro. Girls who play with fire don't always strike a match. Many a man has the wolf at his door because his wife will have a silver-fox round her neck! When you’re in a jam, it’s soon spread all over the place. Paradox: It’s only when a man comes clean that he spills the dirt. Buckingham Fountain The Buckingham Memorial foun tain is the gift of the late Miss Kate Buckingham of Chicago, art patron, in memory of her brother, Clarence, a former trustee and benefactor of the Art Institute of Chicago. The fountain cost $1,000,- 000 and is set in a garden 600 feet square with three basins rising in a central pool surrounded by four minor pools. When in full play the fountain flows about 5,500 gal lons of water a minute, one col umn rising to a height of 75 feet. It is beautifully illuminated at night in five different colors.