which to enter Santa Barbara that they were easily held, and of course the padres were anxious to keep their Indians from running away, lest they should show the wilder tribes the way to get in and commit depredations. These peaceable Indians paid tribute to intermediary tribes to hold the passes and do their fighting. Those about the Mission gave corn and cereals and hides and the products of the sea, and got in exchange piñones (pine nuts). One of these Indians, named Valerio, was a strong, brave, handsome youth, whose haughty spirit revolted at his servitude, and, after seeking an opportunity for many weeks he finally escaped to the Santa Ynez mountains, where he found a cave in which he hid himself, drawing himself up by a rope and taking it in after him. The Indians had unlimited belief in Valerio’s mysterious and wonderful powers. Pancho says that he could make himself invisible at will, that locks and keys were powerless against him; and that no one could hinder his taking money, horses, or food. All sorts of things disappeared mysteriously by day and by night, and the robberies were one and all laid to the door of Valerio. But after a while Valerio grew lonely in his mountain retreat. He longed for human companionship, and at length, becoming desperate, he descended on the Mission settlement and kidnapped a young Indian boy named Chito, took him to his cave, and admitted him into his wild and lawless life. But Chito was not contented. He liked home and comfortable slavery better than the new, strange life; so he seized the first opportunity, and being a bright, daring little lad, and fleet of foot, he escaped and made his way to the Mission. Arriving there he told wonderful stories of Valerio and his life; how his marvellous white mare seemed to fly, rather than gallop, and leaped from rock to rock like a chamois; and how they lived upon wheat-bread, cheeses, wine, and other delicacies instead of the coarse fare of the Indians. He told them the location of the cave and described the way thither; so the Alcalde (he was the mayor or judge, you know, Elsie), got out the troops with their muskets, and the padres gathered the Mission Indians with their bows and arrows, and they all started in pursuit of the outlaw. Among the troops were two hechiceros (wizards or medicine-men), whose bowed shoulders and grizzled beards showed them to be men of many years and much wisdom. When asked to give their advice, they declared that Valerio could not be killed by any ordinary weapons, but that special means must be used to be of any avail against his supernatural powers. Accordingly, one of the hechiceros broke off the head of his arrow, cast a charm over it, and predicted that this would deal the fatal blow. The party started out with Chito as a guide, and, after many miles of wearisome travel up rugged mountain sides and over steep and almost impassable mountain trails, they paused at the base of a cliff, and saw, far up the height, the mouth of Valerio’s cave, and, what was more, Valerio himself sitting in the doorway fast asleep. Alas! he had been drinking too heavily of his stolen wine, or he would never have so exposed himself to the enemy. They fired a volley at him. One shot only took effect, and even this would not have been possible save that the spell was not upon him because of his sleep; but the one shot woke him and, half rising, he staggered and fell from the mouth of the cave to a ledge of rocks beneath. He sprang to his feet in a second and ran like a deer towards a tree where his white mare was fastened. They fired another volley, but, though the shots flew in every direction, Valerio passed on unharmed; but just as he was disappearing from view the hechicero raised his bow and the headless arrow whizzed through space and pierced him through the heart. They clambered up the cliffs with shouts of triumph and surrounded him on every side, but poor Valerio had surrendered to a more powerful enemy than they! Wonderful to relate, he still breathed, though the wound should have been instantly fatal. They lifted him from the ground and tied him on his snow-white mare, his long hair reaching almost to the ground, his handsome face as pale as death, the blood trickling from his wound; but the mysterious power that he possessed seemed to keep him alive in spite of his suffering. Finally one of the hechiceros decided that the spell lay in the buckskin cord that he wore about his throat—a rough sort of necklace hung with bears’ claws and snake rattles—and that he never would die until the magic cord was cut. This, after some consultation, was done. Valerio drew his last breath as it parted asunder, and they bore his dead body home in triumph to the Mission.
‘But he is not forgotten. Stories are still told of his wonderful deeds, and people still go in search of money that he is supposed to have hidden in his cave. The Mexican women who tell suertes, or fortunes, describe the location of the money; but, as soon as any one reaches the cave, he is warned away by a little old man who stands in the door and protects the buried treasure. An Indian lad, who was riding over the hills one day with his horse and his dogs, dismounted to search for his moccasin, when he suddenly noticed that the dogs had chased something into a cave in the rocks. He followed, and, peering into the darkness, saw two gleaming eyes. He thrust his knife between them, but struck the air; and, though he had been standing directly in front of the opening, so that nothing could have passed him, yet he heard the clatter of hoofs and the tinkle of spurs, and, turning, saw a mysterious horseman, whose pale face and streaming hair melted into the mountain mist, as it floated down from the purple Santa Ynez peaks into the lap of the vine-covered foot-hills below.’
Chapter X.
More Camp-Fire Stories
‘And still they watched the flickering of the blaze,
And talked together of the good old days.’
‘Brava!’ ‘Bravissima!’ ‘Splendid, Polly!’ exclaimed the boys. ‘Bell, you’re a great author!’
‘Couldn’t have done better myself—give you my word!’ cried Jack, bowing profoundly to Bell and Polly in turn, and presenting them with bouquets of faded leaves hastily gathered from the ground.
‘Polly covered herself with glory,’ said the doctor; ‘and I am very proud of your part in it, too, my little daughter. I have some knowledge of Pancho’s capabilities as a narrator, and I think the “Story of Valerio” owes a good deal to you. Now, who comes next? Margery?’
‘No, please,’ said Margery, ‘for I have another story. Take one of the boys, and let’s have more facts.’
‘Yes, something historic and profound, out of the encyclopædia, from Jack,’ said Polly, saucily.
‘Thanks, Miss Oliver. With you for an audience any man might be inspired; but—’
‘But not a boy?’
‘Mother, dear, remove that child from my sight, or I shall certainly shake her! Phil, go on, just to keep Polly quiet.’
‘Very well. Being the oldest Californian present, I—’
‘What about Dr. Paul?’ asked the irrepressible Polly.
‘He wasn’t born here,’ responded Philip, dryly, ‘and I was.’
‘I think that’s a quibble,’ interrupted Bell. ‘Papa was here twenty years before you were.’
‘It’s not my fault that he came first,’ answered Philip. ‘Margery and I are not only the oldest Californians present, but the only ones. Isn’t that so, sir?’
‘Quite correct.’
‘Oh, if you mean that way, I suppose you are; but still papa helped frame the Constitution, and was here on the first Admission Day, and was one of the Vigilantes—and I think that makes him more of a real Californian than you. You’ve just “grown up with the country.”’
‘Bless my soul! What else could I do? I would have been glad to frame the Constitution, admit the State, and serve on the Vigilance Committee, if they had only waited for me; but they went straight ahead with the business, and when I was born there was
