I can “lass” any stationary object myself,’ cried Bell; ‘a hitching-post, or even a door-knob; I can do it two or three times out of ten.’
‘That shows immense skill,’ answered Jack, ‘but, as the thing you want to “lass” never does stay still, and as it is absolutely necessary to catch it more than three times out of ten, you probably wouldn’t make a name and fortune as a vaquero. Juan Capistrano, by the way, used to be famous with the lariat. I had heard of his adventure with a bull on the island of Santa Rosa, and I asked him about it to-day; but he had so exhausted himself telling stories to Bell that he had very few words for me. You see there was a bull, on Santa Rosa island, so wild that they wanted to kill him; but nobody could do it, though he was a terror to any one who ventured on the island. They called him “Antiguelo,” because of his long horns and long tail. He was such a terrible fighter that all the vaqueros were afraid to lass’ him, for he always broke away with the lariat. You see a horse throws a bull by skill and not by strength, of course. You can choke almost any bull; but this one was too smart! he would crouch on his haunches and pull back until the rope nearly choked him and then suddenly “make” for the horse. Juan Capistrano had a splendid horse—you see as much depends on the horse as the man in such a case—and he came upon Antiguelo on the Cerro Negro and lass’d him. Well, did he fight? I asked. “Si, Señor.” Well, what happened? “Yo lo maté” (I killed him), he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, and that’s all I could get out of Juan regarding his adventure.’
‘But you haven’t done your share, you lazy boy,’ objected Bell. ‘You must tell us more.’
‘What do you want to hear? I am up on all the animal and vegetable life of Southern California, full of interesting information concerning its old customs, can give you Spanish names for all the things that come up in ordinary conversation, and am the only man present who can make a raw-hide reata,’ said Jack, modestly.
‘Go on and tell us how, O great and wise reatero,’ said Bell.
‘I’ll tell you that myself,’ said Elsie, ‘for I’ve seen him do it dozens of times, when he should have been studying his little lessons. He takes a big piece of raw hide, cuts a circle right out of the middle, and then cuts round and round this until he has one long continuous string, half an inch wide. He then stretches it and scrapes the hair off with a knife or a piece of glass, gets it into four strands, and braids it “round.”’
‘Perhaps you think braiding “round” is easy to do,’ retorted Jack, in an injured tone; ‘but I know it took me six months to learn to do it well.’
‘I fail to see,’ said his mother, ‘how a knowledge of “braiding round” and lassoing of wild cattle is going to serve you in your university life and future career.’
‘Oh yes, it will. I shall be the Buffalo Bill of Harvard, and I shall give charming little entertainments in my rooms, or in some little garden-plot suitable to the purpose.’
‘Shall you make a point of keeping up with your class?’ asked Mrs. Winship.
‘Oh yes, unless they go too fast. My sports won’t take any more time than rowing or baseball. They’ll be a little more expensive, because I’ll have to keep some wild cattle constantly on hand, and perhaps a vaquero or two; but a vaquero won’t cost any more than a valet.’
‘I didn’t intend furnishing you with a valet,’ remarked his mother.
‘But I shall be self-supporting, mother dear. I shall give exhibitions on the campus, and the gate-money will keep me in luxury.’
‘This is all very interesting,’ said Polly, cuttingly; ‘but what has it to do with California, I’d like to know?’
‘Poor dear! Your brain is so weak. Can’t you see that when I am the fashion in Cambridge, it will be noised about that I gained my marvellous skill in California? This will increase emigration. I don’t pretend to say it will swell the population like the discovery of gold in ’48, but it will have a perceptible effect.’
‘You are more modest than a whole mossy bank of violets,’ laughed Dr. Paul. ‘Now, Margery, will you give us your legend?’
‘Mine is the story of Juan de Dios (literally, Juan of God), and I’m sorry to say that it has a horse in it, like Polly’s; only hers was a snow-white mare, and mine is a coal-black charger. But they wouldn’t tell us any romantic love-stories; they were all about horses.’
STORY OF JUAN DE DIOS.
‘In early days, when Americans were coming in to Santa Barbara, there were many cattle-buyers among them; and there were large bands of robbers all over the country who were ready to pounce on these travellers on their way to the great cattle ranchos, kill them, and steal their money and clothes, as well as their horses and trappings. No one could understand how the robbers got such accurate information of the movements of the travellers, unless they had a spy somewhere near the Mission, where they often stopped for rest and refreshment.
‘Now, there was a certain young Indian vaquero in the employ of the padres at La Mission de la Purísima. He was a wonderful horseman, and greatly looked up to by his brother vaqueros, because he was so strong, alert, and handsome, and because he was always dressed elegantly in rich old Spanish embroideries and velvets, given to him, he said, by men for whom he had done great services.
‘One day a certain traveller, a Spanish official of high degree, came from Monterey to wed his sweetheart, the daughter of the richest cattle-owner in all the country round. His spurs and bit and bridle were of solid silver; his jaquima (halter) was made of a hair rope whose strands had been dyed in brilliant colours; his tapaderos (front of the stirrups), mochilas (large leather saddle flaps), and sudaderos (thin bits of leather to protect the legs from sweat), were all beautifully stamped in the fashion used by the Mexicans; his saddle blankets and his housings were all superb, and he wore a broad sombrero encircled with a silver snake and trimmed with silver lace.
‘The traveller stayed at La Purísima all night, and set out early in the morning to ride the last forty miles that separated him from his bride. But Juan and two other robbers were lying in wait for him behind a great rock that stood at the entrance of a lonely cañon. They appeared on horseback, one behind the unfortunate man and two in front, so that he could escape neither way. They finally succeeded in lassoing the horse and throwing him to the ground with his rider, who defended himself bravely with his knife, but was finally killed and robbed, Juan taking his clothes and trappings, and the other two dividing the contents of his purse. They could not have buried their victim as successfully as usual, or else they were surprised, and had to escape, for the body was found; and Juan, whom the padres had begun to view with suspicion, was nowhere to be found about the Mission. Troops were sent out in pursuit of him, for this particular traveller was a high official, and it was necessary that his death should be avenged. They at last heard that Juan had been seen going towards Santa Ynez Mission, and, pursuing him thither, they came upon him as he was driving a band of horses into a corral, and just in the act of catching his own horse, a noble and powerful animal, called Azabache, because of his jet-black colour. The men surrounded the corral, and ordered him to surrender. He begged them to wait until he had saddled Azabache, and then they might shoot them both down together. He asked permission to call three times (pegar tres gritos), and after the third call they were to shoot. His last wish was granted. He saddled and mounted his splendid horse, called once—twice—thrice,—but when the last shout faded in the air, and the troops raised their muskets to fire, behold, there was no Juan de Dios to be seen. They had been surrounding the corral so that no one could have ridden out; they looked among the horses, but Asabache was nowhere to be found.
