On her fourteenth birthday they had married her to an old man,and at sixteen she had met and loved a fire-hearted young vaquero.The old husband had twisted his skinny fingers around her arm anddragged her before the Alcalde, who had ordered her beautiful blackbraids cut close to her neck, and sentenced her to sweep thestreets. Carlos, the tempter of that childish unhappy heart, wasflung into prison. Such were law and justice in California beforethe Americans came. The haughty elegant women of Monterey drew their mantillas moreclosely about their shocked faces as they passed La Perdidasweeping the dirt into little heaps. The soft-eyed girls, lovely intheir white or flowered gowns, peered curiously through thegratings of their homes at the "lost one," whose sin they did notunderstand, but whose sad face and sorry plight appealed to theiryouthful sympathies. The caballeros, dashing up and down thestreet, and dazzling in bright silken jackets, gold embroidered,lace-trimmed, the sun reflected in the silver of their saddles,shot bold admiring glances from beneath their sombreros. No onespoke to her, and she asked no one for sympathy. She slept alone in a little hut on the outskirts of the town.With the dawn she rose, put on her coarse smock and black skirt,made herself a tortilla, then went forth and swept the streets. Thechildren mocked her sometimes, and she looked at them in wonder.Why should she be mocked or punished? She felt no repentance;neither the Alcalde nor her husband had convinced her of her sin'senormity; she felt only bitter resentment that it should have beenso brief. Her husband, a blear-eyed crippled old man, loathsome toall the youth and imagination in her, had beaten her and made herwork. A man, young, strong, and good to look upon, had come andkissed her with passionate tenderness. Love had meant to her theglorification of a wretched sordid life; a green spot and a patchof blue sky in the desert. If punishment followed upon suchhappiness, must not the Catholic religion be all wrong in itsteachings? Must not purgatory follow heaven, instead of heavenpurgatory? She watched the graceful girls of the wealthy class flit to andfro on the long corridors of the houses, or sweep the strings ofthe guitar behind their gratings as the caballeros passed. Watchfulold women were always near them, their ears alert for every word.La Perdida thanked God that she had had no duena. One night, on her way home, she passed the long low prison whereher lover was confined. The large crystal moon flooded thered-tiled roof projecting over the deep windows and the shallowcells. The light sweet music of a guitar floated through iron bars,and a warm voice sang:"Adios, adios, de ti al ausentarme, Para ir en poz de mi fatal estrella, Yo llevo grabada tu imagen bella, Aqui en mi palpitante corazon. "Pero aunque lejos de tu lado me halle No olvides, no, que por tu amor deliro Enviame siquiera un suspiro, Que de consuelo, a mi alma en su dolor. "Y de tu pecho la emocion sentida Llegue hasta herir mi lacerado oido, Y arranque de mi pecho dolorido Un eco que repita, adios! adios!" La Perdida's blood leaped through her body. Her aimless handsstruck the spiked surface of a cactus-bush, but she never knew it.When the song finished, she crept to the grating and looked in.
"Carlos!" she whispered. A man who lay on the straw at the back of the cell sprang to hisfeet and came forward. "My little one!" he said. "I knew that song would bring thee. Ibegged them for a guitar, then to be put into a front cell." Heforced his hands through the bars and gave her life again with hisstrong warm clasp. "Come out," she said. "Ay! they have me fast. But when they do let me out, nina, Iwill take thee in my arms; and whosoever tries to tear thee awayagain will have a dagger in his heart. Dios de mi vida! I couldtear their flesh from their bones for the shame and the pain theyhave given thee, thou poor little innocent girl!" "But thou lovest me, Carlos?" "There is not an hour I am not mad for thee, not a corner of myheart that does not ache for thee! Ay, little one, never mind; lifeis long, and we are young." She pressed nearer and laid his hand on her heart. "Ay!" she said, "life is long." "Holy Mary!" he cried. "The hills are on fire!" A shout went up in the town. A flame, midway on the curvinghills, leaped to the sky, narrow as a ribbon, then swept out like afan. The moon grew dark behind a rolling pillar of smoke. Theupcurved arms of the pines were burnt into a wall of liquidshifting red. The caballeros sprang to their horses, and drivingthe Indians before them, fled to the hills to save the town. Theindolent women of Monterey mingled their screams with the shrillcries of the populace and the hoarse shouts of their men. Theprison sentries stood to their posts for a few moments; then thepanic claimed them, and they threw down their guns and ran with therest to the hills. Carlos gave a cry of derision and triumph. "My little one, ourhour has come! Run and find the keys." The big bunch of keys had been flung hastily into a corner. Amoment later Carlos held the shaking form of the girl in hispowerful arms. Slender and delicate as she was, she made no protestagainst the fierceness of that embrace. "But come," he said. "We have only this hour for escape. When weare safe in the mountains-Come!" He lifted her in his arms and ran down the crooked street to acorral where an hidalgo kept his finest horses. Carlos had been thevaquero of the band. The iron bars of the great doors
weredown--only one horse was in the corral; the others had carried thehidalgo and his friends to the fire. The brute neighed with delightas Carlos flung saddle and aquera into place, then, with La Perdidain his arms, sprang upon its back. The vaquero dug his spurs intothe shining flanks, the mustang reared, shook his small head andsilver mane, and bounded through the doors. A lean, bent, and wiry thing darted from the shadows and hungupon the horse's neck. It was the husband of La Perdida, and hislittle brown face looked like an old walnut. "Take me with thee!" he cried. "I will give thee the old man'sblessing," and, clinging like a crab to the neck of the gallopingmustang, he drove a knife toward the heart of La Perdida. The bladeturned upon itself as lightning sometimes does, and went throughstringy tissues instead of fresh young blood. Carlos plucked the limp body from the neck of the horse andflung it upon a cactus-bush, where it sprawled and stiffened amongthe spikes and the blood-red flowers. But the mustang never paused;and as the fires died on the hills, the mountains opened theirgreat arms and sheltered the happiness of two wayward hearts.