s feet, he ran
out to see what it meant. In a moment more Ramona followed,--only a
moment, hardly a moment; but when she reached the threshold, it was to
hear a gun-shot, to see Alessandro fall to the ground, to see, in the
same second, a ruffianly man leap from his horse, and standing over
Alessandro's body, fire his pistol again, once, twice, into the
forehead, cheek. Then with a volley of oaths, each word of which seemed
to Ramona's reeling senses to fill the air with a sound like thunder, he
untied the black horse from the post where Ramona had fastened him, and
leaping into his saddle again, galloped away, leading the horse. As he
rode away, he shook his fist at Ramona, who was kneeling on the ground,
striving to lift Alessandro's head, and to stanch the blood flowing
from the ghastly wounds. "That'll teach you damned Indians to leave
off stealing our horses!" he cried, and with another volley of terrible
oaths was out of sight.

With a calmness which was more dreadful than any wild outcry of grief,
Ramona sat on the ground by Alessandro's body, and held his hands in
hers. There was nothing to be done for him. The first shot had been
fatal, close to his heart,--the murderer aimed well; the after-shots,
with the pistol, were from mere wanton brutality. After a few seconds
Ramona rose, went into the house, brought out the white altar-cloth, and
laid it over the mutilated face. As she did this, she recalled words
she had heard Father Salvierderra quote as having been said by Father
Junipero, when one of the Franciscan Fathers had been massacred by the
Indians, at San Diego. "Thank God." he said, "the ground is now watered
by the blood of a martyr!"

"The blood of a martyr!" The words seemed to float in the air; to
cleanse it from the foul blasphemies the murderer had spoken. "My
Alessandro!" she said. "Gone to be with the saints; one of the blessed
martyrs; they will listen to what a martyr says." His hands were warm.
She laid them in her bosom, kissed them again and again. Stretching
herself on the ground by his side, she threw one arm over him, and
whispered in his ear, "My love, my Alessandro! Oh, speak once to
Majella! Why do I not grieve more? My Alessandro! Is he not blest
already? And soon we will be with him! The burdens were too great. He
could not bear them!" Then waves of grief broke over her, and she sobbed
convulsively; but still she shed no tears. Suddenly she sprang to her
feet, and looked wildly arou