nd. The sun was not many hours high. Whither
should she go for help? The old Indian woman had gone away with the
sheep, and would not be back till dark. Alessandro must not lie there
on the ground. To whom should she go? To walk to Saboba was out of the
question. There was another Indian village nearer,--the village of the
Cahuillas, on one of the high plateaus of San Jacinto. She had once been
there. Could she find that trail now? She must try. There was no human
help nearer.

Taking the baby in her arms, she knelt by Alessandro, and kissing him,
whispered, "Farewell, my beloved. I will not be long gone. I go to bring
friends." As she set off, swiftly running, Capitan, who had been lying
by Alessandro's side, uttering heart-rending howls, bounded to his feet
to follow her. "No, Capitan," she said; and leading him back to the
body, she took his head in her hands, looked into his eyes, and said,
"Capitan, watch here." With a whimpering cry, he licked her hands, and
stretched himself on the ground. He understood, and would obey; but his
eyes followed her wistfully till she disappeared from sight.

The trail was rough, and hard to find. More than once Ramona stopped,
baffled, among the rocky ridges and precipices. Her clothes were torn,
her face bleeding, from the thorny shrubs; her feet seemed leaden, she
made her way so slowly. It was dark in the ravines; as she climbed spur
after spur, and still saw nothing but pine forests or bleak opens, her
heart sank within her. The way had not seemed so long before. Alessandro
had been with her; it was a joyous, bright day, and they had lingered
wherever they liked, and yet the way had seemed short. Fear seized her
that she was lost. If that were so, before morning she would be with
Alessandro; for fierce beasts roamed San Jacinto by night. But for the
baby's sake, she must not die. Feverishly she pressed on. At last, just
as it had grown so dark she could see only a few hand-breadths before
her, and was panting more from terror than from running, lights suddenly
gleamed out, only a few rods ahead. It was the Cahuilla village. In a
few moments she was there.

It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla village,--a cluster
of tule and adobe huts, on a narrow bit of bleak and broken ground,
on San Jacinto Mountain; the people are very poor, but are proud
and high-spirited,--veritable mountaineers in nature, fierce and
independent.

Alessandro had warm friends among them,