ling harpoon, which buried itself in the sand beside him; that on
another occasion he narrowly escaped destruction, his serapa having
been transfixed by the diabolical harpoon and dragged away in triumph.
Popular opinion seems to have been divided as to the reason for the
devil's particular attention to Father Jose, some asserting that the
extreme piety of the Padre excited the Evil One's animosity, and others
that his adipose tendency simply rendered him, from a professional
view-point, a profitable capture.

Had Father Vicentio been inclined to scoff at this apparition as a
heretical innovation, there was still the story of Concepcion, the
Demon Vaquero, whose terrible riata was fully as potent as the whaler's
harpoon. Concepcion, when in the flesh, had been a celebrated herder of
cattle and wild horses, and was reported to have chased the devil in
the shape of a fleet pinto colt all the way from San Luis Obispo to San
Francisco, vowing not to give up the chase until he had overtaken the
disguised Arch-Enemy. This the devil prevented by resuming his own
shape, but kept the unfortunate vaquero to the fulfilment of his
rash vow; and Concepcion still scoured the coast on a phantom steed,
beguiling the monotony of his eternal pursuit by lassoing travellers,
dragging them at the heels of his unbroken mustang until they were
eventually picked up, half-strangled, by the roadside. The Padre
listened attentively for the tramp of this terrible rider. But no
footfall broke the stillness of the night; even the hoofs of his own
mule sank noiselessly in the shifting sand. Now and then a rabbit
bounded lightly by him, or a quail ran into the bushes. The melancholy
call of plover from the adjoining marshes of Mission Creek came to him
so faintly and fitfully that it seemed almost a recollection of the past
rather than a reality of the present.

To add to his discomposure one of those heavy sea-fogs peculiar to the
locality began to drift across the hills and presently encompassed
him. While endeavoring to evade its cold embraces, Padre Vicentio
incautiously drove his heavy spurs into the flanks of his mule as that
puzzled animal was hesitating on the brink of a steep declivity. Whether
the poor beast was indignant at this novel outrage, or had been for some
time reflecting on the evils of being priest-ridden, has not transpired;
enough that he suddenly threw up his heels, pitching the reverend man
over his head, and, having accompli