CHAPTER XI
How Joaquin became a Robber.
It was one of the loveliest mornings of the loveliest of seasons in California—early summer—when two equestrians might have been seen cantering over a level plain not far from San Jose.
‘Surely, Joaquin, this is the sweetest country upon earth, and we the happiest people in it,’ said one of the riders, a young girl of some seventeen summers. As she spoke the glance of her dark lustrous eyes rested lovingly upon the face of the noble-looking man that rode beside her, and whose passionate gaze of admiration told how ardently he loved, nay, worshipped his beautiful companion.—And worthy, right worthy was she of all the love of his passionate nature; for seldom has a more bewitching form graced the earth with its presence, than that of Carmencitto; who had but a few days before become the wife of the youth.
Joaquin was the proprietor of a small ranch, a portion of which they were now riding over. He was gifted by nature with a muscular form, and was reputed to be the most daring rider, and the most skilful herdsman in the country. Carmencitto was the daughter of a wealthy Californian, and had been engaged to Joaquin from childhood.
‘You say truly, dearest,’ replied the horseman. ‘Ours is a goodly land, and it needed not that its rivers should roll over sands of gold to make us love it.’
They were just passing a clump of dense shrubbery as he spoke, and hardly had the last word left his lips ere his spirited steed reared, and had he not been a matchless rider, he must have been hurled headlong from the saddle. As it was, before he fully recovered his seat, a lariat was thrown over his head, and his arms firmly secured to his side. While two men, armed with revolvers, held his horse firmly by the reins—their weapons pointed at his breast.
‘Make a single attempt to escape, and we’ll riddle your carcase with bullets,’ shouted one of his assailants.
‘Shoot the d—d greaser, at once’t,’ cried a low-browed, villainous looking fellow.
‘Curse the yellar skinned devil, I believe he’s glued to the saddle,’ said the first speaker as he tried in vain to pull Joaquin from his seat, the latter meanwhile urging his horse forward but in vain, so firmly was he held by the man who had seized his horse by the head.
The assault had been so unexpected that for a brief instant the young Californian had forgotten Carmencitto, but now a wild piercing shriek recalled her to his mind, and turning round he beheld her dragged from her horse to the earth. His arms were bound, but his feet were at liberty, and he dashed his heavy boots into the face of the men who held his steed. But the same moment a brace of bullets whizzed through the air, and after a few convulsive clutches the young man fell heavily to the earth.