‘Speak to me, oh! speak to me, Carmencitto. My life! My love! Speak! Oh, God, what have I done to deserve this? Speak, dearest Carmencitto,’ and he pressed the form of his young wife again and again close to his heart. But no reply came from those dear lips.
Near at hand ran a babbling rivulet. To this Joaquin rushed, and scooping out some water in the hollow of his joined hands, laved with it the face of Carmencitto. But all in vain. Life had forever left that darling form, dearer to him than all the gold that strews the placers of his native land.
When Joaquin became certain that she was indeed dead, his grief at first found vent in the most pathetic lamentations; but suddenly pausing, he dashed the teardrops from his eyes, and drawing a dagger from its sheath, he swore upon its cross-hilt eternal vengeance on the ravishers and murderers of his Carmencitto.
Then decently arranging her disordered garments, he lifted her sacred form in his arms, and bore it to his home—henceforth forever desolate.
From the hour in which he saw the rude tomb raised over the ashes of his murdered wife, Joaquin left forever the home that promised to be such a happy one, and went forth an altered man. The crucifix of poor Carmencitto on his heart—revenge rankling in it.
From that time strange rumors began to circulate through California of daring robberies and frequent murders, and although no proofs of the guilty party could be obtained; yet when men spoke of them their pale lips almost involuntarily muttered ‘Joaquin!’
When Inez returned to her father’s residence at the Mission, her first resolve was to acquaint her parent with the circumstances, but she found that he had been hastily summoned to a place at some distance, in consequence of a dispute between one of his tenants and a squatter.
Joaquin, whose advice she asked, recommended that she should wait the coming of morning, when if Monteagle was not liberated, the authorities should be informed of the matter, and by their interference his liberation would no doubt easily be effected. But Joaquin had his own private reasons for not visiting the city.
In the morning Inez accordingly rode to the city, and almost the first person she passed was Monteagle, who was just then repairing to the store of Mr. Vandewater. Of course there was no occasion for Inez to interfere farther in the matter. Her first impulse was to ride up to him and congratulate him on his escape, but maidenly pride checked her, and she proceeded on, leaving Monteagle in entire ignorance of the deep interest she felt in his fortunes, and of the efforts she had made to rescue him the previous evening.
Monteagle, meanwhile, sought his home to take a few hours rest, for both mind and body were terribly racked by the sufferings he had undergone.