“No, Senor.”
“Where are the greater part of the Temecula people now?”
“Like this, Senor,” with a bitter gesture, pointing to his wife. “Most of us are beggars. A few here, a few there. Some have gone to Capitan Grande, some way down into Lower California.”
Wearily Felipe continued his bootless questioning. No suspicion that the man was deceiving him crossed his mind. At last, with a sigh, he said, “I hoped to have found Alessandro by your means. I am greatly disappointed.
“I doubt not that, Senor Felipe Moreno,” thought Antonio. “I am sorry, Senor,” he said.
It smote his conscience when Felipe laid in his hand a generous gold-piece, and said, “Here is a bit of money for you. I am sorry to see you so poorly off.”
The thanks which he spoke sounded hesitating and gruff, so remorseful did he feel. Senor Felipe had always been kind to them. How well they had fared always in his house! It was a shame to lie to him; yet the first duty was to Alessandro. It could not be avoided. And thus a second time help drifted away from Ramona.
At Temecula, from Mrs. Hartsel, Felipe got the first true intelligence of Alessandro's movements; but at first it only confirmed his worst forebodings. Alessandro had been at Mrs. Hartsel's house; he had been alone, and on foot; he was going to walk all the way to San Pasquale, where he had the promise of work.
How sure the kindly woman was that she was telling the exact truth. After long ransacking of her memory and comparing of events, she fixed the time so nearly to the true date, that it was to Felipe's mind a terrible corroboration of his fears. It was, he thought, about a week after Ramona's flight from home that Alessandro had appeared thus, alone, on foot, at Mrs. Hartsel's. In great destitution, she said; and she had lent him money on the expectation of selling his violin; but they had never sold it; there it was yet. And that Alessandro was dead, she had no more doubt than that she herself was alive; for else, he would have come back to pay her what he owed. The honestest fellow that ever lived, was Alessandro. Did not the Senor Moreno think so? Had he not found him so always? There were not many such Indians as Alessandro and his father. If there had been, it would have been better for their people. “If they'd all been like Alessandro, I tell you,” she said, “it would have taken more than any San Diego sheriff to have put them out of their homes here.”
“But what could they do to help themselves, Mrs. Hartsel?” asked Felipe. “The law was against them. We can't any of us go against that. I myself have lost half my estate in the same way.”