But the red warriors have not waited for this. The revenge of their leader is not yet complete. It is not to the soldiers alone that he owes vengeance. He has sworn it to the citizens as well. The whole settlement is to be destroyed!
And well this oath was kept, for before the sun rose San Ildefonso was in flames. The arrow, and the spear, and the tomahawk, did their work; and men, women, and children, perished in hundreds under the blazing roofs of their houses!
With the exception of the Tagno Indians, few survived to tell of that horrid massacre. A few whites only—the unhappy father of Catalina among the rest—were permitted to escape, and carry their broken fortunes to another settlement.
That of San Ildefonso—town, Presidio, mission, haciendas, and ranchos—in the short space of twelve hours had ceased to exist. The dwellers of that lovely valley were no more!
It is yet but noon. The ruins of San Ildefonso are still smoking. Its former denizens are dead, but it is not yet unpeopled. In the Plaza stand hundreds of dusky warriors drawn up in hollow square, with their faces turned inward. They are witnessing a singular scene—another act in the drama of their leader’s vengeance.
Two men are mounted upon asses, and tied upon the backs of the animals. These men are stripped—so that their own backs are perfectly bare, and exposed to the gaze of the silent spectators! Though these men no longer wear their flowing robes, it is easy to distinguish them. Their close-cut hair and shaven crowns show who they are—the padrés of the mission!
Deep cuts the cuarto into their naked skin, loudly do they groan, and fearfully writhe. Earnestly do they beg and pray their persecutors to stay the terrible lash. Their entreaties are unheeded.
Two white men, standing near, overlook the execution. These are Carlos the cibolero and Don Juan the ranchero.
The priests would move them to pity, but in vain. The hearts of those two men have been turned to stone.
“Remember my mother—my sister!” mutters Carlos.