“That’s where Ferenor calls for his sweetheart,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, as he seemed loath to continue.
“Get up, Maria! Steady there, Pierto. You see, señor, she was the most beautiful girl in all the country. Many young men wanted to marry her, but she loved Ferenor, the padre’s nephew, who was almost a padre himself, for he had taken some of the vows. His uncle preached to the soldiers and lived there behind the church. There were lots of Indians in those times, and one of the chiefs wanted Francesca for his wife. All this time Francesca was in love with Ferenor, but she couldn’t marry him on account of his vows.
“But one day Ferenor got desperate and swore he would marry Francesca anyway. That night, about this time of the year—and a night like this, only worse—they went to the padre to be married. Of course, he would not marry them, for it is unlawful for a young priest to marry. They begged and implored, but the padre refused to comply with their wishes. Finally the padre became very angry, and opening the door, he commanded them to go. Somehow, in the storm, they missed the trail to Francesca’s house, and after wandering around a while, they realized that they were lost. On and on they wandered, until Francesca was ready to drop with fatigue.
“Suddenly Ferenor exclaimed, ‘A light, Francesca!’ There was a light in the distance. They started toward it but Francesca dropped to the ground exhausted.
“ ‘I can’t go, Ferenor,’ she sobbed.
“ ‘I’m too tired to carry you that far, Francesca. You stay here, and I’ll come back for you when I get help.’
“He started out toward the light, but walking brought him no nearer to it. It seemed to move and lead him astray. He was very cold and sleepy. And where was Francesca? He knew; right over there she was waiting. He started to the place where he thought he had left her. Suddenly he slipped and fell, hitting his head on a stone. It was several hours later, just about dawn, that he regained consciousness.
“ ‘Francesca! Francesca!’ he cried, starting up. Vainly he searched. She was gone. Neither of the lovers was ever seen after that. Several months later a rumor was heard that just such a girl as Francesca was in the camp of Red Blanket. And Ferenor? On such a night as this, at this time of the year, he wanders around the old Fort, searching for his sweetheart, and [[159]]always calling her name, ‘Francesca, Francesca.’ And señor, when a lover hears it, it means there is danger to him or his betrothed. Santa Madre preserve us!” Here Juan began saying his prayers again.
“What is that light, Juan?” I asked a few minutes later.