Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1889-11-23
TIE GOLDEN WATERFALL.
TBy Benjamin Northrop. ]

Felipe. From without came the drowsy
hum of bees in the Padres garden and the
rustic of the orange trees in the grove. At
intervals the soft south wind carried with
it the distant sound of falling waters that
came from the white-crested San Juanita
Mountains beyond, and poured in a mar
row stream of silver into the river Of gold
below. The music seemed strangely in
sympathy with these varied sounds. 1t
told story-a story of tempest and a
calm, of a torrent dashing madly over
rocks and stones. Then the melody
changed. The torrent became brook
that rippled gently over the rock, and fell
upon the pool below in spray.
Every like WATERFALL" repeated the
old Padre when Angela had left the room.
Why should it not be? 1t is the song of
the Golden Falls that Angela played. Old?
Not very. | remember when it first was
heard. Has it story? Listen, and will
tell you. There were two boys, Manuel
and Pablo, born in a valley beyond those
tell without reckoning up the years. In
looking back time never is as it seems to
be- Some weeks are years in length in
memory, and some years slip by like hours.
1t was long before you were born, though,
that these two lads came into the world.
ManuePs father raised herds of sheep on
the Mejian hills. The father of Pablo had
vineyard in the valley. The two men
were kinsmen, and the boys grew up like
brothers.
Manuel was the older and stronger. 1t
was he who made the arrows and bent the
bow that Pablo used in hunting over the
hills, and when Pablo was weary and foot
sore it was Manuel who helped him over
the rough places, and once when the fields
were blighted by the drought, and they
had wandered over the mountains in
search of a stream that Ignacio, the gar
rulous old Indian herder, had told them
ola stream that was fed by the mountain
snow, and never ran dry-Pablo broke his
leg, and Manuel carried him home to the
valley, three miles, on his back.
Manuel was tall. His shoulders were
broad, and his back was as straight as
wonder stone wall. He was dark in the
face, and his eyes were black. Pablo was
slender and fair. His hair was the color of
corn silk when the sun shines on it. and
his ewes were blue as the silver lake at
midday. He was gentle in mis- ways. Yet,
with this dissimilarity in their characters,
the two boys were knit together by ties
that were stronger than blood. Riding on
their ponies, hunting with their arrows
and traps studying in the Mission school
at the knees of the old Padre, and on Sun
DAYS, dressed in their white cassocks, car
rYing lighted candles at mass in the little
chapel, they were always together. Thus,
side by side, without quarrel, they grew
almost to manhood.
When Manuel was nearly the age of 20,
and Pablo was two years younger, came
their first trouble in the form of a woman.
Angela was her name She was the Padres
niece, and with her widowed mother made
her home in the Mission and busted her
self caring for the village sick, comforting
the afflicted, watching with the dead, and
singing in the chapel choir. But that was
not all her life. On fete days Angela led
the dance, and in all the village there was
not one among the maidens SO light of
foot, so bright of eyes and merry of face as
she. Was it to be wondered at that both
these lads should love her? And yet
there were two who would have pondered
deeply over it and been panied had they
known it. Manuel had known Angela
since they were children. He had watched
her grow from babyhood to fair young
girlhood, and now that she had become
woman he had learned to love her, and his
happiest dreams were of her and the little
home they would have when he had
herd of his home and had asked her to be
his wife.
Pablo knew nothing of his friends love.
Why should he? Manuel had not spoken
of it, and Pablo's life was SO filled with the
bright sunlight Of the valley, with his
work in the vineyard and its purple har-
vest, that he had but little thought for
aught else Besides, the youth himself
loved Angela.
1t was one Sunday late in the summer.
No rain had fallen for weeks. Day after
day the sun had hung in the sky a great
ball of fire, slowly drying the streams and
parching the earth. The sheep raised
clouds of dust as they tramped over the
meadows-clouds that rose little in the
air and settled down again to cover the
struggling blades Of grass with coat of
brown. The trees dropped and the leaves
ratified like parchment in the evening
wind. The vines hung limp on their
trellises, and the green grapes shriveled
and wrinkled like walnut shells The
valley was slowly dying in the awful heat,
and the old men gathered together in
little knots in the evening and shook their
heads ominously, and the women wept as
they looked over their gardens and saw
the killing blight.
Manuel had stopped after the service
was ended with the Padre in the dressing
room back of the sacristan, while the
father hung his vestments on the peg back
of the door and waited until the villagers
had left the church. The Padre walked
with him to the door.
$50 you are going tomorrow, my son p
he said.
eyes, father"
"But thy way is long"
a know it, father"
"And dangerous, too. There will be no
water"
Enough for Pablo and for me"
'But you may not find the mine?"
"BIay not p
THE Indian spoke fairly, and pointed
out the way plainly, as one who told the
truth. But he may have been mistaken,
my son."
sBut the nugget, father. Saw you not
thatT'
"True, I did see it. Gold, virgin gold,
and heavy, too. There may have been no
more OF them though. Perhaps that was
the only one. Have you thought 1t over
gravely ?"
"Gravely, father, and my mind is set upon
the trial. We will start with the sun To-
morrow"
And so the twain parted, Manuel kneel-
ing by the door while the old Padre gave
him his blessing, and with light heart the
young man walked through the grove to re-
Join his companion.
aAhl Pablo"