Evening star., 1936-03-31
CHAPTER XXVIIy.

rietta like voices OF the damned. Bill
Warren and his brother had granted
him the supreme favor; while he bent
over Juanita, saying his last fare
well; when he had struck match to
make sure of her identity, Bill and
Johnny had withheld their fire. al
though they knew who he was Once
more Joaquin realized, duly, that
there were certain things, in certain
circumstances. that a Gringo would
not do for money, vengeance or self
protection. It did not occur to him
that villain that he was, there was
a noble side to his nature also a side
that the blood of his victims could
not obliterate. Faithful he was, and
loyal affectionate to those he loved,
grateful for little disinterested favors
and expressions of regard, brave as the
bravest, with capacity for that type
of bravery best described as gallantry
in action. He tried, rather dumbly
now, to analyze the action of the
Warren brothers in first withholding
their fire and then doing their best to
kill him-and at last the truth came
home to him.
Gringos possessed sentiment but lit
tie sentimentality. Despite the thou
sands of ruffians. of brutal, disorderly
entered California on the tip of the
golden flood. the majority of Gringos
would give even a Mexican a square
deal, and Bill and Johnny had just
proved that. While he knelt, with
breaking heart, with his lost love
clasped in his arms, they would not
pot him from ambush. but when he
was again mounted and ready for the
road they had tried to kill hin But
even then, they had been fair They
had given him sporting chance-in
the darkness. Strange people! 1t
seems they did possess a deep-rooted
devotion to the law and order. AL
ready the decent element had SKINNED
of the scum - and now they were
after all that remained-Joaquin Mu-
rietta and his men.
It came to Joaquin as he rode up
the valley that night that his race
had been run. His spies had deserted
him: his atrocities had even turned
tAlCAu AiOIIA llIul III oIChCIlCO 1lOIl VI
and they were afraid of the Gringo.
Horsemanship, the best horses, daring.
cunning and resourcefulness Joaquin
had, but the new order of Gringo had
that, too. For the first time his enor-
nous ego was shrinking little and
he felt defeated, terribly alone
He no longer trusted Three fingered
Jack-and he had always believed,
hitherto that he could trust the mon
ster. What child, what pitiable
sentimentalist, he had been to be-
leve that! What had become of the
$4,000 Jack and his devils had rob-
bed the miners of when they boarded
that scow schooner in the San Joaquin
slough and burned her. Jack had
never mentioned this escapade to
him-poSsibly becasue he was of the
opinion that Joaquin was not aware
OF it or could not be certain that it
was the work of Three fingered Jack
But Joaquin knew it was, for Three
fingered Jack was an artist in muir
der and robbery and all artists have
their own distinctive touch Jack
dearly loved wholesale killing; he
killed first and robbed at his leisure.
And Joaquin had read in the papers
that, following that act of piracy. an
earless corpse had been found floating
in the San Joaquin River Yes, Jack
had his own peculiar notions of art;
his technique was as clearly defined
as Is the brush work of a painter.
Well, he would force Jack to explain
what he had done with that loot from
the schooner. Perhaps the scoundrel
had buried it somewhere; perhaps he
was saving it as a surprise for his cap
tain. But Joaquin did not think so.
And he knew Jack had not had time
to spend it. He and his associates
had been too busy all Winter for that,
kept moving too fast by the relentless
posses.
AS Joaquin logged on through the
night the first wild gusts of his grief
for Juanita subsidized to a dull, steady
ache; presently he commenced to
think coherently again of the present
and the first thought came to him
was that his horse was leg weary and
stumbling. He rode mile off the
road and into the timber, where he
unsaddled, hobbled the horse and
turned him loose in a little grassy
glade to Craze, then wrapped himself,
as he had done hundreds of times, in
his serape and the saddle blanket and
tried to sleep. He was hungry, too.
No food had passed his lips that day;
his canteen was empty and he could
not find water. until morning. He
wished he had paused long enough
to slake the thirst of his horse and
himself in Sawmill Flat Creek, but
the necessity of getting~of that road
promptly had been very real, so he
had forgone the drink.
He could not sleep and he wept con-
tinuously because he felt so terribly
alone, so abandoned, but-not for
gotten! He reviled himself for his
selfishness in taking Juanita on this
last raid. Why had he not left her
in San Juan Bautista to await his
return? Because he had been too
weak to deny himself the comfort of
her presence; he had loved Rosita,
who had been simple child, but in
Juanita he had found a woman who
had striyen valiantly to sink herself
to his level, to believe in the things
he did, woman who was not bothered
by conscience, womaR who wanted
only his love and cared not how she
got it, concerned only with holding
1t. Her passing had left void in the
very soul of him; he felt that never,
never again, would he know happi-
ness-and suddenly his heart yearned
for the land Of his birth, the harsh
land where his boyhood and early
manhood had been spent, a land
where the Gringo was not.
Il will return to Sonora in Mexico"
he decided. "Alas, return alone. I
am finished. I have not the heart to
go on. I will work south and what I
have done hitherto will be child's
play to what I shall do now. I will