Coulee City dispatch. [volume] (Coulee City, Wash.) 19??-19??, 1940-08-08
CHAPTER II-Continued

you, cautlOned Diego.
"No, no." exclaimed the padre, as
near Impotence as he ever allowed
himself to stray. "That is nothing,
nothing!"
''They might kill me, Padre" sug-
gested Diego darby.
AS the wind, blowing in a gust,
dies suddenly into calm, the mis-
sion veteran changed. 'True, Di-
ego," he murmured, gently re-
proachful of himself. "You might
be in danger. Remain here, hidden
in the wheat. will 60 forward and
report if there is danger"
Both men we're striving for their
own ends: the padre to keep his
devoted servant from harm, Diego
to keep his infirm master from
harm.
"Tell me, Diego" said the padre,
agitated, 'can you see anyone?"
81 see a woman and boy. They
are fighting. She holds him and
beats him with STICK
cit is Monica" said Diego in his
staccato accents. ''Now the boy
gets loose. He is running. She
chases. He is running into the wheat
to hide. Slower, Padre. Have care!
You will fall"
Protests were lost on the aged
man. With his hands outstretched
in eager appeal as he stumbled on
he sought to stay the angry Monica.
She was already in the tall wheat,
furiously pursuing her escaping vic
tim. The two were running down
the trail through the grain which
must soon bring them into the pad
res arms when his shout reached
the ears of both pursued and pur-
Suer.
The Boy, seeing the advancing
priest, halted, dumfounded. But only
for an instant-then, tearing into the
tall grain with the swiftness of
rabbit, he could only be followed
with the eye as the swaying wheat
heads told of his flight.
Monica dashed ahead. Even the
sight of the ..,adre did not check her
hysteria. "Diego!" she cried loudly
to the PADRES neophyte. "After
him! Do not let him go!"
Diego stared but made no move.
He looked at the rapid parting of
the grain heads that marked the
boys race to escape; but most of
all he stared at the strange Monica
in front of him. Her scant gown
was in rags. Her features were
distorted with grief and rage. Her
eyes, strained and tear stained,
bulged in their sockets, and still she
shouted at Diego in the Indian
tongue as she pointed after the fee
ing boy.
"Woman!" exclaimed Padre Pas
quail. t'Woman!'' he repeated in
sterner command, for she scarcely
needed him. ''What are you do
ing? Who are your"
The half-crazed creature suddenly
looked at him. The stick dropped
from her grasp. She clasped both
hands to her haggard face and with
a dreadful cry threw, herself pros
trate on the ground at the PADRES
feet.
"Who-who," gasped the sorely
bewildered priest, "are your"
"Padre," said the stolid Diego col
lectedly, "do you not know? It is
Monica"
Impossible" exclaimed the pad
re. Monica whom I have known
for so many years-whom I bap-
tized! Aid her, Diego. Rise, my
poor child. Rise! Speak,"
"Monica!" he exclaimed as Diego
helped the sobbing woman to her
uncertain feet. Monica! What is
the meaning of this? What is the
meaning of this? Where are your
master and mistress?"
Monica, falling again to her trem-
bling knees, lifted her face as she
caught at his right hand. "Woe is
me, Padre! My master cruelty slain!
My mistress shamed unto death.
Carmelita, Terecita, stolen by the
wicked Indians. Only Alfredito left.
Woe to Los Alamos!"
Stunned, the missioner and the ne
ophyte listened to the horrible re-
cital of the murders of the day be-
fore.
Padre Pasqual listened to the end.
He stood inirmly, leaning again on
his staff with heart and mind lifted
to heaven, poured out his grief in
prayer to his Maker.
The awesome spectacle of the ven
cradle man, heart-broken but silent,
in petition before his God steadied
Monica.
cat last" she said, gasping with
emotion, "the soldiers came. Alfre-
ditto brought them. The house is
burned; the quarters and the gran
airy are burned. They rode away
to pursue the savages; Alfredito
rode with them. Oh, Padre, he is so
brave, the poor boy. He worshiped
his mother and his little sisters.
What-what will become of them?
The soldiers followed the trail far
into the hills, but in the mountains
the Indians fought and wounded so
many soldiers with their arrows,
the soldiers had to come back They
buried the poor vaqueros on the hill
and carried the body of Don Alfredo