Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 9, Decatur, Adams County, 13 December 1894 — Page 8

voice A VA »»AAW **>, •»*-'*. KA* W AAMAAA AAA* Within her sheltered nest —Mary T. Higginson, in Harper s Bazar. JUANITA’S RIDE. How She Saved the Lives of Her Father and Lover. “The undertaking is a perilous one, father, and I cannot reconcile myself to your departure.” “Nonsense, daughter; you are growing nervous instead of courageous. Have we not traveled the Sierras these many years without a mishap?” “True. But the mountains and the valleys were at peace. Now there is bitter warfare between the Yaquis of the highlands and the Dapos of the plains. The soldiers are hardly able to control them. I learned only yesterday, from a traveler, that the Yaquis had defied the government.” “But I must go. You know why 1 must go.” The daughter of the ranchero blushed. She was beautiful, this flower of the wilds. Lower California held no fairer woman. Yes. she knew why he must go. Sano Zalvaredes, who loved her, and whom she loved, was lying ill at the United States fort at Y’uma, just across the line, lie was a brave fellow, this Zalvaredes, tall, strong, honorable, and the love of the fairest woman iu the laud was creditable to him. And the ranchero was going to bring him home, that among those who loved him well he might be i coaxed back into health and vigor; for the illness, w’hile severe, was not such as would undermine the strong 1 constitution of the sturdy young cattleman. It was the conflict between her love for her father and anxiety for his 1 safety, and her love for Zalvaredes and anxiety for his welfare, that made Juanita Castero turn pale and red in > turn. She was brave, like all the I daughters of the ranches, and she set her face to the danger and bade her father got!speed and a safe return with her lover. It was not a long journey, as the bird flies, from the ranch of Castero to Fort Y’uma, but it was a wearisome. , dangerous journey over mountain passes with a wagon—and it was in a | wagon that Castero set out to bring to his house the young man he already loved like a son. Juanita stood in the shade of the orange trees and saw him go. She waved her hand to him and wafted a kiss into the balmy atmosphere when he halted his team on a high hill and looked back at her. There was anxiety in Senor Castero’s heart as well, leaving his motherless girl on the ranch. But there were faithful servants there, and the cattlemen all loved her. When her father was out of sight beyond the bill Juanita turned and went into the house. “It will be a four-days’ absence, at least,” she said to herself. “Two to go and two to come, and who knows if they will be able to return at once. Perhaps five days will be needed, and my heart will be torn with fears.” But she went resolutely to work, for this daughter of the ranchman was no idle lily. Three days passed slowly and wearily along. The rumble of thewheelsof the lumbering coach that twice a week passed ; by and stooped to allow the passen- ' gers to buy food was heard coming over the hilt “The stage sounds heavy to-day,” said Juanita to a servant “There must be many passengers. See that plenty is provided for them.” “Two packages, senorita,” shouted the burly stage-driver, coming to where Juanita stood on the porch. “How is Senor Castero, that I do not see him greet the stage as usual?” “Be is absent. You have many passengers to-day. Y’azzo?” “Y’es. The people through the Sierra de Bacatel are getting away. There is danger there. There will be bloodshed.” . “In the Sierra Bacatel? Danger! My father must pass through there today.” “That is bad. The Yaquis are in open revolt They have sw’orn to kill every Mexican.” “God have mercy!” said Juanita, pressing her hand over her beating heart “God bring my loved ones safely home” “The Y’aquis are bloodthirsty.” “The Dapos are as bad and will fight the troops.” “The soldiers are so few; why does the government not send an army?” These and kindred remarks among the passengers served to augment the anxiety the Juanita already felt The stage gone, witu its crew of fleeing people, Juanita made a quick resolve. If men were fleeing from the danger there was a woman who would brave it All that she loved were there, and would perhaps in half a day more be at the pass that was so dangerous. Perhaps she could reach them in time to warn them. There was no horse in the ranches or on the plains as fleet as Flying Satan, her powerful favorite. To think was to act There was danger to herself, but she was a woman who loved. "Saddle Flying Satan at once!” she ordered. "You will not go far, senorita?” said a cattleman, anxiously "Shall I not go with you?” ‘No. I thank you for your kindness. But I must fly like the winds of the tempest, and no other horse could keep the pace.”

Robing herself for the ride, with a silver-mounted lisle slung over hex shoulder, Juanita mounted. “Away. Satan, for life and love!” she said. And the drumming of the I steed’s hoofs on the ground told of the great speed of which he alone was capable. She heeded not the fact that all the riders she saw were going the other way. “To the Bacatel!” was her cry. And Satan knew her spirit and reflected it in his own. On a cliff overlooking the pass a band of Cerce Y’aquis lay encamped. It was not a peaceful camp. There were no signs of industry save the industry of war. There were no shouts, no chants, no fires. As still as death they lay, peering stealthily over the cliff, waiting, watching, for their prey. Great rocks, pried loose from their beds, almost hung over the cliff, suspended or held in check by ropes of twisted grass. These were the deadly weapons with which the cowardly Indians would crush their foes. A small band of Mexican soldiers straggled up the mountain side. All unsuspecting of the hidden danger, they entered the pass. The massacre of the Sierra de Bacatel was soon to commence. On their weary horses or mules they toiled upward, great walls of rock rising high on each side of them. The pass was not more than a hundred feet wide. What chance for escape was there? Suddenly a blood-curdling war cry rent the air. It seemed to come from the sky. It rolled above them like thunder. They stood still appilled, knowing that danger threatened them, feeling the beginning of their doom, yet seeing no foe, and powerless to strike a blow in their own defense. Not a quarter of a mile away, coming through the fated pass, was a wagon. The great black horses stepped ' briskly along with their load, and the heavy covered wagons used by the travelers in the mountains were no light load. Senor Castero drove them, and 1 whipped them into greater speed. He was hurrying home to his daughter. “We will soon be on the level road,” | he said to a companion, who laj’ on cushions inside the wagon. “Then we can make better speed. Does the j roughness of the road hurt you?” I “Not much. I could stand more to hurry to the side of Juanita.” .Again the lash. Again the horses j started up. Ah! If Senor Castero knew ' what was being done just ahead. A great rock loosened by the fiends on the cliffs, bounded out over the | heads of the soldiers and crashed down among them, crushing two of the poor fellows into the earth. Cries of consternation came from the soldiers. Like caged rats, they | turned one way and another, firing their rifles fruitlessly into the air, shouting, crying, shrieking, as one after another the cruel rocks came down upon them, always with a deathdealing certainty. And into this maelstrom of death Senor Castero was driving. But what is that flying up the mountain side? A horse, once black as coal, now white with his own foam, for he had traveled ata killing pace for many miles without a break. Faithfully he plunged along. On his back Juanita, fearless, holding the bridle with a firm grip, while she urged her magnificent steed to further efforts. “On, on, Satan! Another mile, and we shall be beyond the the pass! On, on!” And on he went. Not even when they came in sight of the panic-stricken soldiers did horse or rider falter. The girl knew that her life might pay the penalty for her I daring. She knew the Yaquis. She knew their tactics, their bloodthirstiness. She knew that not one of those stricken soldiers could escape alive, i Yet she did not falter, for, coming ' toward that certain death, were her father and her lover, and she was a woman whose love was her life, and the loss of her love was worse than death. “On, Satan, on!” she cried. And over the dead and dying bodies of the soldiery the great horse bounded, jumping from side to side to clear the fallen rocks, his heroic rider breathing a prayer to an Almighty Power to guide her and her horse safei ly through the storm of death. “We are past the danger! On, Satan, I on!” she cried. Before her she saw the horses and wagon she knew so welL Iler father, bewildered, saw the rushing steed, unrecognizable save by his lightning gait “Back! Back! The Y’aquis are on the cliff! It is death to proceed! Back! Turn back!” Juanita cried. “Jesus have mercy!” muttered Senor Castero, as he hurriedly turned his horses around. “God in Heaven be thanked for giving me a daughter that can do this thing!” “Juanita, my angel!” murmured Zalvaredes, rising from his cushions and gazing rapturously a,t the girl who I had risked her life for his and saved it Flying Satan reached the side of the wagon, and with a great convulsive sob that shook his mighty frame, I knelt first upon his knees, then, with a pitiful, appealing look at his mistress, lay over—dead. “Come; there is no time to lose!” Juanita leaped into the wagon, and again the horses were whipped into great speed, but this time it was back over the track they had come, from danger into safety. ' : Juanita rested upon the cushions • that her lover made her take from him, and breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the sustaining Rower that had brought her safely through the Pass of Death, but with it went a sob ' of grief, for in her service her noble horse had sacrificed his life. i They reached Fort Y’uma and their lives were saved.—N. Y. Ledger. —Why should we misknow each • jther. fight not against the enemy, 1 but. against ourselves, from mere difference of uniforms?—H. W. Beecher.

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