"Tomaso," he whispered, "come here."
The vaquero joined him at once.
"Tomaso," said Sturges, "have you any objection to cutting off a dead
man's head?"
"No, senor."
"Then go back and cut off that priest's and wrap it in a piece of his
cassock, and carry it the best way you can."
Tomaso disappeared, and Sturges pushed back the gray hood and looked
upon the pure noble face of the girl he had chosen for wife.
"I believe in gratifying a woman's whims whenever it is practicable," he
thought.
But she made him a very good wife.
LA PERDIDA
On her fourteenth birthday they had married her to an old man, and at
sixteen she had met and loved a fire-hearted young vaquero. The old
husband had twisted his skinny fingers around her arm and dragged her
before the Alcalde, who had ordered her beautiful black braids cut close
to her neck, and sentenced her to sweep the streets. Carlos, the tempter
of that childish unhappy heart, was flung into prison. Such were law and
justice in California before the Americans came.
The haughty elegant women of Monterey drew their mantillas more closely
about their shocked faces as they passed La Perdida sweeping the dirt
into little heaps.
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