Old Mission Stories of California | Page 3

the wall, was a heap of fine brush,
covered with the tawny skin of an immense mountain-lion - a giant
specimen of his species, and a formidable animal, truly, for an Indian to
encounter with only bow and arrow.
On this bed of brush was the gaunt, emaciated form of a woman lying
stretched out at full length. At first glance, one might have mistaken her
for a mummy, so still and lifeless she lay; her face, too, carried out the

resemblance startlingly, for it was furrowed and seamed with countless
wrinkles, the skin appearing like parchment in its dry, leathery texture.
Only the eyes gave assurance that this was no mummy, but a living,
sentient body - eyes large, full-orbed and black as midnight, arched by
heavy brows that frowned with great purpose, as if the soul behind and
beyond were seeking, powerless, to relieve itself of some weighty
message. These were not the eyes of age, yet they belonged to a
countenance that gave token of having lived through a great many years;
for the woman lying there so deathly still had experienced all the varied
joys and sufferings of near four score years, each one leaving its
indelible mark on the tell-tale face. She was clothed in a loose dress
made from rabbit skins, sewn together coarsely, sleeveless, and so short
as to leave her feet and ankles bare.
To the left of the entrance crouched a young Indian woman. She was an
unusually good-looking specimen of the desert tribes: a tall
well-shaped form; a head and face of much beauty and character, with a
pair of eyes that, at first glance, betrayed a close relation to the woman
lying on the bed. They were of the same size, color and brilliance; but
the tense, powerful expression that was seen in those of the aged
woman, here was softened to a mild, yet piercing glance, which had, at
the same time, a touch of sadness. She appeared to be not more than
twenty-five years old, although her face, in spite of its gentle, youthful
expression, showed the traces of more than her full quota of hardships;
for the life of the desert Indian is never an easy one at the best, and here
had been a greater struggle for existence than is usual among the
aborigines. As she crouched by the doorway, she seemed almost as
lifeless as the old Indian woman on the bed, her gaze fixed absently on
the extended view of plain and mountain stretching out before her, the
only sign of life being the slow, even rise and fall of her bosom with
each succeeding breath. Her dress was similar to that of the other
woman, but was shorter, reaching only to the knees.
This young Indian was the granddaughter of the older woman. On the
death of her parents (her father's following that of her mother, the
daughter of the aged Indian, after an interval of a few months), when
she was little more than an infant, her grandmother had taken sole
charge of her, treating her, as she became older, with the closest
intimacy, more as a sister than a grandchild; and notwithstanding the

diversity in age, this, feeling was reciprocated on the part of the child.
It was after her father's death, but before she herself was old enough to
see more than the surface of action, that her grandmother took up her
abode in the lone hut on the brow of the hill, apart from the rest of the
tribe of which she was a member, with the child her only companion.
At first, the little girl noticed not the difference between their mode of
living and that of the rest of the tribe, all the other members of which
lived together, surrounding the spring of water, their life and mainstay;
but very quickly, as the child grew older, she saw, only too plainly, that
her grandmother was looked upon as different from the others: and the
Indian regards all those of his kin, no matter how near, who display any
peculiar form of mentality, either with reverence, as something of the
divine, or with cruel hatred, when he believes the unfortunate
individual possessed with the evil spirit. She saw, in the brief and
infrequent visits the two made to the tribe, that her grandmother was
regarded with distrust; that glances of aversion were cast at her from
the doorways of the huts as they passed, and, once or twice, a
mischievous boy had slyly thrown a stone at the two, wending their
way to their lonely home.
Long the child cogitated over the situation, but, as is the Indian's habit,
without a word to her grand parent of what was occupying her mind.
The old woman saw she was absorbed